Back at Charlotte's apartment, the clock on the wall ticked loudly in the silence. Charlotte sat on the couch, her legs crossed, her body unnervingly still.
Her pale face was void of emotion, but her eyes—her cold, piercing eyes, were fixed on the table before her.
Spread out before her were the artifacts of betrayal.
The old picture of Ethan and Lena, their familiar smiles that seem to be mocking her. The photograph of her younger self, a version of her that shouldn't exist in Lena's possession.
And the old phone, the one she had unlocked earlier, revealing messages that had ripped the floor out from under her.
Charlotte's mind had been spinning all day with no answers but only a storm of questions.
None hurt more than the one that burned in her chest.
"Why?" The word kept ringing in her head nonstop.
Suddenly, a screeching sound outside broke the silence, and a car came to a stop. Then Charlotte's gaze flicked toward the clock.
