Hayley's good mood shattered the instant she saw me step into Elliot's car. I could almost feel her fury from miles away sharp, venomous, laced with desperation. Even without seeing her, my instincts prickled, a low warning rolling through my chest, telling me that a wolf backed into a corner was about to bare her fangs.
Later, I learned she abandoned her shopping spree and stormed back to her car like a lone wolf losing control of its temper. Instead of retreating, she chose violence against metal, concrete, and herself. She slammed the accelerator and drove straight into the low wall by the parking lot. The impact snapped her head forward, smashing it against the steering wheel hard enough to draw real pain, real tears, and the perfect excuse.
Hayley needed sympathy.
And pain especially visible pain made for the perfect bait.
