The first slap cracked across Clara's cheek, snapping her head to the side.
The second left a flush of red spreading across her pale skin.
The third slap brought a choked sob from her, a sound of pure shock and pain. She cradled her face, tears finally breaking free and tracking clean paths through her expensive foundation as jo stepped back.
"You should be grateful," I said, my tone colder than the marble beneath us, "that I don't like touching women."
Her sobs were thin, pathetic things, swallowed by the cavernous silence of the penthouse. She looked at me, her face a mess of tears and red fingerprints, a portrait of shattered delusion. "But I did it for you," she whispered, the words trembling. "I did it because I love you, Adrien. I just wanted them to… show you."
The silence that followed was absolute. I didn't move, didn't breathe. I just watched the lie crumble on her lips. Cameron stood impassively by the door, a silent statue of judgment.
