---- Chapter 6 Elaina Higgins POV: Derek caught up to me on the sidewalk, grabbing my arm. "Elaina, talk to me! What's going on?" | wrenched my arm from his grasp, turning to face him. The carefully constructed dam of my composure finally broke. "Don't you touch me," | seethed, my voice low and trembling with rage. "Don't you ever touch me again." His face was a mixture of confusion and hurt. "What did | do? Is this about the tasting? | told you, it was a work emergency!" "Stop lying!" The words ripped from my throat, raw and painful. "Just for once, stop lying to my face, Derek!" A crowd was starting to gather, their curious glances feeling like physical blows. This was exactly what he hated: a public scene. His perfect, curated image was cracking at the seams. "Let's not do this here," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper, his eyes darting around nervously. "Let's go home and talk about this." "There's nothing to talk about," | said, my voice cold as ice. "I know where you're going. | know who you're going to see. Go. Have fun. Get your 'final fix'. ---- The color drained from his face. He looked like | had physically struck him. "Elaina... who told you that?" "Does it matter?" | shot back. "It's the truth, isn't it?" He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had no more lies left. We stood there on the crowded sidewalk, the chasm between us wider than the street. "L... | can explain," he finally stammered. "| don't want your explanations," | said, turning my back on him. "I'm done." | walked away, hailing the first cab | saw. | didn't look back, but | could feel his eyes burning into me. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, | saw him standing there, a solitary, defeated figure amidst the bustling city. For a fleeting moment, | felt a pang of the old love, a ghost of the connection we once shared. Then | remembered the casual cruelty in his voice as he called me "predictable," and the feeling vanished, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. When | got back to the apartment, it felt alien, a museum of a life that was no longer mine. | walked straight to my closet and pulled out the suitcase containing my mother's things. My hands were shaking as | opened the box holding her wedding dress. It was still pristine, the lace as delicate as a spider's web. It was a symbol of hope, of a pure and lasting love. ---- It was a lie. A sound from the living room startled me. Cory Pennington was standing in the middle of our apartment, a malicious smile twisting her perfect lips. She was holding my mother's pearl-encrusted purse. "Looking for this?" she purred, dangling it from her fingers. "Derek gave me a key. He said to make myself at home." Rage, pure and undiluted, flooded my veins. "Get out of my house," | said, my voice dangerously quiet. "Or what?" she taunted, stepping closer. She ran a perfectly manicured nail over the delicate pearls of the purse. "This is pretty. Old-fashioned, though. Just like you." With a flick of her wrist, she broke the clasp. The tiny, iridescent pearls scattered across the hardwood floor like fallen tears. A sound of pure anguish escaped my lips. That purse was one of the last things | had of my mother's. "You bitch," | whispered, lunging for her. | didn't know what | was going to do. Slap her. Scream at her. But | never got the chance. The front door opened and Derek rushed in. He saw the scene -me reaching for Cory, her with a look of feigned terror on her face-and he reacted instantly. He shoved me. ---- He didn't just block me. He shoved me, hard. | lost my balance, my twisted ankle giving way. | fell backwards, my head hitting the sharp corner of the mahogany coffee table with a sickening crack. The world exploded in a starburst of white-hot pain. The last thing | saw before darkness consumed me was Derek, his arms wrapped around Cory, pulling her away from me, protecting her. He chose her. Even now, he chose her. Blood, warm and sticky, began to pool around my head, staining the pristine white lace of my mother's dress, which | was still holding in a death grip. The beautiful symbol of hope was now a shroud, soaked in the blood of my shattered heart and broken dreams.