A sharp knock rattled the door.
It creaked open and Marco strode in as if he owned the place, his boots thudding on the floorboards.
“There you are.” He looked me up and down, his gaze landing on the angry sketch next to my easel. “Chloe wants a whiskey. Go pour her one—she said she misses the way you make them.”
I stared at him, my hands limp in my lap.
“You missed my engagement party.”
Marco blinked, then shrugged it off. “It was just a party. You and Nico can have one next week, or the week after. Chloe’s back, Alessia. We haven’t seen her in a year.”
He picked up my sketchbook from the easel, flipping through it without asking.
“Are you still drawing these childish things?” His eyes landed on the new page. At the top, written in charcoal, was a single word:
Ultimatum.
He snorted. “What’s this supposed to mean? You’re going to run away? Become a nobody?”
He tossed the sketchbook back onto the table. “Go get the drink, Alessia.”
I rose slowly and walked past him to the liquor cabinet. My palms stung as I scooped ice from the bucket. The scent of the new cologne they’d brought back—Chloe’s favorite brand—hung in the air, making my skin crawl.
Marco leaned against the wall behind me, watching me too closely.
“Why so quiet?” he asked. “Planning to poison her drink or something?”
Before I could answer, Chloe’s voice carried from the main hall.
“Marco! Nico! Come here!”
Marco rolled his eyes, muttered, “Coming,” and turned to leave without a second glance at me.
I washed my hands in cold water, watching the red crescent marks fade from my palms. My gaze drifted to the counter.
The party cake I’d ordered sat there. Untouched.
The engagement ring lay beside it, sealed in its velvet box.
I didn’t cry.
I just stood there for a long time, staring at all the things that were supposed to matter.
A cold rage began to smolder in my chest.
I looked out the window. Beyond it, the distant lights of Brooklyn glittered against the night.
Chloe was back. She had everything.
And me?
I was done waiting.
