Deep Inside
It started with rain.
Not the kind that softly kissed sidewalks and made poets sigh, this was the kind of rain that punished glass, made traffic crawl, and turned neon lights into watery smears on the windows of Hotel Vellum. She’d chosen it for the anonymity, for the way it wrapped itself around her grief and said: stay here, nobody will ask you why your eyes are swollen.
Her name was Nina Delare, and her engagement had ended exactly four hours ago.