David is on his phone, his focus seemingly on his conversation as he approaches Dorian's door. He passes without a glance.
Good. The loyal dog is just as blind as his master.
The moment the door closes behind him, my attention snaps back to the trembling boy in front of me.
"He cut me out because ofher," I whisper, the words a blade against my tongue. "So, you are going to find out where she is. Now.”
I lean in, my voice dropping to a silken threat.
"Or every pleasure I've ever allowed you will be replaced by a pain you can't even imagine. And I'll start with your career. Do you understand me?"
Panic flashes in his eyes. He fumbles for his phone, his hands shaking so badly he almost drops it. A few frantic taps, a quick scroll.
He knows I have him. His access to Dorian's calendar and corporate accounts was always part of his price.
He turns the screen to me.
"San Diego," he breathes. "She is in San Diego. At a friend."
The chaotic rage inside me begins to cool, to sharpen, crystallizing into a single, perfect point. San Diego.
“Find out the address and send it to me. Today.” I order, my voice syrup and iron.
He swallows, white as paper, fingers already flying over the screen. The fear in him tastes sweet. A slow, predatory smile spreads across my face.
The game has changed. Dorian has cut me out with a signature and a file. I have lost the coin that kept certain doors open. But pain is a currency he hasn’t imagined I would spend.
He thinks this is over. But he is my creation. And I will not stand by and watch her reap the rewards.
If you want to truly destroy a king, you don't attack his castle. You take his queen off the board. Permanently.
I turn and walk out of the conference room without another glance at Julian, my steps now measured and calm. Pulling out my own phone, my thumb moves with lethal purpose across the screen.
San Diego,I think, the smile never leaving my face. A perfect place for a tragic accident.
* * *
Della
The Pacific kisses my ankles, cool and rhythmic, a gentle anchor in a world that feels tilted off its axis. But the peace is a fragile illusion.
A thought worms its way into my mind, sharp and unwelcome—Dorian and Leah. In his office. Together. Alone. My chest clenches, a familiar, acidic burn of jealousy and betrayal.
This time, I don’t shove it under the rug. I don’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.
I let the tears fall down on my cheeks.
At first, they fall for the woman I am now—raw, hollowed by Leah’s words and Dorian’s silence. But then the grief deepens, reaching for the girl I once was.
I cry for the girl in the hospital bed who saw the man she loved in another woman’s bed and felt her world shatter. I know it was a lie now, but the pain was searingly real—a deep, jagged wound I never allowed myself to mourn.
I give my tears to the ocean.
Salt to salt, grief to waves.
May they be my offering. Let my sorrow be swallowed whole so I don’t have to carry it anymore.
When the tears finally stop, my chest feels raw and, somehow, lighter. The time for hiding is over.
