I Loved You Once, I’ll Destroy You Twice

Before she could recover, I shifted into Spanish, my tone sharp as glass. “Pero tranquila. No soy como tú, que usas los idiomas solo para parecer lista.”

(But don’t worry. I’m not like you, who uses languages only to look smart.)

Gasps broke through the circle. A few of the women exchanged startled glances.

And then, for the finishing blow, I delivered the rest in German, my voice calm and cold.

“Ist es lustig, auf andere herabzusehen, nur weil ihr denkt, ich verstehe euch nicht?”

(Is it funny to look down on others, thinking I don’t understand all of you?)

Silence crashed over them.

Yvette’s face had gone pale, her lips pressed tight. The women who had laughed the loudest moments ago now looked down at their shoes.

I smiled faintly and about to turned my back when the host announced a game.

Couples would play a cello and piano duet. The best performance would win a set of rare jewels.

“That set is gorgeous!” Yvette’s eyes sparkled. She tugged at Austin’s sleeve like a spoiled child. “Austin, it’s my birthday soon. Could you and Miss Callaway win it for me?”

The women around her burst out laughing. “Don’t be cruel, Yvette. She might know some languages but you think she can play piano?”

“Why don’t you and Young Master Livingston perform instead?” someone suggested slyly.

Yvette tilted her head, voice soft as silk. “Would that be alright?”

Austin nodded without a second thought. “Yes.”

Her eyes flicked to mine, smug. “Then I’ll borrow him for a little while.”

They walked to the stage.

When the music began, the hall fell silent. Her fingers fluttered over the piano keys, elegant and light, while Austin drew his bow across the cello, each note deep and resonant, wrapping around her melody like a shield. His accompaniment was steady, protective, as though she were his queen. Together, they looked every bit the perfect pair.

The applause came like thunder.

And while the room roared, Yvette’s friends closed in around me.

“See? That’s a perfect couple. Not you. You’re nothing.”

“You grew up in the west slums, didn’t you? How does anyone even live in a place like that? No wonder you still carry the stink of poverty.”

“Trying to become a phoenix when you’re just a sparrow? What a joke.”

Laughter broke through me like shards of glass.

I clutched my skirt and turned to leave, but a foot slid out in front of me. I stumbled, crashing hard onto the floor. Pain tore through my body, but before I could push myself up, a red stiletto heel pressed down on my wrist.

“Oh dear,” the woman cooed, mocking innocence. “I didn’t see you there.” She ground the heel into my hand, cruel and deliberate.

Crack.

The sound sent lightning through my bones.

My vision blurred. Instinctively, I looked toward the piano. Toward him.

Austin’s head lifted. Our eyes met. My lips trembled, shaping his name without sound. My eyes pleaded.

He saw.

For one heartbeat, he saw.

Then his gaze slid away, cold, uninterested, as though I were a stranger on the street. He turned another page for Yvette, his expression softening again for her.

I remembered the boy he used to be—the one who skipped a whole night of work just because I’d sliced my finger in the supermarket.

Now my wrist was being crushed, my bones splintering under someone’s heel, and he couldn’t spare me more than a single glance.

Yvette laughed with him, their smiles gleaming under the lights, like a prince and princess in their fairy tale.

Then the heel pressed harder.

Another crack. The sound of bone shattering filled my ears.

The pain stole my breath, stole the world from me. My vision twisted, collapsing into black. The last thing I heard was the grand finish of the duet and the applause exploding around them.

---

When I woke up, the ward reeked of disinfectant, sharp and cold like a reminder that I was alive but broken.

The doctor stood at the end of my bed, talking to Austin in that detached, clinical tone.

“Mr. Livingston, her wrist is shattered in several places. Even if it heals, it won’t be the same. She won’t be able to carry weight anymore. For the next month she’ll suffer sleepless nights from the pain. Someone needs to care for her around the clock.”

The words settled on me like chains. My face went cold, and when I tried to reach for the water glass on the table, pain shot through my wrist. The glass slipped, crashed, and scattered across the floor.

The doctor sighed, muttered something about rest, and left.

Austin walked over, his polished shoes quiet against the tiles, and poured me another glass as if nothing had happened. He placed it in my hand, his brow furrowed, his Adam’s apple shifting before he finally spoke.

“Sorry. I didn’t see you fall. I was… busy.”

Busy. He meant at the piano. He always played for her. For Yvette.

I stared at him and for a moment all I saw was his gentleness with her, the softness in his eyes that he never gave me. Did he really not notice me fall, or did he just not care enough?

I forced my eyes shut to steady the storm inside me. My voice came out thin but firm.

“I want to call the police.”