"Why?" she laughs, a brittle, hysterical sound. "Tell them, Ryder! Tell them what you told me last night while you were inside me! Tell them she’s a mercy fuck! Tell them she’s so desperate to fit in that it’s pathetic. Tell them that you only kept her around because she was easy and too stupid to realize she’s a joke!"
I look at Ryder, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I’m waiting for the outrage. I’m waiting for him to deny her words. To defend me and what we have.
To prove the last three years weren’t a total lie.
Ryder scans the room. He sees the board members shifting uncomfortably. He sees the donors whispering behind their hands. He sees the mess his actions made.
And then he looks at me.
And he rolls his eyes.
"Jesus, Blair," he sighs, the sound heavy with irritation. "I told you I didn’t want you here tonight, but you forced my hand. You just never listen."
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
"Don't look at me with those big, sad eyes," he snaps, his voice raising just enough to distance himself from me. Enough for him to play the victim. "Vivi is drunk, sure. But let’s not pretend she’s making it up. You know we’ve been over for a long time. You were just convenient."
Convenient.
The word lands like a physical weight, crushing the air out of my lungs.
He adjusts his cufflinks, looking at me with a cold, bored disdain that hurts worse than anything else that’s happened tonight.
"Honestly? You're exhausting. You try so hard to belong here that it’s uncomfortable for everyone else to watch. You were fun but now I’m bored. So do yourself a favor—stop embarrassing us both and just go."
The air leaves my lungs.
It’s not the cheating that kills me. It’s not even the shitshow of Vivi on stage.
It’s this. It’s the way he looks at me like I’m a smudge on his tuxedo he can’t wait to dry clean away. I was the safe option until something better came along. I molded myself into the perfect girlfriend, the perfect accessory, the perfect doormat, and none of it mattered. I guess you can be perfect and still be disposable.
I meant nothing to him.
I feel something snap inside me. It’s a distinct, physical sensation. A rubber band breaking.
I don't cry. The tears that were starting to burn at the back of my eyes evaporate, replaced by a cold, arctic rage that floods my veins, numbing the pain, numbing the embarrassment.
I look at Ryder. Really look at him. And for the first time, I don’t see the golden boy of Emerald Hills. I see a weak, pathetic child.
"He's all yours, Vivienne," I say. My voice is steady, and thank fuck for that. "I hope you're good at faking it, because I'm exhausted." I cast a pitying glance at Ryder. "Three years, and I never came once. Enjoy the disappointment."
I turn on my heel.
The crowd parts for me like the Red Sea, but not out of respect. Out of pity. They’re staring at the car crash. They’re thankful it’s not them.
I keep my chin high. I fix my eyes on the double doors at the exit.
I have to passhimto leave.
Gabriel is standing near the exit, like a sentinel guarding the gates of hell. He hasn't moved an inch.
As I get closer, I expect him to step aside. He doesn’t. He stands there, a wall of broad shoulders and expensive wool, forcing me to veer close to him to get around.
For a second—just a fraction of a heartbeat—I’m in his orbit.
I smell sandalwood and aged scotch and something darker, like ozone before a storm. I feel the heat radiating off his body, a furnace compared to the ice in my veins.
I glance up.
