Amelia had no intention of arguing, but at Violet’s words she turned, eyes sharp. “When did you start moonlighting at the courthouse? Are you planning to process our divorce papers now?”
It wasn’t that Amelia cared about the marriage itself. What she couldn’t stand was how Violet was so eager to shove her out the door before she’d even secured her own place.
Violet blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Isn’t it only a matter of time?”
Amelia pulled out her phone and, right in front of Violet, scrolled to Daniel’s number.
“Fine by me. The sooner the better, actually. Since you’re so keen, you can tell Daniel yourself—have him bring his ID. I’ll book us a divorce appointment online.”
She hadn’t expected Amelia to play along so readily. For a moment, Violet’s composure slipped. She reached out, pressing down on Amelia’s phone. “Don’t call Daniel—”
“Don’t touch me.”
Amelia jerked her hand away, dodging Violet’s grasp. She barely used any force, but Violet suddenly toppled backward like a fragile leaf, sprawling onto the floor.
The lobby manager, noticing the commotion, hurried over. “Miss, are you all right?”
Violet raised her arm. When she fell, her hand had scraped against a standing ashtray, leaving a vivid red mark on her pale skin.
“Amelia,” Violet’s voice trembled with a mix of hurt and outrage. “All I did was talk to you, did you really need to get physical?”
Amelia immediately turned to the manager. “You have security cameras in here, right? Please pull up the footage.”
The manager went off to get the recording. Violet stayed where she was, sitting on the floor. That’s when Finley walked in and saw the two women locked in a silent standoff—one standing, one sitting. His heart skipped a beat, and he rushed over.
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