She stood by the vanity table, her hands gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles were white. She was trembling, not from fear, but from a rage so pure and cold it felt like ice in her veins. She looked at the man on the bed.
Carlos, the man she had sacrificed everything for—her dignity, money, her future—was lying there, dirty and indifferent, as if he hadn't just destroyed their lives with his incompetence.
She scoffed. It was a harsh, ugly sound that broke the silence like a dropped glass.
"I was blind," Ashlyn said, her voice dripping with venom. "I was blind to think you could amount to anything. To think you had real talent. To think you had brains."
She shook her head slowly, looking at him as if he were a particularly stupid dog that had soiled the rug.
"I thought I was investing in a diamond," she spat. "But I was just polishing a piece of coal. A useless, dirty rock."
