“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I think you should know that you were the only genuine person in this entire house.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to. I swallowed them down, shoved past him, and marched toward the exit without a word.
The car Henry had arranged was warm, silent, and private. Not a limo. Not an SUV. Just a normal sedan like they understood that I didn’t want another ounce of obscene luxury near my body ever again… because it would always remind me of him. He said they would bring my own car back to me, soon, once the roads were in better condition.
The drive back to town blurred past in white and gray streaks of storm. My phone buzzed several times, but I ignored everything. I couldn’t handle reality yet… especially the part where reality meant Jacob never really existed.
He was just Ben… Ben in flannel. Ben in soft smiles. Ben playing the faithful servant. Ben listening when I talked. Ben watching me like I mattered actually fucking mattered…
Stop.
Stop.
STOP.
I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms, nearly drawing blood.
He’d lied to me. He’d manipulated me. He’d built an entire game — atrap— to get me into his orbit. It didn’t matter how good the kisses were, or how softly he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, or how my heart had betrayed me with every single stupid beat since I saw him again when he showed up to help me change my blown tire the first night of the retreat.
It didn’t fucking matter because Jacob wasn’t real. I’d fallen for a man who didn’t exist.
My apartment was cold when I unlocked the door. Not the bitter, bone-deep cold of an Alabama ice storm, no, just the cheap apartment kind: old insulation, old windows, old everything.
I dropped my suitcase on the floor with a heavy thud, and I laughed. It sounded so fucking wrong and broken, like something inside me had cracked and the sound escaped through the fissures.
“Home sweet fucking home.”
I caught the faint scent of pine and cold air still clinging to my coat… the lodge’s smell. His smell. I ripped the coat off like it burned and threw it across the room. Swearing under my breath,I kicked the door shut and went straight for my laptop. If I sat still, if I breathed too long, I knew I’d shatter.
So, I logged into my bank account, and there it was. Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars stared back at me. I forgot how to breathe, how to think, how to exist.
I should feel victorious. I should feel relieved. I should feel anything except the hollow, echoing ache that lived inside my ribcage where my heart should be, but I swallowed it and kept going.
Bills? Paid. Rent? Paid. Utilities? Paid.
Medical debt in Granny’s name that I’d been fighting collectors over for ages? Paid.
My own credit cards? Paid.
Past due everything? Paid. Paid. Paid.
Once that was all done and handled, I called Bayview.
“Hi, this is Chrissy Jones. I’d like to upgrade my grandmother’s room.”
“Oh! We do have the private suite open, but?—”
I nodded, pacing the perimeter of my tiny dining room.
“Yes. That sounds perfect, thank you.”
“It’s quite a bit more expensive?—”
I cleared my throat.
“I said yes. Cost isn’t a problem for me anymore, and I want the best for my grandmother.”
“Of course, Miss Jones. We can move her today.”
