Ella
I didn’t flinch when the woman’s shrieks tore through the diner.
Gasps followed.
Forks clattered against ceramic plates. Chairs scraped the floor. Conversations died mid-sentence.
She stumbled into the dining area in nothing but her own humiliation, hands scrambling to cover what little dignity she had left. Her mascara streamed down her cheeks, black rivers carving through powdered skin. The confidence she’d worn like a crown minutes ago had evaporated.
Behind her, I walked out of the kitchen slowly.
Calmly.
Every step deliberate.
My pulse was steady. My breathing even. The kitchen heat still clung to my skin, but inside, I felt cold and precise.
I stopped just short of the dining tables and gave a small shrug. “Yes,” I said evenly. “That was me.”
The silence thickened.
An
