Bad time

The stale scent of cigarettes clung to my fingers as I stared blankly at the ashtray overflowing on the table.

I'd lost count of how many I'd smoked, each drag doing nothing to ease the storm raging inside me. My chest ached, a dull, relentless throb that matched the pounding in my head.

Maeve.

The image of her smirking face taunted me, and my blood boiled all over again. She knew exactly what she was doing, didn't she?

She knew I'd see them. Maybe she even wanted me to. And Layla—God, Layla. Her hands on Maeve, her lips brushing hers—it played on a loop in my mind, a cruel reel of betrayal I couldn't stop watching.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips as I lit another cigarette. Was I really surprised? I'd always been second best, hadn't I? To Leo, to my parents, and now, apparently, to Maeve. The thought made me grip the lighter harder, my knuckles whitening.