Jada scrubbed at the stain in the bathroom sink, but it was useless. The silk was ruined. The red mark sat right over her heart.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She looked ghostly pale.
Why am I doing this? she asked her reflection. Why am I saving her?
Because of grandma, the reflection answered.
She took a deep breath and walked back out. She wasn't going to let Hazel win. She would finish this dinner and then she would vanish.
When she returned to the table, Darius and Hazel were holding hands. Hazel was whispering something in his ear, and Darius looked... pained. Conflicted.
Jada didn't sit down.
"I'm leaving," she said.
Darius looked up. "Sit down. We are not finished."
"I am," Jada said. "I'm done playing your sick game. I'm done being the third wheel in my own divorce."
Hazel looked at Darius, her eyes wide with fake concern. "See? She hates me. She's unstable, Darius. She might sabotage the surgery. What if she backs out at the last minute?"
Darius looked at Jada. The paranoia planted by Hazel took root instantly.
"You will do nothing of the sort," Darius growled.
"Maybe I should," Jada lied. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted him to feel a fraction of the fear she felt. "Maybe I'll walk out of here and get on a plane to nowhere. Maybe I'll let nature take its course."
Darius stood up. His chair crashed backward onto the floor.
He grabbed his own, nearly empty wine glass. He stared at her, and for a long moment, the chaos of the restaurant faded into a low hum. All he could see was her face, the defiance in her eyes, the stain on her blouse that looked like blood. He saw her walking away, free, while he was left shackled to this duty, this guilt. The thought of her leaving, of her choosing to leave, was a physical pressure in his chest, an unbearable tightening. His grip tightened uncontrollably. His knuckles turned white.
"You promised," he hissed.
"Your promises meant nothing," Jada retorted, stepping closer to him. "You promised to love and cherish me. You broke that. Why should my promise hold?"
CRACK.
The sound was sharp and sickening.
The crystal stem of the wine glass snapped in Darius's hand. The bowl shattered.
Shards of glass sliced into his palm. Blood gushed out instantly, dark and fast. It mixed with the wine on the tablecloth, creating a pool of gore.
Hazel screamed. "Darius! You're hurt!"
Darius didn't look at his hand. He didn't seem to feel the pain. He stared at Jada, his eyes wild, dilated, terrifying.
"You make me crazy," he whispered.
It sounded like an accusation. It sounded like a confession.
Waiters rushed over with napkins and towels. "Sir! Sir, let us help!"
Hazel jumped up, pushing Jada aside with surprising strength. "Let me see! We need a doctor! Oh, my poor darling!"
She wrapped his bleeding hand in a napkin, cooing over him. "Look what she made you do. Look what she did to you."
Darius looked at Jada one last time over Hazel's head. He looked broken. He looked like a man who had lost the map to his own soul.
"Get her out of my sight," Darius told Harrison, who had appeared from the shadows like a grim reaper.
Hazel led Darius away toward the exit, looking back at Jada with a smile of pure triumph.
Jada stood alone at the bloody table. The patrons were staring. The ruined dinner lay before her.
The manager approached timidly, holding a leather folio. "Ma'am? The... the bill..."
Jada looked at him. She looked at the blood on the table.
She laughed. It was a hysterical, jagged sound.
"Put it on Mr. Long's tab," she said.
She turned and walked out into the rain. She didn't have an umbrella. She didn't have a coat. She pulled out her phone and dialed the only number that mattered.
"Chloe," she said when her best friend answered. "I need a place to stay. Now."
