The dim glow of Manhattan's streetlights flickered across the car window, casting sharp, jagged silhouettes over Scarlett's face. In her grip, the smartphone felt like a piece of live coal, ready to sear her palm. The image staring back from the screen wasn't just a collection of digital pixels; it was a blade driven straight into her chest.
Julian and Selena.
In the dim intimacy of a private room, their lips were locked in a kiss that looked hauntingly familiar, practiced, even.
The world seemed to decelerate. The cacophony of horns outside faded into a dull hum, replaced by the frantic thrumming of her own heart hammering against her ribs. Her fingers clamped onto the edges of the phone until her knuckles turned ivory, as if she were trying to throttle reality itself.
"I knew this would happen," she whispered to her soul. A sharp, sardonic twist pulled at the corner of her mouth, the kind of smile born from a wound too deep for tears.
