The Girl Money Couldn't Buy
Years later, we met again. He was a titan of industry now, wielding immense power.
He appeared at an exclusive event, bidding on a necklace for his girlfriend.
Someone teased him, "Wedding bells in the near future, Mr. Prescott?"
Cain Prescott lifted his gaze, a lazy disinterest in his eyes. "Just a bit of fun. It’s not serious."
And then he saw me. The smile on his lips froze.
Before the watchful eyes of everyone present, he rose from his seat and walked toward me, his stride calm and measured.
My mind went blank. All I could manage to think of was a simple greeting: "It's been a long time—"
The next second, a hand of steel clamped around my throat, pinning me to the wall.
"You dare come back?"
He smiled, a chillingly pleasant expression on his face. "Didn't I tell you? If you ever showed your face again, I would destroy you."
1
The air conditioning in the auction hall was glacial. I’d been plied with chilled champagne at dinner, and now a sharp cramp twisted in my stomach.
Not far off, a cluster of socialites were gossiping.
"Are those wedding bells I hear? Mr. Prescott buying another necklace to win the lady's favor?"
Cain lifted his eyes, a lazy boredom in them. "Just a bit of fun. It’s not serious."
Even seated among the city's elite, he was a star in its own orbit, incandescent. Every gesture radiated an aristocratic power that was both innate and intimidating. The entire upper echelon of New York society revered him.
A knot of anxiety tightened in my chest. Why him? Why here?
I had checked… I had specifically checked the guest list.
I was standing behind the auction stage, slightly hunched over from the pain in my stomach. The movement caused the fabric of my form-fitting gown, once perfectly smooth, to wrinkle. This was my first auction since returning to the States, the first time I was presenting my own work.
Someone’s voice drifted over, laced with curiosity. "Could it be because of what happened back then…"
Cain let out a short, derisive laugh. "Her? She wishes."
The house lights began to dim, shrouding Cain's sharp features in shadow, his expression unreadable. I was plunged into an icy memory of the last phone call he ever made to me.
People who play with hearts, he'd said, his voice cold as the grave, go to hell.
He told me he would never forgive me. Not in this lifetime.
"Miss Miller, would you like to come up and introduce your piece?" the auctioneer's voice boomed, suddenly calling me out.
A single spotlight pierced the darkness from above, trapping me in its brilliant glare, making me the center of everyone's attention. The audience was a sea of shadows. I couldn't see Cain's face, couldn't guess at his reaction.
Silence descended upon the hall as everyone waited for me to speak. I clutched the microphone, my knuckles white, and deliberately fixed my gaze on a point far beyond where I knew he was sitting.
"Good evening, everyone. I am Elara Miller, the jewelry designer of tonight's featured piece. It's an honor to present my work to you all..."
The entire time, I was on autopilot, my words a meaningless blur. A desperate prayer echoed in my mind: Maybe he's already left. Maybe he didn't recognize me.
Clinging to that sliver of hope, I slipped off the stage, aiming for the dimly lit fire escape on the side of the hall.
Just as I reached for the door, a small, menacing point of red light flared in the darkness ahead—the burning tip of a cigarette.
A tall silhouette detached itself from the shadows and moved toward me. A pair of long, impeccably tailored legs entered my vision. Before I could process it, a hand was around my neck.
My back slammed against the cold, hard wall. A familiar, aggressive scent of cold mint and tobacco filled my senses.
Cain's voice, a low and dangerous murmur, reached my ears. "You dare come back?" he repeated. "Didn't I tell you? If I ever saw you again, I would destroy you."
I tilted my head back, forced to look into those once-familiar eyes. The deep affection that used to reside there was gone, replaced by a chilling emptiness. I leaned against the wall, meeting his gaze in a silent standoff.
He suddenly broke the silence with a laugh. "Cat got your tongue?"
"I have nothing to say."
The hand on my jaw tightened, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. Cain's voice dropped to a whisper, each word a shard of ice. "Elara. Say that again. I dare you."
The sound of high heels echoed from the stairwell. A soft, feminine voice called out hesitantly, "Cain? Are you in there? The auction is over."
Cain squeezed his eyes shut, visibly suppressing the fury simmering within them. The pressure on my neck abruptly vanished. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and meticulously wiped his hand, as if he'd just touched something filthy.
