Chapter 1
Our anniversary was supposed to be soft.
Quiet.
Safe.
David had booked a corner table at Bellmont, the kind of restaurant where the candles were real, the waiters spoke in low voices, and the wine list looked more expensive than my rent used to be.
One year.
That was what we were celebrating.
One year since he had smiled at me in a bookstore while I was trying to reach the top shelf.
One year since he had asked me for coffee.
One year since I had learned that love could feel calm instead of loud.
He reached across the white tablecloth and took my hand.
“You look nervous,” he said.
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve been stirring your water with a fork.”
I looked down.
He laughed softly.
Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
My heart jumped.
A small velvet box appeared in his hand.
Not big enough for a ring.
Maybe earrings.
Maybe something sweet and unnecessary.
“Claire,” he said, his voice suddenly serious.
Before he could open it, a shout ripped through the restaurant.
“WHERE IS HE?”
Every head turned.
Mine did too.
A woman in a red dress was pushing past the hostess stand.
Her hair was loose and wild around her face.
Her eyes were bright, furious, almost feverish.
My stomach dropped before anyone said her name.
Tiffany.
David’s ex.
The woman he had left fifteen months ago.
The woman who still called him from blocked numbers.
The woman who once left dead roses on our porch with my name written on the ribbon.
She saw us.
Her face changed.
The whole restaurant seemed to inhale.
Then she ran.
David stood, but she reached me first.
Her hand cracked across my face so hard my champagne glass tipped, slid, and shattered across the table.
Pain burst hot under my cheekbone.
The room went silent.
“You little thief!” Tiffany screamed. “You stole him from me!”
I sat frozen, one hand pressed to my burning skin.
David moved between us.
“Tiffany,” he said, low and sharp. “Stop.”
She pointed past him at me.
“She doesn’t deserve you. She’s nothing. She’s just what you picked because I wouldn’t answer fast enough.”
“You didn’t answer,” David said. “You cheated. You lied. Then I ended it.”
Her mouth twisted.
“You said you’d wait for me.”
“I never said that.”
“You still love me.”
“No.”
That one word struck her harder than any shout could have.
Her eyes filled.
Then emptied.
I had seen that look once before.
Outside my apartment building, when she stood across the street in the rain and smiled as my car alarm screamed.
David turned to the manager, who was hurrying toward us.
“Call the police,” he said clearly. “She’s violating a restraining order. Again.”
Tiffany stopped crying.
Her hand slipped into her purse.
Something silver flashed.
“If I can’t have you,” she whispered, pulling out a small knife, “no one can.”
A woman screamed.
David grabbed my arm and pushed me behind him.
The waiter nearest us picked up a chair like a shield.
The manager froze.
Tiffany stepped forward.
“Tiffany,” David warned.
She laughed.
It did not sound human.
May you like
“You ruined him,” she said to me. “You made him forget me.”
Then she lunged.
