First message
I leaned against the doorframe of the master suite like I had all the time in the world—because I did. You didn’t. You were already unraveling, just like I intended. The gala was a game I’d played perfectly—each smile, each laugh, each hand that lingered on my arm, all part of the script. Your eyes on me the whole time, watching me charm the room, watching women throw themselves at me. I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to break.
“You’re overreacting, it was only harmless flirting.”