"Stay out there," he called back, his voice steady. "It's cold in here."
The footsteps stopped immediately. "Okay," the woman replied. "Don't be long."
I slumped against the wall, gasping for air, loosening the collar of my gown. A sheen of cold sweat had broken out on my forehead. Our ragged breaths mingled in the tight space.
Cain gave me one last, lingering look before pushing the door open and disappearing into the hall.
2
The necklace sold for fifty million dollars.
To Cain Prescott.
It would be some time before the funds cleared, however, which meant I was stuck in the city for the foreseeable future.
Two weeks later, I met its new owner at a gallery opening hosted by a major jeweler.
"Elara?"
She recognized me first, greeting me with an effusive warmth that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's been ages!"
Her name was Helena Vance. We'd been in the same high school. Daughter of a wealthy family, she'd sailed through life on a sea of privilege. The year I dropped out, we’d had… a falling out.
I blinked, feigning a look of pleasant surprise. "Helena! I can't believe it. What are you doing here?"
The multi-million-dollar sapphire necklace—my creation—rested against the elegant column of her throat, its brilliance almost blinding.
Her eyes swept over me, a subtle, sharp appraisal. "Did you finally make it big?" she asked, the implication clear: only the rich and powerful received invitations to events like this.
I forced a tight smile. "I'm the designer of your necklace. I managed to pull some strings for an invitation."
A person's expression is a marvel of subtlety. A smile, for instance, can so easily mask a sneer.
She waved a hand towards someone behind me, her voice exaggeratedly bright. "Cain, look who I ran into!"
I didn't turn around, but I could feel a hostile gaze boring into my back, sharp and cold.
"You shouldn't talk to strangers," Cain's voice drifted over, laced with condescension. "You never know what kind of trouble they'll drag you into."
I kept my head down, pretending I hadn't heard.
Helena, ever the instigator, fanned the flames. "Oh, that's right, I forgot. You have some experience with that, don't you? Swindled out of your money, your heart, your… everything. So tragic. Right, Elara?"
The gallery owner, a portly man with beady eyes, perked up at the scent of gossip. "Someone had the nerve to scam Mr. Prescott? Who would be that foolish?"
Helena shot me a sideways glance, a picture of polished grace. "Oh, just some nobody from the gutter. It's too embarrassing to even mention her name."
The owner nodded sagely. "Quite right. Girls from that background are fine for a bit of fun, but for marriage? Utterly unsuitable."
Through it all, Cain stood back, a silent, cold observer to the entire spectacle.
"Ah, Ms. Miller, you look a little pale," the gallery owner finally noticed me. "Would you like some water?"
I managed a brittle smile. "No, thank you. I have to be going. Please, excuse me."
The sun was a fiery smear on the horizon as I stepped out of the gallery. I leaned against the cool stone of the building, trying to catch my breath. My reflection in the glass door was pale, almost ghostly.
An email from my best friend popped up on my phone:
Did you sort it out? Layoff notices are coming next month, absolute latest. You need to get a client to commit to the Paris gala.
I took a deep breath. Yeah, I know. I… I ran into someone I shouldn't have.
She paused on her end. Don't tell me. The person who bought your necklace… it was Cain Prescott?
That was precisely why I couldn't ask.
A heavy silence stretched between us. My friend tried to sound comforting. "Just focus on getting the payment for now. We can figure out the rest later…"
My history with Cain was… complicated.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, and prepared to hail a cab back to my hotel.
Suddenly, the roar of an engine shattered the evening quiet.
I turned. A black Ferrari had just ignited, its headlights pointed directly at me. The last rays of sunset slicked its chassis with a brilliant, liquid gold.
The engine's roar escalated, a symphony of aggression.
And then, the car shot forward, hurtling directly towards me.
He was behind the wheel, his dark eyes locked on mine.
If you ever showed your face again, I would destroy you.
For a few heart-stopping seconds, my mind was a white void of terror. I watched, paralyzed, as the car devoured the distance between us.
Ten feet.
Five.
Two.
Screeeech!
The shriek of tires on pavement echoed through the street, sending a flock of birds scattering from the nearby trees.
The bumper kissed my shins, a perfect, terrifying calculation.
