Caroline’s Point of View
Dolly’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard—grating and sickly sweet.
“Of course, that would be me.”
She steps into view like she owns the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor with a deliberate kind of grace. Fake grace. The kind that screams ‘look at me, I belong here,’ when in reality, she’s always been a second choice, a shadow chasing after something that was never meant to be hers.
Her eyes shine with triumph, but I see past the glittering facade. It’s not confidence. It’s desperation. A hunger to prove—to herself, to me, to everyone—that she has won. That she has him.
And yet, the way she moves, the way she clings, it’s all too telling.
She boldly slips her arm through Knoxx’s, her fingers curling around his bicep like she’s afraid he’ll slip away if she doesn’t hold on tight enough. And maybe, deep down, she knows the truth.
That he isn’t hers. Not really. Not fully.
But that doesn’t stop her.
Her touch is deliberate, a statement. A patheti
