David's pov

I stepped into the bedroom, the heavy scent of Andrea’s expensive perfume now sour and suffocating. She was a heap of white silk on the floor, her bridal veil discarded.

She didn't even look up at first. Her shoulders were shaking, the sounds she made more like a wounded animal than a woman. When she finally felt my presence, she lifted a face that was unrecognizable—smeared black ink, red splotches, and eyes that held a lifetime of hatred.

"Get out," she whispered, the words trembling.

I didn't move. I took one step toward the bed, my mind already calculating how to gather my things and vanish. That was...