Veronica’s words slurred over the rim of her glass as she slammed it down on the low table in the private booth of Opal Noire. The club’s bass thumped through the walls like a second heartbeat, but inside the velvet-curtained space, the air was thick with liquor and resentment.

“His wife,” Charlie muttered, smirking. “And you're drunk,”

Veronica spat, voice wobbling between fury and tears. “His wife? Please. I was with him through childhood, through every summer his father dumped him in Japan to ‘fend for himself.’ I was the one who kept him company when he was lonely. And then that mute, timid little freak shows up and suddenly...