We Both Remember My Death
Language: en
Killian Cross was in the middle of one of his legendary blowups with his "charity case" girlfriend. To spite her, he’d hidden a ten-carat diamond ring inside a tray of molten lava cakes, declaring to the room of Manhattan’s elite that he’d marry whoever found it. The socialites went feral. They dived into their desserts with silver forks, scavenging through the rich chocolate like prospectors in a gold rush. I, however, had no interest in the spectacle. I turned my head, discreetly spat the hard, cold platinum band I’d just bitten into onto a napkin, and tossed the whole thing into the…