Reality crashed back in, and a wave of pure, unadulterated fear washed over me. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground.
The driver's side window slid down with a soft whir, revealing a pair of cold, merciless eyes.
"Get in."
3
The last sliver of sunset vanished below the horizon, and night fell like a net, closing in from all sides.
The car was silent. I huddled in the passenger seat, not daring to speak.
"So, you won't even talk to me now?" Cain's voice was sharp with ridicule.
"I'll be gone as soon as the payment clears," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"
A piece of paper fluttered onto my lap. It was a blank check.
Seeing my confusion, Cain’s voice turned to ice. "There's your money. Are you going to leave, or are you expecting me to ride that goddamn roller coaster again, just so you can make a fool of me twice?"
Once, long ago, I’d told him I wouldn't break up with him if he rode the roller coaster. He was terrified of heights, but he did it, his jaw set in grim determination.
I walked away anyway.
In the years since, Cain had aggressively expanded his business empire overseas, his methods ruthless. It was as if he was trying to scour the earth just to find me. Then, suddenly, he stopped. A woman appeared by his side. He guarded her fiercely, scrubbing every photo, every mention of her from the press. To this day, no one knew who she was.
Until I saw Helena. Then it all made sense.
I moistened my lips. "Mr. Prescott, you misunderstand. I only want the payment I'm owed from the auction—"
"Is there a difference?" He tapped a finger against the steering wheel. "Sign a waiver forfeiting the auction payment, and I'll give you double. You can be on a plane by tomorrow morning."
His meaning was crystal clear. He was afraid Helena would get the wrong idea, and he wanted me gone. Immediately.
Double the price was more than enough for me to report back to my company.
"Thank you."
I booked a flight back to Europe for the next day and returned to my hotel to pack. The television was on, broadcasting a segment about Cain's latest social appearance. For the first time, Helena's identity was revealed to the public. The media called them a "match made in heaven."
My friend’s voice crackled over the phone. "That was supposed to be your wedding necklace, the one you designed for yourself. Are you really just going to let it go?"
"Cain seems to really care for her. It's just a necklace. It doesn't matter who wears it."
"Think of it as…" I paused, looking up from my suitcase and letting out a slow breath. "My wedding gift to them. I have other designs. I can just find other clients…"
She could hear the strain in my voice and didn't know what to say. When I first arrived in Europe, I was broke and alone. The design for that necklace had been my key, the thing that convinced my mentor to take me under his wing. After all these years, for it to return to its origin this way… it was supposed to be my way of making peace with the past.
"Elara, listen," she said gently. "For people like them, in that world… sometimes, not ending up together is a blessing. You lived it. You know how much it can break you."
"Haha, don't worry about me." I went back to folding my clothes, trying to sound cheerful. "When you're young, you think love is all you need. But honestly, a little realism makes life a lot easier…"
Knock, knock.
Someone was at the door.
"Who's that so late?" my friend asked.
I stood up. "Just room service."
I opened the door.
It was Cain.
He smelled faintly of alcohol, one hand braced against the doorframe, his body casting a long shadow into my room.
"What are you doing here?" I tried to shut the door, but he blocked it with his arm.
"I can't be here?" His brow was furrowed, a drunken haze clouding his sharp features. His tie was loosened, the knot askew. He looked up at me, his handsome face a captivating play of light and shadow.
"No, it's just… our business is concluded."
"Concluded?" The word was slurred, tinged with a lazy, drunken drawl. He looked down and scoffed. "To hell with 'concluded'."
I gripped the doorknob tightly. "You're drunk. Let me call your assistant—"
His hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "If I ride the roller coaster again… will you stay?"
The question came out of nowhere, stunning me into silence. The heat from his palm seemed to scorch my skin. I tried to pull my hand back, but he held fast. I sighed. "We're not kids anymore, Cain."
I didn't realize my own voice was trembling.
He looked up, his dark eyes boring into mine, and roughly tore off his tie, revealing the pale skin and sharp lines of his collarbones.
"Then let's do this like adults."
He took my hand and pressed it against his chest. His voice was raw. "Sleep with me."
"Elara. You sleep with me, and everything I have is yours."
