I had no idea if he had the cards or if he was bluffing until it was time for everyone to show their cards.
And that bastard won.
“I’m out,” I said, leaving my chips, my half-finished pizza, my untouched champagne on the table, grabbing my bag, and rushing out the door.
“Ugh,” I grumbled when I was outside.
I just wanted one night of fun where I wasn’t thinking about this stupid accidental marriage, the long annulment process, and a man who—despite all this—I still found myself unbearably attracted to.
The night swallowed the sound of my footsteps almost immediately—the streets too wide, too empty, the kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful so much as inattentive. Like the city had looked away.
I exhaled hard, shaking the tension out of my shoulders, and started walking.
Quickly, but not running.
The warehouse block stretched ahead of me, long and unbroken. Metal doors were rolled down tight. There was no reason for anyone to be out there unless they had somewhere specific to be. And I did. I just needed to get there.
I dug for my phone, ready to search for a driver.
I slowed near the corner beneath a streetlight that buzzed faintly, the glow uneven and jaundiced. It wasn’t dark, but it wasn’t bright enough either. It was the kind of light that lied about how safe things were.
Five minutes, the app said.
That was fine.
I could do five minutes.
I shifted my weight, back half-turned to the wall. I had a clear line of sight down the block as I waited.
I tucked my phone away, knowing it was always best to have my hands free in case of a bad situation.
I sucked in a deep breath.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps.
My first thought was that it was my freakinghusbandfollowing me to force me to take back the stupid ring again.
But no.
Something was wrong.
They were too unhurried.
There were too many of them.
I didn’t turn immediately. This was not an abandoned area. There was a bar a few blocks away. People could be coming or going.
But I tensed.
I listened.
I took a few steps down the cross street, not wanting to look like a stationary target, someone for drunk guys to annoy.
But the footsteps slowed when mine did.
I clocked it.
