Not ask what I did. Not even ask what I took. Ask what she kept.

Chapter 13 — The Ballroom

The last of it happened in the ballroom where Roman had meant to marry her — gold chairs, white roses, a champagne tower catching the crystal light, two hundred guests murmuring under chandeliers while the groom stood near the altar with his phone in his hand and no color left in his face.

Larissa clutched his arm hard enough to crease the sleeve.

And then I walked in, and every head in that room turned, and somewhere near the back a voice said, not quietly enough, “Isn’t that his ex-wife?” Roman came at me fast, low and urgent.