Whatever she said drained the color from his face. He shot to his feet. “You’re in a bad mood? You’ve been drinking? Where are you? I’m coming right now.”
“Take your suitcase and get out,” I said evenly.
He stared, irritated. “Olivia! Don’t be unreasonable! I’m the only friend Bella has. She’s upset—I have to go! I don’t have time to babysit you!”
The door slammed. I stared at the pills and felt sick.
My fever spiked past midnight; cold sweat soaked my back.
Gritting my teeth, I ordered a car to the ER. I braced against the wall and shuffled to the door, turning the lock.
My phone buzzed: a text alert for charges on Daniel’s add-on card—2:00 a.m., Riverside Hotel, “Honeymoon Suite—extended stay,” plus a “strawberry cake,” note: “Miss Brooks’ favorite.”
I opened Bella’s alt account I hadn’t blocked yet. Ten minutes ago she’d posted: “Being cuddled by a thoughtful boyfriend, eating cake in his arms—nothing beats this.”
In the photo, she wore a man’s shirt. At her collar, above the hickey, hung a necklace I recognized—the couple’s necklace I’d given Daniel for his birthday last year. He’d said it was “too girly” and never wore it. Turns out he’d given it to Bella.
Those five minutes waiting for the driver were the longest—and clearest—of my life.
IV fluid dripped into my vein; I stared at the catheter in the back of my hand.
I reached for the water on the nightstand, but an arm beat me to it, lifting the cup and angling the straw to my lips. Daniel.
“Why are you hospitalized? You were fine yesterday.” He set the cup down.
I didn’t answer. My eyes fell on the fresh lipstick mark at his collar—clearly new.