The powerful, steady beat of his heart thrummed against my palm. I flinched as if burned, trying to wrench my hand away.
"Cain, someone will see…"
"Let them," he bit out. "It's my reputation on the line, not yours."
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner of the hallway. In my moment of distraction, he saw his chance and pushed his way inside.
Click.
The door shut behind him.
The entryway was dark. Cain pinned me against the wall, and the world shrank to the sound of our breathing, a frantic, intimate rhythm in the blackness.
Neither of us spoke. This reunion, this contact after so many years, was both strange and achingly familiar.
He leaned in closer. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I turned my head away. His mouth brushed against my cheek, and my heart hammered against my ribs.
Cain froze. He rested his forehead against the wall beside my head and took a deep, shuddering breath. His voice was hoarse. "Get away from me. I won't touch you."
I looked up at him, my heart in my throat, and saw that the drunken haze in his eyes had cleared. A cool breeze slipped through a crack in the window, dissipating the fragile, charged atmosphere between us.
The arm that had trapped me fell away. I was free. I stumbled back, escaping his orbit. Cain remained where he was, his eyes closed. The alcohol must have worn off, his usual cold composure restored.
I turned away, busying myself with stuffing my scattered clothes back into my suitcase, trying to hide my panic.
Then, he spoke, his voice quiet. "The check is void."
My hands stilled. I looked up, confused.
He stood in the shadows. "There's a problem at the company. I can't issue that check right now. I'm sorry."
His face was a blank mask, impossible to read. I couldn't tell if he was lying.
"Then…"
"Cancel your flight. I'll reimburse you for the ticket."
I numbly placed the clothes back on the bed and stood. "Okay."
The conversation was over, but I kept staring at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to leave?"
"Yes."
"I can't. Not yet." He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I'm being followed. There are paparazzi outside my door just waiting for a scandal. Elara, I assume you don't want to be on the morning news with me?"
But I was so tired.
I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to leave. The minutes ticked by. Cain remained by the door, unmoving.
Gradually, a heavy wave of exhaustion washed over me. My head lolled to one side, and I fell back against the soft pillows.
As the last wisp of consciousness slipped away, I thought I heard him whisper, "Good night."
4
My sleep has always been light.
The first ray of dawn touched my eyelids. I stretched my arm and brushed against someone.
The scent was familiar. Even after ten years, I would know it anywhere.
He seemed to stir at my movement. An arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer.
My eyes flew open, and I found myself staring directly into his. Cain was still half-asleep, his voice a groggy murmur. "Mornin'..."
It took a moment for my brain to catch up. Then, I scrambled up, grabbed a pillow, and started hitting him with it.
"Pervert!"
After a few solid thwacks, Cain's expression soured. "Getting bold, are we, Elara?"
"You're shameless!" I clutched the collar of my pajamas, which were thankfully still intact, my face pale with shock.
He squinted against the morning light streaming into the room, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked around to me. His dress shirt was a mess of wrinkles, as if it had been through a spin cycle. The usual sharp edges of his demeanor were gone, replaced by a deep frown of annoyance.
My panic escalated. "Don't… don't come any closer."
He gently lifted a lock of my hair and followed it down to the end, where a single shirt button was hopelessly tangled.
"As if I'd want to touch you," he said without looking up. "Is your sleepwalking still not cured?"
I paused, only then noticing that a button was missing from the collar of his shirt.
As he worked to free my hair, a cold smirk played on his lips. "You hooked my button and then ran off in your sleep. What was I supposed to do?"
I was speechless for a second. "You could have just cut my hair."
"And have you never speak to me again? No thanks."
He was surprisingly patient. He could have just yanked it free, but instead, he stood there, meticulously untangling the knot like it was a complex puzzle.
It reminded me of a time, long ago, when we were together. He'd been in one of his moods and snipped off a lock of my hair. I’d started crying and walked away, leaving him behind.
He’d followed me, pleading, "Elara, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again. Here, you can cut mine, just please don't cry."
Watching his reflection in the mirror as he worked, I asked, "I'm not strong enough to pull a button off. How did it happen?"
He finally freed the button and leaned over me, bracing his hands on either side of my head. He studied my face for a long moment before answering, his expression completely serious.
"I ripped it off myself. Figured if I fell asleep, I didn't want you waking up in pain."
