And I am the nuclear option.
My phone buzzes. A text from Cohen.
The papers are drafted. You pull the trigger, Ryder’s out by morning. Trust fund frozen. Executive title revoked.
I look at the message, the blue light illuminating the interior of the car.
I type back one word:
Wait.
I need Ryder to have just enough rope to hang himself completely. And I need Blair to be the one who asks me to pull the lever.
I glance back up at the window. The light in the living room goes out. A moment later, the light in the bedroom flicks on.
I imagine her unzipping that dress. I imagine the silk pooling at her feet. I imagine her crawling into bed, cold and alone.
"Soon, little bird," I whisper to the empty car. My voice sounds rough, foreign. "Sleep well. You’re going to need your energy."
Because once I get my hands on her, I’m never letting go.
I watch until the bedroom light goes out.
Then I wait another hour in the dark, just to make sure she’s safe, feeling like a guardian devil, before I finally start the car and drive back to the empty mansion that’s about to get a hell of a lot more interesting.
My head feelslike someone took a sledgehammer to my temples, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the carnage lighting up my phone screen.
I squint against the harsh morning light filtering through the cheap blinds of my bedroom window, scrolling through the notifications that have been piling up while I was passed out. I wish I could say I drank myself into oblivion, but the truth is sadder. I came home, cried into my pillow for hours, and fell asleep from sheer emotional exhaustion.
Now, reality is here to kick me while I’m down.
From:Margaret Pemberton
Subject:Holiday Gala Contract
Dear Blair, In light of recent events and the shift in tone regarding the committee’s direction, we feel it is best to terminate our agreement effective immediately. We will be handling the Christmas logistics internally.
My stomach drops through the mattress. That contract was my rent for the next three months. That was my grocery money. That was my heat.
I swipe to the next one.
From:Luxe Events
Subject:Upcoming Consultation
Hi Blair, we’re going to have to cancel our meeting. We’ve decided to go with a firm that feels like a better brand alignment for our clientele.
I toss the phone onto the duvet. I don’t cry. I’m done crying. It almost doesn’t feel real that years of networking, ass-kissing, and seventy-hour work weeks could be worth nothing after one horrible night.
Ryder didn’t just break my heart. He took everything I’ve built.
I drag myself out of bed, my limbs feeling heavy and detached. I need coffee. I need enough caffeine to jumpstart a dead heart.
I shuffle into the living room, my oversized t-shirt hanging off one shoulder, and freeze.
The sound of a key turning in the lock echoes through the small apartment.
Panic spikes in my chest—a sharp, hot jolt—when I hear it because it can only be one person. And sure enough, the door swings open, and Ryder walks in like he has every right to be here.
