ark stood panting in the middle of my ruined portfolio, his

calm and authoritative,

s name is goi

e was etched with concern and disapproval. It was Mr. Harrison, the renowned art curator. He was one

; Mark, standing over the destruction like a conquering warlad

ing on my hand. In the scuffle, I had scraped it agai

whispered, though

s not the victim he

voice dropping to an icy calm. He stood up, towering over

rk blustered, his face turn

"The entire interview was recorded. Your attack, M

face w

dear friend of mine. He would have been so proud of this portfolio." He gestured to the ink-soaked mess. "This is a tragedy. With these a

ke drowning washed over me. Tears I had

e words torn from my chest. "He

orway behind Mr. Harrison. She had a

d, rushing to Mark' s side. She shot me a look o

ing," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "Mark is

to me, her eyes cold despite t

this all go away. Just... agree to pay Mark back, and we' ll drop the police report. We' ll even

ney I didn' t have, admit to a crime I didn' t commit, and in return, they would allow me to s

d arrogance, ignited something in me. The despai

t-ridden face, at Mr. Harrison'

y at my side. I met Tiffany' s gaze, letting her see t

ed, my voice thick with fals

riumph in her eyes. Sh

poisonous deal. But as I passed the desk, my eyes locked on Mar

fluid motion,

ed and bolted. I flew past a stunned Mr. H

et back here!" Ma

, my only chance at justice-like it was my own heart. I could hear t

is war. Now, I was