But apparently, this place-stealing glorified mannequin had other plans.
Verena didn't follow Mia.
She remained still—perfect posture, calm breath—and then, with a sideways glance sharp enough to slice air, she spoke.
"Stay away from Mia. You're not a good company for her."
My face crumbled into a scowl the moment those words hit my ears.
There was no temper in my voice—none of that fiery rage I usually displayed. No raised volume, no theatrics.
Just quiet. Cold.
Like ice cracking beneath still water.
"Who the fuck are you to tell me that?" I asked.
It wasn't a question.
It was a fact. A judgment. A threat barely disguised under a calm breath.
Because who the hell was she, really?
She sighed, almost dramatically, then tilted her head down, gathering fake sympathy before her gaze met mine again.
"A controlling piece of shit isn't necessary in the life of such an innocent girl," she said, slowly, deliberately, each word sharpened like a dagger.
