Ava felt like a sharp knife had been driven straight into her chest, the pain piercing and unbearable.
Her face turned deathly pale in an instant, and her legs could barely hold her up.
She gripped the railing tightly, her knuckles turning white.
This was the same man who had held her tightly just this morning,
saying he wished he could shrink her down and carry her in his pocket wherever he went.
But now, only a few hours later, he was walking alongside his ex, chatting and laughing as if nothing had ever changed.
Men—no matter how sweet their words—they're all just lies in the end.
Stella was startled by how pale Ava looked and quickly grabbed her arm, her face full of concern.
"Ava, are you okay? Are you feeling sick? Is the Ferris wheel too high? Are you afraid of heights?"
Ava nodded blankly, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.
It took nearly a full minute before her color began to return slightly. She managed a faint, bitter smile, tinged with self-mockery.
