“I should get back.”
It’s not a question. It’s not a plea.
It’s me, saving the last shred of my pride before he peels it off next.
The office disappears behind me in the rearview mirror, all glass edges and silent judgment, tucked high in the cliffs like it’s watching the world drown beneath it.
I made it through the day.
Just barely.
Four hours of sleep, three back-to-back meetings, two passive-aggressive emails from board members I don’t care about, and one very strategically ignored text thread from a man I had sex with last night and have barely heard from since.
Except I’m still vibrating from last night, and Konstantin hasn’t looked at me. Not really. Not since his fingers were on my spine and his mouth was—
Nope. Bury it.
He was at breakfast this morning. Silent. Stiff. Sipping espresso like it personally offended him. The twins had soccer stats to shout about, Alya insisted on showing me her drawing of a unicorn in a security vest, and I was so busy cutting pancakes into non-lethal squares that I didn’t even notice he was gone until the chair beside me was empty again.
Vrooom!
Again.
The wheel jerks under my grip, and I realize I’m driving like I’m running from something.
Maybe I am.
I’m behind the wheel of a matte gray Aston Martin worth more than my entire education, surviving on caffeine and spite. The car purrs beneath me—not a desperate wheeze like my old Toyota, but a confident rumble that promises power.
Poor Betsy would’ve had a stroke parked next to this thing.
Everything about this car feels wrong. The leather still smells new. The manual sits untouched in the glove compartment because men like Konstantin assume women can’t handle a stick shift.
The worst part? I love driving it.
It responds instantly. No hesitation. No backtalk. No passive-aggressive silences. It might be the most functional relationship in my life right now.
The coast stretches before me as I hit the highway. Monterey’s cliffs stand against the horizon, the sun breaking over the ocean like it’s trying too hard to be picturesque.
The science fair started thirty minutes ago.
My phone buzzes in the console.
Lila: Are you here yet?
Translation:Everyone’s parents are here, and I swear to God, if you make me the only orphan, I will emotionally blackmail you in front of the entire seventh grade.
The dashboard lights up with another name.
Leonie Mercer.
Of course.
I sigh and tap to answer.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Marquez. I wanted to inform you—the lease on your parents’ home has been finalized.”
