But the hallway smelled like wine and perfume—something expensive and too sweet. The kind of scent that didn’t belong to me.
The lights were off, except one in the entryway. A wine glass lay tipped on the console table. Burgundy puddled beneath it like blood.
I didn’t clean it up. My body ached—every part of me from the hospital still throbbed like I’d been flayed open. But I walked. Step by step. Numb. Quiet.
The master bedroom door was cracked.
I pushed it with my fingertips.
And there she was.
Zoraya.
She was stretched across my bed, legs crossed like she owned the world, wearing the ivory silk robe Zeus gave me last Valentine’s. It hung loose around her—untied, careless. Her damp hair clung to one shoulder, and her smile was a slow, smug curve.
She looked at me like I was an afterthought.
“Oh.” Her voice was light—too light. “Sorry if I wore your robe, Savannah. Didn’t mean to. I just—” She stretched her arms above her head like she was stretching out her territory. “It was dry and soft. Figured I’d take advantage. You know, since I’m here all the time now.”
What?
Her tone was sugar laced with poison. Like she was the innocent victim of circumstance.
I didn’t move.