I came back from the art supply store later than I planned, my arms loaded with new charcoal sticks, a fresh sketchpad, and a canvas board that might actually save my centerpiece piece. The house was quiet when I pushed through the front door, but something felt off immediately — a pair of unfamiliar heels by the foyer table, the low murmur of voices from the living room. I froze in the hallway, heart already picking up speed. There they were. Damien on the couch, a tall brunette straddling his lap, her hands in his hair as they made out like they were the only two people in the world. Her skirt had ridden up, his hand gripping her thigh. It looked practiced. Comfortable. My stomach dropped straight through the floor. The bags slipped from my fingers, hitting the hardwood with a dull thud. “WTF?” The words burst out before I could stop them. The girl pulled back, startled, smoothing her hair as she turned. Damien’s storm-gray eyes locked on mine, unreadable at first. She smiled —
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