His retaliation came swift and brutal—a slap that left me dizzy, my cheek burning with pain.
"Ah!"
A startled gasp came from the master bedroom's doorway. I turned to see Miley, standing there.
"I-I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice trembling as she approached with a frightened expression. "I-I didn't know you two were fighting."
Ricky let go right away, straightened his clothes, and turned to comfort Miley.
"Miley, are you alright? Did I scare you?"
Miley held his hand with both of hers, swinging it gently as she pouted. But her eyes darted to me, full of fake innocence.
"Ricky, please don't fight. Christina isn't wrong. I drank too much and said something stupid. It's my fault she's upset. She doesn't like me, and that's fair."
She looked at me, lowering her head like she was genuinely admitting her mistake.
"I'm sorry, Christina. Please don't be mad at Ricky because of me."
But her eyes said something else entirely—cold and defiant. Even a fool could see she wasn't sincere.
Ricky, of course, didn't notice.
"Miley, this has nothing to do with you. She's just being dramatic. Go lie down if you're dizzy."
And with that, he led her into our bedroom—our bed—to rest.