His Fake Fiancee
Priscella's screech rattles in my ears as she fumbles to retrieve her own phone from her purse.
"Delete it, delete it," the girl whines, her hand covering her mouth.
Priscella's dagger-like nails stab at her phone screen, deep lines forming on her face. "I can't! It won't let me. Why can't I—"
I jump as the next stall door flings open, and what I see stops my heart in its tracks.
Sofia saunters out in blood-red velvet with a plunging neckline curving half-way down her center. She wears a contagious, dubious grin as she eyes the girls like they're garbage, merely bugs to squish beneath her soaring heels.