"Please, Eliza," she sighed, setting the tray on the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her skirt—my skirt. "I just want us to be happy. I want to help you accept the reality of the situation."
"The reality?" I looked up, my eyes burning. "The reality is that you’re sleeping with my husband."
"We’re in love," she said simply, as if discussing the weather. "George and I… we connect. He needs someone who understands him. Someone who can give him what he needs."
"You mean a son?" I spat. "You mean the heir I couldn't give him because he almost killed me?"
"Shh," she soothed, reaching out. "Don't be like that. You should just be honest with yourself. You were never right for him. You were always too… fragile."
"I was his wife!"
"And you cheated on him," she said, her eyes wide and innocent.
"You know that's a lie! You faked those photos! You hired someone!"
"Does it matter?" Donna shrugged, the mask finally slipping. A slow, cruel smirk spread across her lips. "He believes me. That’s all that counts."
"You whore," I whispered, the venom in my voice surprising even me.
Donna’s smirk widened. She stood up and walked over to me, looking down like I was a stain on the carpet.