Tiffany's POV
The heavy door of my apartment shuddered in its frame as I slammed it shut, making the cheap landscape prints on the wall rattle. A sharp, hot pulse radiated from my shoulder where the bullet had grazed me. I gritted my teeth against it. Physical pain was a fleeting nuisance, barely registering against the furnace of humiliation and rage blazing in my chest.
Stephanie. That self-righteous bitch had actually challenged me. As if I hadn't just bled on the concrete trying to save her precious, spoiled children.
I paced the living room, kicking over a lamp on the way. It crashed to the floor, glass scattering everywhere. Who cares? The place was a dump anyway.
I flopped onto the couch, wincing as the bandage pulled. My mind was racing. How was I going to get close again after this.
