His voice drops—deep, low, soothing.
“I have to go now, princess. I’ll call you tonight, alright? Try to eat something. Love you.”
Love you.
Princess.
My anger before this? That was a controlled burn.
This—this is a catastrophic wildfire.
It’s not just professional irritation.
It’s sharp, physical pain that knocks the breath out of me.
I feel like an intruder.
He lied.
He told me there was no one.
That he didn’t want anyone.
He kissed me, touched me, made me come on this very desk—
then had the nerve to say he didn’t have to pretend with me.
And meanwhile he has his precious “princess” to saylove youto.
Jealousy rises in my throat, bitter and poisonous. I don’t want it—but it’s there. God, it’s there.
I don’t want to admit that it’s happening again.
Me, Sloane Heart, matchmaker and reigning Queen of Hearts… fooled by yet another stupid man.
I shove the door open so hard it slams against the wall.
BAM.
Cohen is standing by the window, shoulders hunched, forehead resting against the glass.
He spins around like I’ve hit him.
And for a split second, I see something wrong—
His eyes are glassy.
His jaw clenched.
He looks like someone who’s just been emotionally wrecked and is trying to tape himself back together.
He’s vulnerable.
He’s scared.
It knocks the wind out of my anger.
My fury stumbles over concern.
