Sabrina sat on the sa seat, at the sa table, nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold, long after Es had left. The café had emptied and refilled again around her, ti moving in ways she refused to follow.
She tried to make head or tail of what had just happened—of how her last thread of hope had severed itself so cleanly, of why she had ever allowed herself to form such a relationship in the first place when it had never been ant to last.
Regret pressed heavily against her chest. She regretted every second of it. Every swallowed insult. Every mont she had smiled through Es’s condescension, through the deliberate belittling, the way Es always found a way to make her feel smaller, lesser—even back when she had still been a designer at Whitman’s, still had a title, still had a place in society.
She lifted the cup and took a sip of the cold coffee, not flinching at the temperature. Her mind was far too fixated on more troubling matters to concern itself with sothing as trivial as heat or cold.
And it had been the bitch who reached out first—after the auction, after Noah had declared his undying love for Gianna in front of an audience that had eaten it up like sugar.
Sabrina’s face twisted in disgust.
Unaware of it, her fingers traced the rim of the cup in slow, dangerous circles as her mind replayed Noah’s words, replayed the humiliation she had endured that day.
She took another sip, swallowing the bitter liquid with an ease she hadn’t known she possessed.
It was as though Gianna’s re existence guaranteed her humiliation. Like parallel lines, except on the rare occasions Gianna had been torn apart by grief.
Those monts had given Sabrina so relief. So breathing room.
Now, her cousin was back in full force.
And Sabrina knew that unless she did sothing about it, she would continue to be treated with the sa relentless humiliation. Equal parts ridicule and dismissal.
And oh, she would do sothing. Even if it was the last thing she did before leaving the country.
She sighed and took another sip of the coffee, its coldness seeming to harden her further, layering resolve over bitterness.
The more she thought about her situation, the clearer it beca—leaving the country was her best option. Her career here was already in shambles. Her na dragged through mud.
She had banked everything on Es’s help. Maybe convincing her to let her uncle hire her—he had always been known for taking in strays. Then together, they would make Gianna’s life a living hell.
She had believed in it so deeply that she had swallowed Es’s gibes, her insults, her contempt.
And now... all of that was for nothing?
Sabrina gritted her teeth and took another sip of the damning coffee.
It’s because of that bitch, she reasoned, nodding slowly to herself. It’s all because of Gianna.
If Gianna had remained obscure, who was Es to speak to her that way—when Es herself had been the one to initiate the deal? To conspire. To plot Gianna’s downfall.
Of course, Sabrina hadn’t been foolish enough to believe they were friends. But hatred for Gianna—and the desire to claw back sothing for themselves—had bound them together.
She had thought it would be enough. Enough to give her ti to form a second plan.
Now she had nothing.
How would she pay off the debts hanging on her shoulders?
Sabrina drained the remaining contents of the cup, grimacing as the bitterness which pooled at the bottom slid down her throat. She sucked her teeth, pushed herself to her feet, and dropped paynt on the table without leaving a tip.
She needed money more than any goddamn waiter.
As she walked out of the café, her steps quickened. Unease prickled along her spine when she realized people were staring. So openly. So discreetly. A few phones lifted, screens glinting.
How had she been so stupid as to sit this long in a public space?
She reached the corner and waited for a cab, heart thudding. That was when she saw them—so citizens approaching with fuming expressions, holding a basket.
Tomatoes?
The thought barely ford before the first one was thrown.
Red paste splattered across her clothes. Another followed. Then another.
"What the hell is wrong with you people?" she scread. "Don’t you have respect? You can be sued for this!"
The rest of her words died in her mouth as it turned into a full-blown throwing competition.
She scread when one struck her face, then turned and ran, tears streaming as they pursued her.
She wasn’t a fast runner.
Before she could slip into a cab—whose driver seemingly had taken pity on her, a victim of modern jungle justice—she was soaked head to toe in tomato paste.
"Here," the driver said gently, handing her a handkerchief.
She wanted to snap at him. To tell him to mind his business. To scream. But she swallowed the urge, still crying, unwilling to risk being thrown back to the wolves. She accepted it instead.
"Thank you," she forced out, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart.
When he dropped her off, she reached for her bag to pay him—and cursed aloud when she realized it was gone. Lost in the chaos. Lost while running for her life.
Her vision blurred with tears. Sohow, she knew her humiliation had been recorded. Everything was recorded these days. She must have looked unhinged. Wild. Ridiculous.
"Sabrina..."
She froze.
The driver’s voice caught her off guard. How did he know her na?
"You’re quite popular these days," he said mildly.
She stared at him. He wasn’t as old as she had thought. Early forties, maybe. Hard living had aged him. Still—how dare he?
"And is that how you address ?" she snapped. "Do you know who I am?"
She flung the stained handkerchief back at his face, forgetting—briefly—that she hadn’t paid him.
The driver sighed, removed it slowly, then asked for his fare.
Sabrina swallowed but kept her chin high. "Wait here. I’ll get it from my family."
He tilted his head. "Or maybe I’ll take paynt another way," he said calmly, "since your family is fast on the track to being poor..."
Reviews
All reviews (0)