He was silent for a long time.I could practically feel him turn to stone beside me, and my entire body went electric with awareness.
"Thursday."He pulled his hand away from mine."The day I left."
"I wanted to tell you as soon as I got home, but you were dealing with your mom, and I—I just couldn't…"
He blinked a few times, seeming to process my words.His jaw ticked and he started examining his hands, turning his wedding band around and around.“And you couldn’t what?Mention it at any point during the course of three days?”
His voice held a hard edge that sent dread spiraling through me.I could already feel how badly this was going, and that made me panic.
“I didnotwant to add more to your plate until we knew your mom was going to make it,” I said in a low, shaky voice.
“You wouldn’t have added more to the plate,” Nash hissed.“The marriageisthe plate.Do you get that?”
I squeezed my eyes shut.“I hate this turn of events.But there was no choice.There wasn’t.We had to either submit the contract first or let Preston weaponize it.Nash, somehow theyknew.”
Nash’s jaw was flexing now, his stony gaze staring at something far off in the distance.I got the sense that he didn’t even want to look at me right now.
“There had to be some other option,” he finally spat.“There’s no fucking way.That—that puts everything at risk.Do you understand that?”
I couldn’t keep the tremble out of my voice.“Of course I do!But Nash—”
“And where was I in this?You didn’t think to involve me?”
I opened my mouth to defend myself but nothing came out.Regret crashed over me.I should have called him on the spot.He was right.I fucked up.
Painful silence stretched between us, but all I could hear was his anger thumping between us.
He expelled a sigh and stood abruptly, storming out of the room.“I need to go.”
I watched him leave, unable to even squeak out a small “wait.”A moment later, a door slammed shut.
He was gone.
And I was left in the penthouse I now called home, more alone than I’d ever felt before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
NASH
NASH
I woke up with a start, struggling to find my bearings in the unfamiliar, darkened room.
Realization crashed over me.I was at the hotel.Where I’d been for the past three nights.Living out of my suitcase, ignoring Clara’s texts, ordering room service I could barely eat.
It was six a.m.Earlier than my normal wake time, but these days my monkey brain barely let me sleep more than a few hours at a time.I’d been waking at the butt crack of dawn even if I was dead tired.I pulled myself out of bed, immediately reaching for my phone.
A text from Clara awaited me, sent last night.
CLARA: When are you going to talk to me?
I swiped my phone off, doubts creeping in.I wanted to talk to her, desperately.But I was so fucking hurt.And I had no handbook for how to deal with this shit.
This is why you’re better off alone.
Nobody to do you dirty.
Nobody to lie to you.
