“I’m sorry, say that again?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, a fire growing steadily in the pit of my stomach. She swallows, the pale skin of her neck blossoming a deep shade of red. “She wasn’t yours, Alex.” “Don’t call me that.” The nickname is too tender, whispers of it slipping off another woman’s tongue too fresh. My mind is racing, reframing everything I thought I knew from my past, a tendril of intuition prodding at my back. “Whose was it?” Her eyes drop, the cerulean blue growing glassy as she stutters out a shaky breath. She purses her lips. “I think you know.” My chest caves in.
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