"Tabitha told me you stole Jasmine's boyfriend. I didn't believe a word of it. I've always thought you were a decent, self-respecting girl. I never believed you'd be the kind of homewrecker she made you out to be."
"You talked to Tabitha?" Lyra panicked, stepping forward. "Mom, it is not what you think. You can't believe her."
Delilah's voice spiked with rage. "Lyra, I have eyes! I know right from wrong, and I don't need you trying to manipulate me!"
Lyra lowered her gaze, all the color draining from her face.
Delilah stared at her daughter standing there with her head bowed. Her eyes darted downward, suddenly locking onto the slightly loose collar of Lyra's sweater.
The cool air swept in, exposing the blindingly fair skin of her neck and collarbone. But scattered across that flawless canvas were deep, unmistakable purple and red marks. The bruising evidence of passion was glaringly obvious, utterly impossible to hide.
The last thread of Delilah's restraint snapped. Absolute fury twisted her features. Breathing heavily, she lost complete control and reached out, yanking forcefully at the collar of Lyra's knit sweater.
"How could you do this?! How could you steal your best friend's man?!"
Panic seized Lyra's chest. Instinctively, she reached out to support her swaying mother, her voice thick with tears. "Mom..."
She looked up, years of buried resentment flashing in her eyes. "Jasmine stole my fiancé first, didn't she?"
That single sentence was like gasoline on the raging inferno of Delilah's anger. She glared at her daughter. "So you admit it?! So you decided to stoop to any level, to do whatever it took, just to steal a man back?!"
The crushing disappointment obliterated the last of Delilah's reason. She raised her hand, throwing her entire weight behind the motion as she swung forcefully toward Lyra's face.
Right as the slap was about to connect, a tall figure lunged forward. A strong arm wrapped around Lyra's waist, firmly pulling her out of the way.


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