His eyes lift to mine.
The silence lands harder than anger would have.
I swallow.
“I need to say this clearly,” I continue. “Without softening it. Without spinning it.”
He nods once.
So I do.
“I entered the contest intentionally,” I say. “I knew it would help Raina. I knew the exposure mattered. I didn’t anticipate you being part of it, and I definitely didn’t plan to fall for you.”
His breath shifts.
“But,” I say, forcing myself not to rush, “I did benefit from how it started. I didn’t stop it when it stopped being just business. And I understand why that feels horrible.”
The words sit between us.
Neither of us moves.
I don’t saybut I didn’t mean it that way.I don’t sayyou have to understand.
Impact matters more than intent.
He looks down like he’s choosing restraint over reaction.
When he speaks, his voice is calm.
Too calm.
“I saw the post,” he says.
I draw a slow breath.
“The comments,” he continues. “People saying you planned it. That I was part of the rollout.”
I flinch.
“I felt stupid,” he says. “For believing it was real.”
My throat burns.
He finally looks at me again. “I don’t need to be first every time,” he says. “But I won’t stand in line for someone who doesn't choose me at all.”
The words hit like a punch I don’t brace for.
I don’t interrupt.
I don’t reach for him.
He exhales slowly.
“That’s what pisses me off,” he says. “Not the beginning. The wondering if the middle means anything to you.”
When he finishes, the quiet rushes back in.
I step closer again.
