Walking through the lobby with a stack of papers under my arm and a bulging purse is like a beacon of shame.
Or maybe it's just my face.
Either way, it's hard to keep heat from flushing my cheeks red and letting everyone know I'm affected by their stares.
I tap the "Confirm Ride" button on my phone, already anticipating the sweet relief of escaping this suffocating place. My gaze lifts from the screen, and I nearly collide with a figure blocking my path. My breath catches as recognition hits me like a punch to the gut.
Blonde hair. Fit body. All black attire. Red-rimmed eyes that bore into me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.
It's her.
Before I can even open my mouth to speak—not that I have a single clue what to say—she unleashes a primal scream that stops me cold.
"You killed him! You killed my mate!"