My heart skipped a beat. I just stared at him, frozen.
With that, he straightened up and disappeared into the bathroom.
I sniffed my hair. It smelled of him. I wondered what cologne he wore.
My phone rang. It was my friend.
"Elara, are you on the plane yet?"
I’d forgotten to tell her my plans had changed. "I'm not coming back just yet. I still haven't gotten the payment."
"Oh, well that's actually great news. Headquarters just called. They want you to personally invite Cain Prescott to the gala. It's… not a request."
"He'll never agree."
"You have to at least try."
"Try what?" Cain's voice cut in unexpectedly.
My friend froze. "Holy sh— You're not… This is intense…"
I hastily hung up the phone, turning to find Cain leaning against the bathroom doorway in a robe, his eyes narrowed in thought as he watched me.
"Why are you out here?"
He averted his gaze, his tone cool. "What am I being invited to?"
"My brand's jewelry gala… It's next month. In Paris."
Perhaps he saw the flicker of hope in my eyes, because a small smirk touched his lips. "Next month is a long way away. We'll see."
I knew it. There was no way he would agree.
A knock sounded at the door. Cain answered it before I could move. A moment later, he returned with a paper bag and tossed it to me.
"Change."
"What is this?"
"Clothes." He was at the mirror, knotting his tie. "You want me at your gala, you have to accompany me to an event first."
5
It was a gown of ink-wash silk. Custom-made, it lacked the aggressive glamour of a Western ball gown, instead lending its wearer an air of gentle elegance.
Cain leaned against the wall, slowly fastening his watch, his dark eyes fixed on my back. In the mirror, the two of us were a study in contrasts, the height difference just right. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, the epitome of understated luxury. Standing next to me in the silk gown, we had a strange, East-meets-West beauty.
I pressed my lips together. "Is there a jacket?" The gown clung to every curve, and his gaze was an undisguised, searing heat on my skin.
"No," he said, his eyes flicking briefly to the small of my back. "It looks beautiful."
I never would have guessed that Cain was taking me to a family dinner.
The familiar villa, even after ten years, stood unchanged. I had been to this place before, more than once, without Cain's knowledge. All of my worst memories were born here.
Cain opened the car door for me. "You've never met my stepmother or my half-brother, have you?"
My palms were slick with sweat. "Why did you bring me here?"
A corner of his mouth lifted. He leaned down and offered me his arm. "Nervous about meeting the family?"
He stood silhouetted against the night sky, a rare hint of gentleness in his eyes.
"..."
He mistook my terror for simple nerves, taking my hand in his. "It's just a dinner."
Lights glowed from within the villa. We walked through a small, fragrant garden to the front door. The muffled sound of conversation drifted through the wood; it sounded crowded. I could just make out a woman's voice, dripping with false modesty. "Cain's marriage? How could I have a say? I'm not his real mother, after all…"
Hearing that voice again after so many years sent an involuntary shiver down my spine.
"Brother, you're back."
A shaft of light spilled out as the door opened, illuminating the rug at our feet. The figure was backlit, his face in shadow, but I instinctively shrank behind Cain.
It was his half-brother, Ross.
Cain gave a curt nod and led me inside. As we passed Ross, I happened to glance up and our eyes met. Recognition dawned on his face instantly. After a flicker of surprise, a familiar, predatory amusement filled his dark eyes—the same look he'd given me when he used to call me worthless trash.
"Still a fan of leftovers, brother?" he murmured as he fell into step behind me, his arm brushing unnervingly against my back.
I gripped Cain's arm tighter, trying to put more space between myself and Ross.
Cain sensed my discomfort and shot Ross a glacial look. "Get lost."
Ross smirked at me one last time before sauntering away.
As we moved through the house, people constantly stopped to greet Cain. "Mr. Prescott, good to see you." He would just nod curtly in response.
Eyes followed us as we entered the main living room. At the center of a glittering crowd stood a glamorous middle-aged woman. Cain's stepmother, Sandra.
And standing right beside her was Helena Vance. The moment she saw me, she subtly nudged Sandra's arm.
The conversation died. Heads turned. A variety of expressions, from curiosity to disapproval, settled on their faces.
