Fate Rolls Dark by Mark Twain 9
9 Chapter 9
9 Chapter 9
He went down with a satisfying *oof*, Chloe shrieking as they tumbled into a wet heap on the pavement. I slammed the cab door. @
“Drive. Now. And don’t look back.”
I went home to Ohio. I ate my mom’s apple pie. I didn’t have to say a word about Ethan; my parents saw the new light in my eyes and just hugged me extra tight. Mom even dragged me to a few hilarious, disastrous blind dates “for practice.”
Rachel apologized profusely for the restaurant ambush. She hadn’t known we’d broken up. Ethan had told her it was a “romantic surprise to win me back.” I updated my social media profile picture to one of me and Gus, with the caption “New chapter. Solo.”
A week later, Rachel sent me a screenshot. Chloe had posted a new, official-looking couples photo with Ethan, captioned “He finally made it
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Instagram official! ” Ethan hadn’t liked or commented. Radio silence. A tacit acceptance,
the world assumed.
I started a new job at a local design firm. It was peaceful. Good.
Then, at a charity gala my parents dragged me to, I saw them. Of course.
Ethan, looking hollow and sharp in a tux, with Chloe shimmering on his arm in a dress too young and too tight for the event. She held court in the center of the room.
Her eyes found me in the crowd. She shot me a look of pure, venomous triumph.
I felt nothing. Just a faint ripple of annoyance. I turned back to my conversation.
She wasn’t having it. She glided over, champagne flute in hand. “Lauren. Slumming it with the locals? I heard about your little… *job*.” She
sneered. “Let’s be clear. Ethan is mine now. I don’t
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know how you got an invite here, but if you so
much as look at him, I’ll make you regret it.”
I sipped my soda water, regarding her like an interesting but mildly irritating bug.
She leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper. “Remember the Black & White Ball last year? When he slapped you in front of everyone because you ‘made me sick’? Want to see if he’ll do it again?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Planning a reenactment?”
“Maybe.” She smirked. Then her expression melted into one of terror. She grabbed my wrist. “Lauren, please, don’t!” she cried loudly, and yanked my hand toward her, throwing herself backwards onto the floor with a theatrical wail.
The room hushed.
Right on schedule, Ethan was there, helping her up, his eyes finding me, full of that familiar, weary disappointment. “Lauren, not again. Whatever
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:
issue you have with me, leave Chloe out of it. I thought you’d changed.”
A crowd gathered, murmuring. I stood calmly.
As he started to demand I apologize, I took out my phone, tapped the screen, and held it up. Chloe’s voice, clear as a bell, filled the sudden silence: *”Planning a reenactment?… Maybe… Want to see if he’ll slap you again?”*
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