Delete.Jesus. I sound like alot.
I am a lot.I drop my phone onto the counter, exhaling heavily.
I’m not texting her. I refuse to bethat guy—the one who overshares, who overstays their welcome, who can’t take a fucking hint.
She gave me a moment of clarity when I needed it. That’s enough.
I turn off my phone, pour myself a strong drink, and try not to think about Chloe until there’s a knock at the door.
Then another.
Then a third—impatient.
“Hold the fuck on,” I growl, setting the glass down a little too hard.
Every step toward the front is heavier than the last. My pulse hammers like it’s trying to punch through my ribs. I’m already pissed, already tired, and whoever’s behind that door is about to catch hell.
I glance through the peephole.
The world tilts.
It’s Chloe.
Standing on the other side like she has any fucking right.
My breath locks in my chest, rage spiking a sudden fever. Every ounce of wreckage she left behind crashes into me all at once.
I open the door without a word.
A cold wave of irritation sweeps over me as she breezes past me in that blood-red coat, her entrance a gift-wrapped grenade, lobbed straight into my chest.
“What do you want, Chloe?” I snap, slamming the door shut behind her.
She doesn’t answer. Just stares at the apartment like it’s a museum she used to curate, inspecting the damage with that familiar, calculating detachment.
Her gaze lands on the coffee table. On the book—herbook—shredded, split in two, pages scattered like confetti at a funeral.
It hits her.
Good. Let her stand amongst the ruin she left behind.
“What happened to my book?”
Like she doesn’t already know.
I step forward, voice thick with sarcasm. “Oh, your book? Turns out cheating doesn’t make for great bedtime reading.”
Her fingers tense around the handle of the Birkin bag I bought her for Christmas. I keep going.
“So I did what anyone would do when the words in front of them turn to bullshit—I ripped it apart. Kind of cathartic, actually. You should try it. Start with the fairytale you sold me over the past year.”
Her jaw tightens. “Don’t be so dramatic, Nolan.”
“Dramatic?” I bark out a laugh. “You’ve been radio silent since I walked in on you riding Jackson like a goddamn parade float. No text. No call. Not even a Post-It.”
She whirls around, eyes blazing. “I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. You made that clear when you stormed out.”
“You think Iwantedto walk out?” My voice spikes, fists clenched at my sides. “You think I was looking for an excuse to disappear? All I wanted was closure. Accountability. Hell, a note under the door would’ve been more than what you gave me.”
