​​The Walk of Shame​

Evelyn didn’t remember getting home.

One moment she was in the taxi, the next she was standing in her apartment, staring at her reflection in the hallway mirror.

A stranger stared back.

Her usually bright hazel eyes were hollow. Her lips—swollen from last night’s kisses—now bitten raw. The delicate butterfly tattoo on her shoulder seemed to mock her.

Free?

She was anything but.

Her phone buzzed. An unknown number.

Her hands shook as she opened the message.

You forgot something.

A photo followed: a single pearl earring resting on a nightstand.

Hers.

Before she could react, another text appeared.

I’ll be in touch.

The screen blurred. Evelyn sank to the floor, knees drawn to her chest.

What had she done?