He passes within inches of me, close enough that I could reach out and touch him, close enough that I feel the heat of his body, catch the familiar scent of him beneath the whiskey.
He doesn't slow. Doesn't look back.
His footsteps fade down the hallway. A door closes.
I stand alone in the living room, my heart still hammering, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of everything that just happened. The penthouse feels cavernous around me. Empty. The shadows have deepened while we fought, and now they pool in the corners like something waiting.
I don't follow him.
I walk to our bedroom instead, my legs heavy, each step requiring effort I'm not sure I have. The hallway has never felt so long. The door has never felt so heavy beneath my hand.
Ourbedroom. The word feels hollow tonight.
I curl up on the bed without undressing, pulling my knees toward my chest, wrapping my arms around myself. His side is cold. The sheets hold his scent, and I breathe it in despite myself, despite everything.
The exhaustion presses down on me, flattening me into the mattress. It's too heavy for one bad day. Too consuming.
A little more than three weeks until our wedding. Three weeks until I promise him forever in front of everyone we know.
I don't know if he'll come to bed tonight.
I don't know if I want him to.
The penthouse is silent around me. Somewhere down the hall, he's talking to Beck, planning strategies for a war I never asked him to wage. Unable to hear that I'm the one he's breaking.
I close my eyes.
The cold sheets are the only answer I get.
10
NICK
Beck has been talkingfor ten minutes, but I’m barely hearing him.
Seated in my office chair, my phone pressed to my ear, I’m just going through the motions. My mind is at the other end of the hallway, with Avery. I can’t stop thinking about the way her whole body recoiled when I slammed that whiskey glass down. The way her shoulders curled in protectively, instinctive. Afraid.
Idid that to her.
Self-disgust churns inside me as I half-listen to Beck’s status report on Rennick Media.
"The article’s been taken down everywhere now. Their legal team folded faster than expected. They’ve assured me a retraction is going live in the morning."
I grunt in response, too distracted to bother with words.
"Filings are in motion,” Beck continues. “The advertising freeze you wanted is in effect across all Rennick properties. We're also looking at their debt structure. Significant exposure there. If you want to move on acquisition, I can have a strategy ready for your review later this week."
Hearing all of this, I should feel something. Satisfaction, at least. Every item on my scorched-earth agenda is falling into place exactly like I wanted.
Instead, I keep seeing her face. I keep hearing her voice as she argued against all of this.
"There's something else," Beck says. "Their lawyers reached out an hour ago with a settlement offer. Reporter's termination, public apology, mid-six figures. It's a clean exit if you want one."
I stare unseeing at the wall of my home office, at one of Avery’s paintings that hangs across from my desk. The piece is so classically her—soft, warm, confident. Soothing colors with underlying threads of strength. I never want to be responsible for dimming any of her spirit. Christ, I’d rather be dead than live with that kind of regret.
Regret I feel now, knowing
"Nick?" Beck’s low voice drags me back to our mostly one-sided conversation. “Do you want me to go back to them with stronger demands? We’ve got them on their back foot here. They know you can destroy them and they’re eager to negotiate.”
