But when I raised my hand again, swinging at Roberta—

Clay shoved me away.

"Enough! Even now, you're still bullying Roberta!"

I wiped my tears and ground out every word through clenched teeth.

"I never did any of that! None of it! Clay Vance! Roberta is the one who stole my boyfriends! She's the one who eloped with my ex at the wedding and sent my mother into a rage until she collapsed!"

"There were witnesses. Every chat log is still on my phone. You can check for yourself—"

"Enough!"

Clay's palm cracked across my face, cutting me off mid-sentence.

His expression was murderous.

"Even now, you won't admit it. You won't repent."

"Lydia, I never knew you were this shameless. This heartless."

"You won't confess? Still lying?" His voice dropped to something dangerous. "Fine. Let's see just how stubborn you really are."

He stood, seized my arm, and dragged me toward the stairs.

"Clay! Let go of me!"

He ignored my struggling, hauled me down to the basement freezer, and shoved me inside. The lock clicked into place.

"Let me out! Clay!"

I slammed my fists against the door, over and over.

The only answer was his voice, cold and merciless, from the other side.

"You won't admit it? Then let's find out what gives first. Your life, or your pride."

"The moment you confess and get on your knees to apologize to Roberta, I'll let you out."

I pounded on the door until my hands went numb. No one came.

The cold seeped in fast.

I slid to the floor, helpless, my body temperature dropping by the second.

I didn't know how long I'd been in there when the door finally opened.

I looked up. Roberta rushed in, face full of concern, reaching down to help me to my feet.

"Sweetie, are you okay? Come on, let's get you out of here! We need to get you to a hospital!"

I stared at the sincerity painted across her face, and something inside me split apart.

"Roberta, why are you doing this to me?" My voice cracked, barely holding together. "What did I ever do to you? Why do you keep hurting me?"

If I had to choose who I hated more, it wasn't Clay. It was her.

We'd grown up together. We'd been best friends since childhood.

I was the one who stepped in front of her when that senior girl tried to slap her in school. Took the hit for her.

And she'd clung to my arm and sworn we'd be together forever.

Yet this was the same girl who, later, drove a knife into my heart again and again.

Roberta put on a wounded, aggrieved expression.