Because I’ve found something better.
Something worth watching.
“Eli?”
Emily’s voice pulls me back, sharp and sudden—like a hook behind the ribs. Siren-like, as always.
She’s watching me closely now, head tilted slightly, studying me like she already knows where my mind wandered.
I shrug, playing it cool. “I just liked her,” I say, flat and noncommittal, offering her nothing.
She doesn’t buy it. Of course she doesn’t. Emily is too clever for that, too finely tuned to bullshit. But she doesn’t press.
And that’s one of the many things I adore about her.
She lets me lie.
She lets me keep my secrets.
The session wraps with a few more crumbs—carefully curated half-truths about Jenny. Just enough to keep Emily intrigued.
She walks me out of her office, clipboard tucked against her hip, her expression slipping effortlessly into something polite and professional as she prepares to greet the next broken soul on her schedule.
And then—he appears.
Some smug prick of a doctor loitering by the reception desk. His hair’s too neat. His shoes are too polished. The moment hesees her, his eyes light up like Christmas came early.
He smiles atmyEmily.
My blood simmers. My fingers twitch.
I want to gouge his eyes out. Rip them from hisfuckingskull for daring to look at her like that.
“E—” he starts, catching himself. His gaze flicks to me. “Doctor Morgan,” he corrects, smoothing his tone, like I’m too stupid to notice the familiarity.
Then he leans in. Too close. His voice drops, just loud enough for me to hear. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?”
I nearly laugh.
The audacity.
Shethinks she can go on adate?
Withhim?
I should’ve bugged her phone. Sloppy. Rookie mistake.
Sneaky little witch.
She’s practically begging me to kill this man.
I have to breathe. Deep and slow.
Count backwards from ten.
It doesn’t help.
The thought of his blood, hot and thick on my hands, of watching the panic drain from his eyes as he realises—too late—what I am…