Braelyn's POV
For a second, I just stood there, frozen in place trying to make sense of what my eyes were telling me.
Genny. What was she doing here?
She looked nothing like herself.
Her hair was a wild mess, strands clinging to her flushed face. Mascara smudged beneath glassy eyes. Her dress hung crookedly on her body, one strap barely holding on, the fabric wrinkled and tugged as if someone had been too rough with it. She smelled like alcohol.
Her face was completely flushed thanks to the alcohol and unrestrained anger.
But I didn't care about any of that. It didn't matter who offended whom; all I saw was that she was in a compromised position.
All I could see was the way she trembled. The way her shoulders shook as she tried to hold herself together.
And the bastard in front of her. Something ugly and feral rose in my chest.
