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So, instead of waiting for the storm, I become the storm.
As the girl raises a finger on her other hand, I raise my fist and without hesitation, slam it full force into the mirror. Glass shatters, branching out like a spider’s web as the girl’s face splinters.
Splintered. But not gone.
She’s still there and her finger has become dozens of slivered fingers.
But it’s still there.
It’s always been there.
Six.
With Dominic running an errand, I’m alone in what’s left of the BTN office with only silence and my thoughts. Peaceful for some, I guess. Not me.
After I woke up bloody with gashes all over my fist and no memory of how they got there, Dominic refused to let me out of his sight. Even a half-hour of arguing did nothing to sway him from forcing me to come here with him.
It took an office completely void of anything but chairs and desks for him to relent to leaving me alone here while he went to get another box. Still, I wouldn’t be surprised if Milly showed up with a pair of handcuffs and chloroform.
I run my finger along the now bare desks where laptops and phones once sat. I can imagine the chaos that once rang through this space. Pausing, I let my eyes wander toward Dominic’s glass enclosed office. I wonder what he was like during his reign over this town.
Wandering into his office, I sit down behind his desk, the soft leather chair hugging around me. It’s two days before Christmas. We should be buying presents and celebrating like normal people.
But we’re not normal. We never have been.
Because instead, we’re here, in an office building in West Hollywood, packing up what’s left of what was once both the most respected and feared celebrity news site. Beyond the News is officially bankrupt. After Dominic refused to take my money, the owner of the building evicted him, giving him twenty-four hours to evacuate.
Dominic McCallum, former media mogul and name on every A-lister’s lips is now penniless, homeless, and shunned by the very town that empowered him. That’s why we’re here.
Closing yet another chapter in the fucked-up love story of Angel and Dominic.
And I do love him. I haven’t said it, and maybe I never will.
I shouldn’t. If he’d left me in Chula Vista, none of this would’ve happened. But you can’t control who you love. Regardless of how wrong it is.
Frowning, I run my finger along the bandage on my hand. Hilda found a shattered mirror in the east wing bedroom. Neither she nor Dominic said the words, but the look they shared this morning said it for them.
They think I’ve lost it.
Maybe I have.
To be fair, the trail of blood led from the broken mirror to the bed I woke up in. The one I share with Dominic. I’m not stupid. I know facts when I see them. Nobody planted my blood or slashed my hand in the middle of the night.
I did it. I just don’t know why. I don’t remember.
More time lost. More static. Just more everything.
My thoughts turn to Violet. There are still no leads. She’s a missing person no one cares is missing. My best friend. My family. Just another victim in this twisted story, I think as I spin around in the chair. A casualty of greed and lies. Lies and greed.
Greedy little twisted lies.
“Dominic?”
My palms slam against the desk, stopping the constant rotation of the chair. It takes a few seconds for my brain to stop sloshing around in my head. Finally, it calms enough that I can see through the glass wall to the man standing at the office door. My defenses immediately go up. I’ve never seen him before. He’s muscular with bulging biceps that could crush me with one grip. I’m not sure what to do. I can lock myself in the office, but the damn thing is made of glass.
“Miss?” He steps further into the office. “Is Dominic McCallum here?”
I stand, hovering in front of the desk.