Sandra arched an eyebrow, her expression mirroring Ross's from moments before. She knew exactly who I was. "And who might this be?"
One of her friends chimed in, "Cain, Helena is right here. What is the meaning of bringing another woman?"
Cain’s hand rested on the small of my back. "Plans changed," he stated flatly.
"You're not a child anymore, Cain. Must you always be so impulsive?" Sandra's displeasure was obvious. "Do you even know who you're associating with?"
The question was loaded. I had no doubt that Sandra had already shared my sordid history with everyone here. The only one still in the dark was Cain.
He leaned in, his voice a low murmur in my ear. "Go get yourself something to eat from the buffet over there. I'll join you in a bit."
Sandra's stare was making my skin crawl. I nodded and quickly walked away.
The dessert table was near the kitchen, in a quiet corner of the room. As I rounded the corner, a hand shot out, grabbed my arm, and dragged me into the kitchen.
The door swung shut.
The suffocating scent of cheap cologne filled my nostrils.
"Back to screwing my brother again?" Ross's vicious laugh echoed in the small space. "Elara, have you forgotten what you are? What we did to you?"
A chill ran down my spine, and my blood turned to ice. "Let go of me!"
He slammed me against the wall, his fingers digging into my chin. "Look at you… even prettier than before…" His face was too close, his breath a foul mix of smoke and liquor. "You're in luck. All your old friends are here tonight. How about a repeat performance?"
I turned my head away, my voice hard. "Ross, what you're doing is illegal."
He yanked my hair, slamming my head back against the wall, just as he had all those years ago when he’d held my head over a toilet. "A piece of trash like you wants to talk to me about the law?"
"Guess we didn't teach you your lesson properly the first time, did we?"
"Helena still has the pictures, you know. Hmm? Should we show everyone?"
The agonizing memories came rushing back. I struggled violently, a hysterical scream building in my throat. "Ross, go to hell!"
His eyes lit up with sick excitement. "Alright, Elara. Let's make a bet. Let's see who destroys who first."
"You were just a cheap little pawn my mother hired to seduce Cain. Do you really think he'll still protect you when he finds out the truth?"
With that, he started unbuckling his pants.
Despair washed over me as I fought against him, tears streaming from my eyes. The past was happening all over again.
The day before summer vacation, I had gone to Sandra to quit. She held a thin cigarette between her fingers, her chin held high. "You took the money. You think you can just walk away?"
I placed the bank card on her desk. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."
She laughed. "And you think you and Cain can have a happy ending? In your dreams."
That same day, Helena and her friends cornered me in the girls' bathroom. They tore the clothes from my body with practiced ease.
"So you're the little whore Sandra hired," Helena said, arms crossed, her tone dripping with scorn. "I'm sure you won't mind if I take a few pictures."
My struggles were futile against their numbers.
I was eighteen. On a hot summer day filled with the drone of cicadas, my dignity was shattered in a cramped, filthy bathroom stall. They doused me with dirty water, washing away my pride, their taunts and jeers poisoning my soul.
And then Ross's final act of defilement shattered what little dignity I had left.
"I'm calling the police," I’d choked out, my body bruised and broken.
"You poor, stupid girl. Don't you know anything?" Ross grabbed a fistful of my hair, a grin on his face. "All I did was mess up your pretty face. That's not rape. And unless you manage to kill me, I will make your life a living hell."
In the end, the incident was buried. There was no evidence.
The party raged on just outside the kitchen door. Ross was drunk, and he had already ripped my gown up to my waist. He had my arms pinned behind my back, and my screams for help were swallowed by the noise.
"Get off… get off me!" I sobbed, and with a surge of adrenaline, I sank my teeth into his shoulder.
He howled in pain, his grip slackening for a split second.
I bolted for the door.
He was fast. He caught me by the hair and dragged me back. A blinding pain shot through my scalp.
A voice screamed inside my head.
Do you hate him?
What did I do to deserve this? To be hurt again and again?
Why are some people born evil?
My hand fumbled blindly across the countertop and closed around the cool, heavy glass of a wine bottle.
"You bitch! What does it matter if I take you again?"
Through a blur of tears, I spun around, raised the bottle high above my head, and brought it down on his with all my strength.
There was a sickening crack.
The world went silent.
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