Marina and Madeline didn't get along—not even close. The tension between them was thicker than syrup, heavier than lead. They treated each other like enemies—worse than enemies.
The way Madeline spoke to Marina, the way Marina flinched under her gaze—it was clear they hated each other. And I couldn't help but chuckle internally, amused by the drama unfolding before me.
They finished their breakfast in silence, the air thick with unspoken hostility. Madeline didn't say a word to Marina as she stood up, grabbed her handbag, and walked out of the dining room, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a declaration of victory.
Marina stayed seated, her expression stony, her eyes burning with rage and humiliation.
I followed Madeline, my mind racing with the implications of the game I was now entangled in. The car was already waiting outside—a sleek, black luxury vehicle, shining under the morning sun.
