Page 103 of Heartless Sinner

I watch myself on the screen sitting in a chair in front of the desk, staring into space as if I've lost my mind.

I had at the time.

My past self's eyes are vacant, dark circles beneath them like bruises.

From the look of me, I can tell that was one of my earlier sessions when I'd just arrived and was going through all sorts of withdrawal symptoms. The memory of those days hits me like a physical blow, making me nauseous.

Those sessions were with Dr. Polinsky. She was one of the nicest people I'd ever met in my life, but during those sessions, she felt like my greatest enemy. Every kind word from her had felt like sandpaper on raw nerves.

It was like that for a long time until her team got me under control and back to normal. She was the reason I was able to leave the hospital with my mind intact and a chance for the future. The thought offers no comfort now as my past self writhes on screen.

"What do you think will help you, Scarlett?" asks Dr. Polinsky's soothing voice on the recording. It echoes through the silent room, each word a blow to my dignity.

The version of myself on the screen screams, "I need more drugs. Just give me more drugs. Give me anything!" The desperate plea rips through the elegant space like a knife.

My hands instinctively clutch my heart as I stare at myself ripping a chunk of my hair out, then the screams continue. Shrill, loud, humiliating.

Each cry feels like it's being torn from my own throat now.

My past self’s screams ripple around the room until I descend into a bout of sobs. I watch myself lower to the floor, where I hug myself and cry. The sounds of my past pain fill the room, bouncing off the marble and crystal until they seem to come from everywhere at once.

How strange. We were all silent before but now a different sort of silence has drifted over us as everyone watches the broken version of me. It's the silence of vultures circling, waiting to feed on the remains of my dignity.

Embarrassment floods me like nothing I've ever felt in my life and I stand, my gaze snapping to Eloise, who is loving this. Her smile cuts like a blade, triumph gleaming in her eyes.

Shedid this.

This woman has insulted me because I'm married to the man she wants.

What an absolute bitch. I'm all for keeping the peace but I can't let this slide. Rage burns through me, hot enough to scorch away the shame.

Lucy and Genevieve are calling to me but I ignore them and march up to Eloise, right onto the stage, each step echoing with purpose.

I stop in front of her and glare at her, ready for a fight. My hands shake with fury, nails biting into my palms. "Turn it off now."

She gives me that stupid look, as if she doesn't know what's going on. Her false innocence makes bile rise in my throat. "I've been trying to. I have no idea how it got there."

"You expect me to believe that? You have no right to do this to me." My voice trembles with barely-contained rage.

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"Save the shit, Eloise. You did this. Who else would do it?"

She laughs a little and flicks her wrist. "Okay, somaybemy files got mixed up and yours accidentally ended up in my presentation." Her voice drips with false innocence, each word carefully chosen to cut.

"What the hell are you talking about? What files?" The words scrape past my tight throat.

"Files from my private investigator. I wanted to see what type of trash Micah was marrying. And my, did I get the shock of my life. You really aretrash." Her lips curl in a sneer that makes my skin crawl.

"You bitch. You have no right to investigate me." My hands shake with rage, blood pounding in my ears.

"Maybe not, but you, my dear... something's not right with you. I didn't find everything, but I thought we all deserved to know who you are." She raises her voice so everyone can hear, the words echoing off the ornate ceiling. "You and Micah never seemed legit to me. You claim to have dated for over six months, yet during that time, you cleaned hotels and worked in a gritty little diner in Denver. That was until weeks before your wedding."

"That has nothing to do with you," I snap, but my body feels like stone is running through my veins.

"The Micah I know would never allow any girlfriend of his to work in places like that. Not for so long. So, do tell me, Mrs. Delarosa, did he pay you to marry him? How much did he pay you?" Her words slice through the air like poisoned daggers.

"Stop it." I hate how my voice trembles, betraying my weakness.

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