“It was true—”
“Then prove it.” I’m crying now, tears streaming down my face. “Just tell me that this—us—matters more than everything else.”
He stares at me, and I watch the war between the boy who lost everything fighting against the man who’s spent twenty years making sure it never happens again play out across his face.
“I can’t,” he finally whispers.
“You can’t, or you won’t?”
“Does it matter?”
“It matters to me!” I grab the rest of my clothes, clutching them to my chest. “I thought I saw the real you last night. I thought you finally let me in.”
“You did—”
“Then why are you shutting me out now?” I move toward the door connecting our rooms. “Why are you already treating this like a mistake?”
“Because it might be!” The words explode out of him. “Everything I touch, I destroy. Everyone I let close to me gets hurt. And you—” His voice breaks. “You’re too important to destroy.”
I stop at the door, hand on the handle. “So you’re destroying us instead.”
“I’m trying to save you from the wreckage.”
“I don’t want to be saved.” I look back at him, this broken, beautiful man standing in the morning light. “I want to be chosen.”
His eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Bailey—”
“Goodbye, Daniel.”
I slip through the door before he can respond.
In my room, I sink to the floor, clothes still clutched to my chest, and let the sobs come.
Last night, I thought I’d found something worth fighting for. This morning, I’m learning that sometimes the person you’re fighting for won’t fight back. And that hurts more than anything.
16
Daniel
I’m still standing by the window when my phone starts buzzing again. And again. And again.
The screen lights up with notifications from emails, texts, and news alerts. Each one is worse than the last.
WILLIAM’S MYSTERY GIRLFRIEND: PR STUNT OR REAL ROMANCE?
TECH CEO’S EMPLOYEE RELATIONSHIP RAISES ETHICAL QUESTIONS.
SOURCES SAY BAILEY RODGERS IS “JUST A DISTRACTION”.
My hands shake as I scroll through headline after headline. Each one has Bailey’s face next to mine, from photos from the gala in London to yesterday’s disastrous press mixer. In every image, she looks beautiful, yet they’re tearing her apart.
The comments are worse. Thousands of strangers are speculating about her motives, her character, her worth. Gold digger, they say. Social climber. Lucky nobody who slept her way to the top.
I want to throw the phone through the window.
Instead, I call Lottie.
She answers on the first ring. “Have you seen—”
