Webothwanted this.
It’s time to go our separate ways again.
Hard as that is.
I hurry from the bedroom.
My shoes are by the door. I grab them but don’t put them on.
I slip out and walk barefoot across the sand toward my own villa, shoes in hand.
I don’t look back.
4
Corin
Iwake to silence.
The bed beside me is empty.
Of course it is.
I sit up slowly and scan the room like I’m inventorying a portfolio I already know is underwater. Her dress is gone from the floor. In the main room outside, her shoes are missing from beside the door.
The only evidence she was here at all is a faint indent in the pillow and the scent of lemon peel and sunscreen still clinging to the sheets.
And the pen.
A single fucking black gel pen sitting on the nightstand like an apology she didn’t have the guts to write.
I pick it up and turn it between my fingers. It’s warm from where the morning sun has been hitting it through the window slats.
The hollowness in my chest is familiar.
I’ve felt this before.
Five years ago when she walked out of my life without looking back.
When she decided I was the villain in a story I couldn’t defend myself against without burning down half my investor network and violating confidentiality agreements that would have destroyed me.
I expected this.
One night.
No promises.
Those were her terms and I accepted them because what the hell else was I supposed to do? Beg her to stay? That’s not who I am.
Still.
Fuck.
I set the pen down and drag both hands through my hair. My head is pounding but not from the champagne. Rather, the whiplash of going from nothing to everything to nothing again.
Except it wasn’t everything.
It was just sex.
