"You're unlike any other girl."
My stomach clenches.Tight and low and tired.
I whisper it before I can stop myself: "Then why did you treat me like one?"
No one answers, of course.
I take a sip of wine.It's dry.Bitter.Like being right.
Then I crawl onto the bed, pull the blanket around my shoulders like armor—or surrender, I'm not sure which—and sit there on the edge, legs dangling, glass cradled between my hands.
I don't know if I want to cry.
Or scream.
Or sleep.
I just know I don't want to feel this anymore.
***
Thomas
The fluorescent lights in the conference room are already giving me a headache, and I've only been inside for twelve seconds.
I'm late.Not dramatically, not offensively.Just enough to make a point I wasn't trying to make.
Half the team's already here; delegates in button-downs and vests, staff clutching folders, Niko spinning a pen between his fingers like it's a ski pole.
Why does he have a pen anyway?He never takes notes.None of us does.
Lukas sits back with arms crossed, clearly regretting every life choice that led him to this 8:30 A.M.meeting.
And then there's her.
Katharina.
Standing at the head of the table, remote in one hand, coffee in the other.Her second, if the empty cup beside her laptop is hers.
She looks tired.
And all I can think about ishim.
Matteo
Him making her stay awake until sunrise.
Him keeping her busy so that she cannot watch the sunrise.
Like I did.
Matteo, sliding his hand down her back as she laughs into her wine glass, her coat falling open just enough to show the cleavage between her perfect breasts.
And then she sees me.
Just a glance.Blank.Tired.But she doesn't pause.
"Let's get started," she says, clicking to the next slide.Her voice is even, but her jaw's tight."We'll run through the image brief for the next race block, then cover sponsor content planning.If Thomas would like to join us finally—"
