Page 71 of Covetous

I whip my head toward Esme, praying I’m wrong. “Es?”

She won’t meet my eyes. Guilt and defiance war on her face, and she bites her lower lip, a telltale sign of remorse. But there’s a stubborn set to her jaw and a hint of challenge in the way she squares her shoulders. It’s all the confirmation I need.

They had sex.

“How long has this shit been going on?” I croak out, my voice strangled.

Esme shifts uncomfortably, still not looking at me.

“I came for my ring.” Ian breaks the tension, holding out his hand.

I want to scream. I want to throw the damn ring at his stupid face. But I can’t focus on him right now. Not when my best friend since kindergarten has just shattered my heart into a million jagged pieces.

“You fucked my man, so I fucked yours. Checkmate, bitch.” Esme’s words are pure venom, but I catch the slight waver in her voice, the barely perceptible tremble of her chin before she juts it out defiantly.

The hypocrisy of it all hits me hard. “Are you fucking serious, Esme? Really! You fucked Ian!”

“You didn’t want him—too obsessed with my man to take care of yours.” Her words are meant to cut deep, and they do. But there’s a brittleness to them, a fragility she’s trying so hard to hide behind her anger.

“Wow,” I laugh bitterly as Ian slides up next to her, looking way too pleased with himself. “How long has this been going on behind my back?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He smirks.

“Just this once.” Esme plucks his arm off her shoulder like it’s a used tissue. “You can go now,” she dismisses him.

“What?” Ian looks as shocked as I feel.

“Your services are no longer needed.” She gives him a hard shove toward the door.

“You bitches are crazy. Fuck both of you,” he sneers, snatching his ring from me.

“Fuck you too,” Esme shouts after him.

Ian storms out, cursing about us being “a white man’s bed wench.” Classy.

Then it’s just us—me and Esme. Seventeen years of friendship, crumbling to dust between the lines we crossed.

“So you fuck Ian to get back at me?” Rage boils under my skin, warring with the shame churning in my gut.

“Bitch, are you serious right now?” she yells but then visibly tries to rein it in. “Ian didn’t have to say shit. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Her words are like a punch in the stomach. “What are you talking about?”

“The way you looked at Victor before he left our trip. I’m not blind, Sky. Oh, and I read the text messages.”

My brows furrow. “What text messages?”

“In Cape Cod. The morning after I got wasted. You left your phone in your room when you were showering.”

My mind scrambles as I try to remember the texts. She’s known this whole time? “And you never said anything.”

“Neither did you,” she shoots back, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

True. “I was going to tell you tonight.”

“After fucking him all weekend?” She barks out a harsh laugh. “Seventeen years, Sky. I never thought you’d do me like this.”

“Don’t play innocent. You knew how I felt about him in high school, yet you still went after him.”

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