Raymond planted himself between Dorothy and me like a shield—his posture said everything. He would protect her, and that settled his position.
I thought back to the first time I'd questioned him, to the explanation he gave me then.
"Dorothy's just one of my students. She recently graduated and has been asking for career advice."
Aside from running a company, Raymond also taught as a guest professor at a university. A professor helping a student was normal enough. But I had seen the résumé he'd hidden under his desk. He'd already brought Dorothy into the company.
If it were merely a mentor-student relationship, I could have let it be. But then I remembered seeing Dorothy in that red dress—dancing with him, pressing her lips to his. At that moment, I wanted to snap every branch from the trees along the road.
"Maddy, weren't you supposed to be on a business trip?" he asked, brow furrowed as he tried to calm everything down. "Let's go home and talk this over."
I shrugged him off coldly and stared at Dorothy's scarlet dress. "You always said red makes you lose control. Are you blind? Don't you see her? She's in bright red."
"Raymond, do you remember what happened the last time I wore a red dress?" I asked. "I'd just found out I was pregnant and wanted to wear red to celebrate. You grabbed me—you hit me so hard I miscarried and ended up in the hospital. Have you forgotten?"
He looked at me, eyes heavy with exhaustion and helplessness. "I've said I'm sorry."
"Madeline, are you still holding onto this? How long are you going to make a scene?" His voice was narrow, irritated.
"Make a scene?" The word tasted bitter, and I laughed without humor. "That was a life we lost. Don't tell me I shouldn't make a scene."
"Either you send this woman to the hospital to terminate the pregnancy," I said, voice steady, "or you use your own life to pay for it."
Dorothy, hiding behind him, began to sob and grab his sleeve. "Raymond—please! I don't want to terminate the pregnancy!"
Raymond held her hand and soothed her. "I'm here. Don't be afraid."
His stance never wavered—no one could touch Dorothy while he stood there.
"I said she couldn't have an abortion," he solemnly said, then dropped to one knee as if trying to coax me. "I give you my life. Do whatever you want—okay, Maddy?"
Once again, it was that same hypocritical act of self-sacrifice, staged for others to see. I swallowed my disgust and forced a bright smile.
"All right." I reached for the vase beside me.
Dorothy’s terrified screams rang out as I hurled it toward Raymond.
“Don’t hurt Raymond!"
The vase hit her in the back first—she stumbled and fell against him. Blood drained from his face, inch by inch.
"Dory—" he cried, panic shredding his voice as he scooped her up in his arms. "Don't worry. I'll get a doctor!"
He shot me a cold glare—pure, unyielding hatred. In that instant I understood: Raymond would never let me go.
But I had planned for this.
Hidden nearby, a reporter had been waiting—camera rolling, every moment captured. Tonight, the footage would go out as an exclusive.
Raymond, why must you always take whatever you desire, only to toss it aside when it no longer pleases you?
I am not an object.
This time, I would make sure you learn the price of your mistakes.
Sure enough, two hours later the headline trended everywhere:
#Raymond Tomlinson Two Timing—his betrayal splashed across the feed, a spectacle for the world to see.
