“Previous tenant’s lease didn’t end until December. But that’s not all—I got promoted. Senior account manager with a substantial raise. The remote work arrangement became permanent.”
“Holy shit.” Priya’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’ve been getting ‘still alive, don’t worry’ texts for months, and meanwhile you’ve been out there killing it?”
“I know. It feels surreal sometimes.”
“I’m so proud of you, Indira. You know that, right?”
The unexpected emotion in her voice made my throat tight. “Thanks, Pri.”
“I mean it. When you left, I was so scared you were going to fall apart. But you didn’t. You rebuilt yourself.”
Was I? Sometimes it felt that way. The woman who’d caught Dutch cheating seemed like a stranger now—naive, willing to accept scraps and call them love. The woman I was now wouldn’t put up with that bullshit for five minutes.
“I feel different,” I admitted. “Stronger, I guess.”
“You should. You survived something that would have destroyed a lot of people, and you came out better for it.”
After we hung up, I sat in my car for a few minutes, thinking about what Priya had said. Had I really changed that much? Or had I just remembered who I was before I’d lost myself in someone else’s world?
My phone buzzed with another notification. This time it was LinkedIn—someone had viewed my profile. I’d been more active on professional social media lately, networking and building connections in the Nashville marketing scene. It felt good to be known for my work again, rather than just as “Dutch’s woman.”
I was scrolling through the notifications when one caught my eye. A connection request from someone named Sebastian Cross. The profile picture was professional but generic, and there were no mutual connections, so I almost accepted itwithout thinking. But something about the name nagged at me. Sebastian Cross. Why did that sound familiar?
I clicked on the profile and saw a list of IT-related jobs in Millfield, North Carolina. Network security specialist, systems administrator, cybersecurity consultant.
Then it hit me, and my blood ran cold. One of Dutch’s brothers was a Sebastian, though they all used road names at the club. I tried to remember... Glitch. The tech guy. It had to be him.
Was Glitch trying to track me through social media? And if so, why? The thought made my stomach clench with anxiety I hadn’t felt in weeks. I’d been so careful about my digital footprint, had changed my privacy settings on everything. But LinkedIn was for professional networking—I’d never thought to worry about it.
I quickly blocked the profile and made a mental note to review all my social media settings again. Just because I was building a new life didn’t mean I could let my guard down completely.
As I drove back to my apartment, Dutch lingered in my thoughts. Glitch’s connection request had dredged him up, and now I couldn’t shake him. Was he still sleeping with Crystal? Had he replaced me already with some new woman, or was he just rotating through club bitches like always?
The wondering annoyed me. I’d spent weeks training myself not to care about his life anymore. I’d thought I was done with all the useless speculation about what he was doing or feeling. But apparently I wasn’t completely immune to curiosity about the man who’d once meant everything to me.
?
I was packing the last of my belongings when Emma called.
“I know you said you couldn’t make it to wine night, but Sarah and I are at this little dive bar downtown, and there’s live music, and you should totally come meet us.”
I looked around the apartment, boxes stacked everywhere, and realized I could use a break. “What’s the address?”
“The Blue Moon on Broadway. Wear something cute.”
“Emma—”
“I’m not trying to set you up! Just come have fun for once. You’ve been working yourself to death.”
She had a point. I found myself changing into a dress that actually required effort and putting on makeup for the first time in ages. It felt good to make an effort for myself—not for anyone else, but because I wanted to feel beautiful again.
The Blue Moon was exactly the kind of place I’d come to love about Nashville—authentic, unpretentious, full of music and laughter. I spotted Emma and Sarah at a high-top table near the stage, drinks already in hand, and headed over.
“You look amazing!” Sarah pulled me into a hug. “Doesn’t she look amazing, Vaughn?”
I turned to find a man standing beside their table, holding a guitar case. Dark hair, warm brown eyes, the kind of easy smile that suggested he laughed often. He was dressed like he’d just come from a gig—black jeans, vintage band t-shirt, leather jacket slung over one shoulder.
“She does,” he said, extending his hand. “Vaughn Reid. I’m filling in with the house band tonight.”
