Greta's heels clicked against the marble floor of her penthouse, though the sound carried no confidence tonight. Her body swayed, heavy with exhaustion and something darker. She slammed the door shut behind her, leaned against it, and slid to the ground with a choked breath.
"Damn it," she whispered, dragging a hand across her face. Her lipstick had smudged, her curls were loose, but none of it mattered. The only thing her mind saw was Alice—Alice walking in with that glowing smile, Alice claiming Travis with a kiss so unapologetically public that Greta's chest had cracked open.
She stumbled toward the cabinet, grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine, and poured it sloppily into a glass. One gulp, then another, but the ache in her throat didn't soften.
