Chapter 1

My so-called best friend tricked me into coming to her house and pushed me onto her husband’s bed.

She cried and said, “I’m pregnant and can’t satisfy him. You’re the only one who can help me!”

The next day, she waved explicit photos of me in front of my face, threatening to send them to everyone I knew unless I came running every time her husband wanted me.

I snapped. Grabbing a kitchen knife, I slashed at them—again and again.

The last slash was for myself.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at the moment I knocked on her front door. A second chance.

“Jenna, what took you so long? I’ve been waiting here for half an hour!”

Cassie was standing in the doorway in a pastel pink maternity dress with little bunny patterns, looking as sweet and innocent as ever. She’d pointed it out on one of our shopping trips, saying how much she loved it, so I spent half my paycheck to buy it for her. Her smile back then had made it seem worth it.

That’s what best friends are for, right? At least, that’s what I told myself.

All the clothes, makeup, and bags she flaunted—most of them were gifts from me.

And what did she give me in return? A spot in her husband’s bed.

Oh, and let’s not forget the photos. A whole night’s worth of explicit, high-definition evidence of me and her husband. She waved them in my face, threatening to send them to my friends if I didn’t crawl back every time he wanted me.

Best friend? Sure. Some best friend.

If I’d been given just one minute’s warning before that day, I never would have knocked on her door.

But now that I’ve been given a second chance, they can both prepare for hell.

I smiled faintly and held up a bag. “You said you were craving hot wings, right? I stood in line to get some for you.”

Cassie’s face brightened a little at that, and she pulled me inside, pointing to the groceries piled on the counter.

“Jenna, didn’t you say you had a craving for braised pork and lamb stew? I bought all the ingredients, so you can cook it up for us. That way, when my husband gets home, we’ll all have something nice to eat.”

I glanced at the sink, still piled high with dirty dishes, and a flicker of mockery passed through my eyes.

This was her usual trick. She’d pretend I wanted something, then guilt-trip me into coming over to wash dishes and cook meals for her and her husband.

That’s exactly how it had gone the first time around. I’d been so naive back then, thinking it was just another one of her schemes to get me to play housemaid. I never saw it coming when she fed me aphrodisiac-laced food and sent me straight to her husband’s bed.

Not this time.

This time, I smiled and nodded, playing along. “Cassie, what would you do without me?” I said, my voice dripping with affection.

Cassie giggled, her tone sugary sweet. “Even if I didn’t have my husband, I could never live without you!”

I smirked slightly. Oh, don’t worry—I’ll make sure you get exactly what you deserve.

While Cassie was distracted in the living room, munching on her hot wings, I picked up the stack of dirty dishes from the sink and smashed them—one by one—onto the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the house.

Cassie craned her neck, staring at the mess in shock. “Jenna, what the hell?! Why did you break all the dishes?”

Putting on my best innocent expression, I pouted. “What’s wrong with you guys? These dishes are so greasy I couldn’t even hold onto them. They just slipped right out of my hands!”

Her face turned red with rage. “Those dishes were imported! Do you know how expensive they were?!”

She ran into the kitchen, crouching down to pick through the shards in search of anything salvageable. She wasn’t careful, though, and her hand slipped, leaving a deep gash. As she stood up, her foot caught on another shard, slicing her skin open again. Blood quickly seeped through her pink bunny dress, staining it a deep crimson.

Honestly, the red looked much better on her than the pink.

Cassie shrieked, panic and anger mixing in her voice. “I’m bleeding! I’m bleeding so much—oh my God!”

She reached out to grab me, her bloodied hand stretching toward me like some grotesque horror movie scene. I took a step back, wrinkling my nose in disgust.

“I’m squeamish about blood,” I said, pretending to feel faint. “It’s making me nauseous. I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

Without a second glance, I strolled over to the couch and plopped down, ignoring her cries for help.

Watching her stumble around, helpless and furious, was an absolute delight.