‘One week.’ She said mentally. ‘One more week and she would finally be free of Oliver and all his problems.’
Madelynn walked into her home to find Cecelia lounging on the couch in her nightgown.
Madelynn’s nightgown.
The sound of the door opening made Cecelia look back with an eye roll. “You’re back so soon? You look absolutely filthy.”
She stood up from the couch and strolled over to Madelynn, lifting her chin with a finger like she was inspecting it. “Look at you. You’re as pale as a sheet. There’s nothing interesting about your face, and anyone would assume you’re on your deathbed.”
She pulled the robe down her shoulders to proudly display the glaring red marks on her neck and chest. “See these hickeys? It’s all Oliver’s handwork. Last night was… intense. As you can see, he couldn’t wait to claim me as his.”
It was like she became even bolder the more she spoke. She lowered her voice, leaning into Madelynn’s ear in a mocking whisper.
“Last night, while we did it in your bed, he said I was the only one who could make him feel like a real man. He said you lie there like the dead—and you never knew how to slice things up.”