“But I didn’t do this! I loved Corey!”
“I see you’re still a fool.”
I slam down the phone on the short table in front of me, pushing myself off the stool. “You’re fucking demented!” I shout at her. I know there’s soundproof glass between us, but I’m sure she can read my lips. I know she can hear every word. I lean forward and slam two fists on the glass. She doesn’t flinch, as if expecting me to react this way. She came here to torment me—to let me suffer from these truths. “You set me up, you selfish bitch!” I scream, and I can’t believe it, but she smiles.
“All right, Hill! That’s it!” the guard shouts from behind me. “You had one chance and you just fucked it up!”
“This is her fault!” I scream as the guard grips my arm and tows me back. “She set me up! She just confessed to it! She framed me!”
Georgia casually hangs up the phone and stands, watching as the guard wraps an arm around my middle and drags me back. “You must be off your fucking meds!” the guard grunts.
“You’re a fucking bitch, Georgia!” I scream, pointing a finger at her, blinded by tears. By rage. “You’ll get what’s coming to you! I promise you, you will!”
It doesn’t matter what I say, though. My words hold no weight, and they don’t faze her. She steps away from the glass with a subtle smirk, and when she turns away, I realize it.
She wins . . . and I am going to live the rest of my life in this shithole. And she doesn’t care. Of course she doesn’t. The ten million in her pocket is all she needs to start a new life.
She’s gotten away with everything without so much as a double check and I got pinned.
Who was going to believe a young black woman who’s been convicted of murder? A girl who lost her parents at fourteen? A girl who was known to be mentally unstable? A woman who grew up to stalk another woman, fuck her husband, and supposedly drown him because her heart was broken? No one, that’s who. And that bitch Georgia knew it.
That was why she was smirking.
That was why she was here, because she knew no matter how much I say she framed me, no matter how hard I try to convince anyone of the truth, no one will ever believe me.
I said it before, and I’ll say it again.
I never should have told Marriott to give me that fucking name.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
GEORGIA
Seeing Ivy locked up with my own two eyes gave me satisfaction. I needed to see for myself, up close and personal, that she couldn’t get out. The poor girl is miserable, but I’m sure she’s used to misery by now. She’ll be okay.
I’ve never felt like I belonged in Miami. I grew up in this city, which is notorious for its night life and beach parties . . . and the high crime rate.
I’d spent many years in Wynwood, witnessing many of my friends and family turn to drugs. It was a bad place. I knew I deserved better, so I sought better for myself.
I must part ways with this city—this city that has not always been so kind to me. I’ve had lots of time to think about where to run off to. There are many places I’d like to see and things I’d like to do, like get full on pasta and wine in Italy, or ride on a camel in the Red Dunes and then make my way to Dubai.
But for now, I just need to get away. I waited until things blew over with the murder trial. I’ve paid my visit to Ivy like I told myself I would, just to confirm. Now, it’s time to start anew.
I’ll begin again in London first, a city I’ve wanted to visit since I was a little girl. My grandmother used to tell me stories about how she’d dated a man from London for two years. It didn’t work out because she was too hotheaded and he was too sensitive, but she said he was romantic. Sweet. Loved to feed her.
Perhaps I’ll find a man who will love to feed me. Be romantic with me. A man who will never, ever know my background or where I’ve come from. A man who won’t abandon me like Dion.
I will start over. I will start now.
I packed my suitcases last night and am now printing off my schedule. My flight leaves in three hours. After picking up the paper, I head for the kitchen of the condo I’d bought, which faces the ocean, preparing my final cup of caramel tea in Miami.
I do it with diligence, starting up my kettle, letting the water boil, and then dumping two tea bags into a bone-china teacup on a saucer. I pour the water carefully, allow the tea to steep, and then remove the tea bags, giving them a light squeeze with my fingertips before discarding them in the waste bin.