Audrey cowered behind Anthony, tears streaming prettily down her cheeks.
"Layla, if you liked it that much, I would've given it to you. Why steal? If word gets out, Anthony's reputation…"
Anthony's eyes slid shut. Patience gone.
"Sticky fingers. No use keeping you."
He flicked his wrist. Two guards seized my arms, one on each side, and slammed my hands flat against the table.
Anthony grabbed a wine bottle by the neck.
"If these hands can't make music—if all they know how to do is steal—then let's get rid of them."
My eyes went wide, locked on the bottle rising above me.
"Anthony! You can't do this! I was the one who sold my violin to help fund your startup—did you forget?!"
"Shut up!"
His roar shook the room. "Even now you're lying! You were the one who chased money, took it, and ran off with some other man!"
That. That was why he hated me.
That lie from years ago—it had festered in him like poison.
I was out of options.
Explanations were useless. Tears were useless. Whatever we'd once had was the biggest joke of all.
Crack.
The bottle came down.
White-hot pain exploded through my left hand. I heard bone shatter.
I didn't scream. Didn't cry.
When pain hits a certain point, it just… goes numb.
Blood and wine spread across the white tablecloth in a dark, creeping stain.
Anthony stared at that pool of red. His hand trembled. The bottle slipped from his grip and shattered on the floor.
He didn't expect me not to dodge.
I reached into my pocket with my uninjured right hand and pulled out a check.
Scott's advance from this morning. Fifty thousand dollars.
I slammed it onto the table—blood smearing across the paper, my handprint staining the numbers red.
I met Anthony's eyes. Mine were hollow.
"Mr. Vance."
"This hand pays for your necklace."
"This check covers the rest."
I turned and walked out, dragging my ruined hand behind me. Each step left a drop of blood on the floor.
"We're even."
