The sight of this situation seemed to boost Dorothy's confidence.
She peeked out from behind Branden, her voice dripping with false sympathy.
"Chloe, I’m truly sorry. We never set out to hurt you. But as well you know, love is simply beyond our control."
"Shut up." Chloe's voice was quiet, but it was laced with a coldness that made the words sharp as glass. Her gaze was locked on Dorathy's perfectly pathetic face.
Before Branden could react, Chloe lunged forward.
He instinctively put out a hand to stop her. "Chloe, calm down!"
She dodged his arm with a fluid movement, channeling all her pain and rage into one single motion. Her hand swung through the air.
The slap was deafening in the silent apartment.
Dorathy's head snapped to the side. Five red finger marks instantly bloomed on her pale cheek. She cradled her face, her eyes wide with disbelief before filling with tears.
Branden exploded. He shoved Chloe backward, hard, and wrapped his arms around Dorathy. "Are you crazy?"
He roared at Chloe. "What gives you the right to hit her?"
Chloe stumbled back, her body hitting the wall. She looked at the pair of them, a broken, ugly laugh escaping her lips. "What gives me the right? You're asking me what gives me the right, Branden Knight?"
Her eyes shifted to Dorathy. "You're my sister. You're sleeping in my fiancé's bed.Don't I have the right to teach you a lesson?"
Dorathy ignored her sister's questioning. Once again, she pressed her body a fraction closer against Brandon's chest, silently staking her claim. "Branden, I'm so scared..."
Watching Branden comfort her, whispering soothing words, extinguished the last flicker of love in Chloe's heart. She was a fool. A complete and utter clown.
She wouldn't stay here another second.
Without another word, she turned and walked away. She didn't even glance back at the pool of soup on the floor.
Branden watched her go, a flicker of something complex in his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to call out.
"Branden, don't go," Dorathy whimpered, clinging to him. "I'm scared."
He stayed.
Chloe burst out of the building's front doors and into the freezing rain. It soaked her clothes in an instant, but the cold only sharpened her focus. The pain in her chest was still there, but beneath it something harder began to form.
She walked quickly down the Manhattan street, rain streaming down her face. Her tears had stopped before they could fall.
Liars. They were both liars.
A bitter, brittle laugh escaped her lips. She would not break for them. Not here, not like this.
She kept walking, her jaw tight, her mind already turning over every secret, every weak point, every way she could make them pay.
People with umbrellas hurried past, some casting curious glances, but no one stopped. The glittering lights of the store windows no longer mocked her; they only lit the path ahead.
By the time she reached the corner, her eyes were dry and hard. She stared into the rainy night and spoke in a low, steady voice.
"Branden Knight. Dorathy Hayes. You'll regret this."
The words drained the last of her trembling. She leaned against the cold brick wall for a moment, her mind no longer a chaotic reel but a list of what she had to do.
She pushed herself upright and began to walk again, her steps deliberate. The sounds of traffic horns and chatter fell away.
The rain fell harder.
Lost in thought, she didn't see the crosswalk light turn red.
She stepped off the curb, and a black Bentley braked hard beside her.
A piercing squeal of tires tore through the night as the car swerved sharply.
The side‑view mirror grazed her upper arm, the brutal impact sending her stumbling back against the curb.
Chloe felt a sharp pain, and the exhaustion she had been holding back finally pulled her under.
