It wasn’t hanging anymore.
What I found instead—crumpled in the back corner—was a crime scene.
My dress was torn to shreds. Like someone took a blade to it. Fabric slashed, straps ripped, one side of the bodice almost shredded down the seam. Red lipstick smeared across the chest—mocking, messy, deliberate.
My heels were gone. My earrings? Snapped in half.
Not an accident. Not a mistake.
Zoraya did this.
I stormed out, fists clenched, the ruined gown balled up in my arms. My voice was shaking, but I still spoke.
“What the hell is this?”
And there she was. Already dressed. Black velvet. Tight. Expensive. Sleeves draped off the shoulders. She looked like a widow at a funeral she planned herself.
Zeus stood behind her, zipping her up like she was fragile. Like he was hers. She turned slowly when she saw me. Smiled. That soft, sugary smile that always came right before the knife.
“Oh no…” she said, her tone low, fake concern curling at the edges. “Did something happen to your dress?”
I didn’t say a word. Just stared.
Zoraya placed a delicate hand on her chest like she cared. “That’s so unfortunate. I did see one of the maids messing around in the closet earlier. I thought she was trying to help… I didn’t realize she’d ruin it. You should talk to Zeus about getting new staff.”
She tilted her head, eyes wide with fake innocence. “I’ll bring you takeout, don’t worry. You rest.”
I looked at Zeus. Waiting. Hoping—pathetically—for him to speak. To defend me. To say something that didn’t make me want to burn the whole building down. Instead, he just fixed the cuff on his sleeve.
“We don’t have time for drama tonight, Sav,” he said. “The car’s already waiting.”
Like I was some tantrum he had to manage. Like I wasn’t the woman who bled beside him, kept his secrets, buried his bodies.
Zoraya looped her arm through his like a prize. “Come on, babe. You’ll make us late.”
They walked out the door like I wasn’t even there.
The moment it clicked shut, silence swallowed the apartment.
Lights dim. Kitchen empty. The scent of her perfume lingered like poison in the air. I sat at the counter, staring at the bottle of prenatal vitamins he left behind.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just… sat there. Until my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
For a second, I didn’t want to answer. I almost didn’t. Then I did.
“…Hello?”
A pause. Then a voice—older, measured, steady.
“Miss Savannah Smith?”
My breath caught.