Zeden.
I was angry.
I should be angry.
There were a million reasons stacked on top of each other, each one sharper than the last, but the one that burned hottest—the one that refused to let go—was Amber.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I still hadn’t punished her.
Not properly.
Not the way she deserved after raising her hand to me.
The image kept looping in my head: Delilah’s palm cracking across Amber’s cheek, champagne splashing over her uniform, soaking her hair, running down her face while she stood there trembling and dripping and refusing to cry in front of them.
It made me sick.
Physically sick.
My stomach twisted every time I replayed it.
I hated seeing her hurt.
Hated it more than anything.
And I hated even more that it wasn’t me doing the hurting.
That so
