The morning sunlight streamed through the window, catching the strands of her hair as his arm wrapped around her waist. Their bodies were impossibly close. Too close.
My stomach twisted violently, a cold, sick feeling spreading through me.
Damian glanced up the moment he heard me. His face paled for a heartbeat, but then he forced a calm smile. A bright lipstick stain lingered near his mouth, bold and unapologetic, as if he wanted me to see it. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe it away.
“Chiara… why are you here?” I managed to croak.
Before she could answer, Damian spoke for her. “She just wanted to come by,” he said, voice steady. “She heard you were out. Chiara helped me a lot while you… weren’t around. She visits the cemetery every year, too. Brings flowers, toys, ballet shoes. Takes care of your daughter’s grave.”
My chest constricted. My heartbeat thundered, drowning out every sound around me.
“What did you just say?” I whispered at first, my voice barely audible. Then it rose, uncontrollable. “What right does she have?! What right does she have to go there, to stand at my daughter’s grave?”
My whole body trembled. “No murderer deserves to be there. None.”
Damian didn’t look me in the eyes. His gaze was cast downward, voice quiet. “I already had a ritual performed. The child… she accepted her as her godmother.”
My blood ran cold. My veins felt like they were full of knives. A godmother? That fucking… godmother?
Chiara stepped closer, a bouquet in her hands. “Clara,” she said softly, offering them to me. “These are for you. Congratulations on your new life.”
The scent hit me first—overpowering, cloying, suffocating. My skin crawled, a maddening itch spreading up my arms, along my neck, across my face. Every ounce of her—the way she spoke, smiled, smelled—felt like venom.
I slapped the flowers out of her hands. They tumbled to the floor, petals scattering across the tiles. I didn’t even have the energy to yell. What was the point? They’d already stripped everything from me.
I took a few shaky steps backward, trying to escape the sight of her. And then I heard it: her voice, cutting through the silence.
“0621!”
The call of that number hit me instinctively. My body reacted before my mind caught up. “Here!” I shouted, almost automatically.
I didn’t even realize why I responded until her sharp, mocking laugh followed.