Cruel Love by Kate Brian

lost his balance and went flying through the windowpane, shedding broken glass all over the grass below and falling to his bone-crushing, skull-cracking death.
    But she couldn’t do any of that. Of course she couldn’t. ere had been too many deaths already, and all inside her circle of friends. If Palmer were to die right in her own room, the questions would certainly start.
    Breathe, Ariana. Just breathe. In, one … two … three … Out, one … two … three …
    “You know what, Palmer? I do have something to say,” she told him, turning toward the door again. Her palm was so sweaty it slipped once on the knob before she was able to grip it and get the door open. “Get out.”
    Palmer scoffed, shaking his head in a condescending way. But he did walk by her, and paused in the doorway. He made a little teepee with his hands and placed it in front of his mouth for a moment, smiling mirthfully the whole time.
    “ank God we broke up,” he said, looking her in the eye. “And here’s fair warning: I am going to make sure that every single person in Stone and Grave knows exactly what kind of psychopath they’ve elected as their president. Enjoy your power trip while it lasts, Ana. Your days are numbered.”
    Then, with one last derisive glance, he turned on his heel and walked away. Ariana had never slammed a door so hard in her life.
    PEACE OF MIND

    Ariana clutched the steering wheel as she searched the crowded downtown streets for an open space. She realized too late that she had just passed one and slammed on her brakes. e guy behind her honked his horn and swerved, but Ariana ignored both him and the rude gesture he tossed her way. Gritting her teeth, she quickly and deftly swung her car into the parallel spot.
    “Okay, you’re here. Just calm down. Palmer can’t really hurt you. Anything he tells anyone will be hearsay. Everything’s going to be fine.”
    Ariana glanced in the mirror, taking a deep, soothing breath. Before leaving campus, she had meticulously straightened her room, making sure there was no shred of evidence of her freak-out left behind. en she had shoved the pieces of her current disguise into her leather Louis Vuitton satchel and hit the road. All morning she had been running errands and steering clear of Atherton-Pryce, all the better to avoid the honorable Dr. Victor Meloni. But now, she’d made it to her final stop of the day.
    With a discerning eye, Ariana scrutinized her look from all angles. Her blond wig was fashioned into a ponytail, which stuck out through the hole in the back of the battered Washington Nationals baseball cap Palmer had once left in her room. Her black wool peacoat was the blandest she owned, and she’d decided on jeans and sneakers to complete her girl-next-door look. Altogether, she appeared pretty darn forgettable.
    “This is just in case,” she told herself firmly. “You always need to have a plan B.”
    She smoothed the ponytail, got out of the car, and walked toward the marble-columned building across the street. Inside the bank, the atmosphere was hushed and professional. The brown granite floors gleamed, and the security guard took no notice of her as she crossed to the customer service desk.
    “Can I help you?” the woman behind the counter asked, looking up with a smile. Her makeup was about three shades darker than the skin on her neck, and it was all Ariana could do to keep from cringing.
    “Yes, I’d like to open a new account,” she replied, averting her eyes to keep from staring. “Of course. Mr. Lawrence can help you with that.”
    She indicated a nearby desk where an elderly gentleman sat in front of a glowing computer screen, his red tie adorned with candy canes.
    Perfect , Ariana thought. This guy will be eating out of my palm. And at least she wouldn’t have to deal with staring at that line for the next fifteen minutes. “Hello!” Mr. Lawrence said, standing as she approached. “So you’d like to open an account with