I keep my mouth shut.
The second Noah sees it on my face, he knows. His expression twists into something I’ve never seen before: betrayal, heartbreak, rage.
“You son of a bitch.” His fist connects with my jaw before I can even blink. The hit is clean and hard, and I stumble back a step, tasting blood.
“You fucked everything up,” he yells. “You lied, you dragged my sister into this bullshit, and now we’ve lost the biggest deal of our goddamn lives. All because you had to fucking lie.”
Austin grabs Noah, pulling him back with both arms. “Enough! That’s enough, man!”
But Noah isn’t done. “I don’t want to see you again. Ever. And if I find out you so much as look at Eva again, I swear to God?—”
I nod once, silent, jaw throbbing.
He storms out, the door slamming so hard behind him the walls shake. The only sound left in the room is my breathing and the ringing in my ears.
Austin lets out a slow breath. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, looking at me. “You okay?”
I nod again, swallowing the pain in my throat. “Yeah.”
Austin rubs a hand over his face, then looks me dead in the eye. “Is it true? You and Eva?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yeah. I’m in love with her, man. I didn’t plan it… I tried not to. But she’s—fuck—she’s everything.”
Austin exhales, resting his hands on his hips. “Well. That explains a lot.”
“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” I say quietly. “Especially not Noah. But I can’t walk away from her. Not now.”
Austin gives me a long look. “You need to give him space. Let him cool down. But if you want to fix this, McNeal, the business—all of it—you’d better figure out how. Fast.”
I nod, the weight of everything crashing down all at once.
I’ve lost my best friend.
I might’ve lost our future.
But I won’t lose her. Not without a fight.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eva
The soft chime of the salon door barely cuts through the low hum of blow dryers and quiet conversations. I glance up from the register as I finish ringing up a customer, smiling politely as I hand over her receipt. But my smile falters the second I see who just walked in.
Noah.
His face is thunderous, jaw clenched, brows drawn tight, eyes burning. His whole body moves with rigid fury, like he's holding himself together with fraying thread. The customer says something, but I barely register it. I finish the transaction with a mechanical smile and hand her the bag.
Noah’s already at the counter.
“What’s wrong?” I ask cautiously, trying to keep my voice light.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans in slightly, his voice low and sharp. “When were you going to tell me that you were sleeping with my best friend?”
The world narrows around us. The soft hum of dryers fades into the background. I glance around, Ashton’s focusedon his client, and the other stylists are working, blissfully unaware of the bomb about to go off in the front of the salon.
“Can you not do this here?” I whisper.
“I have to do it now, Eva,” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “We just lost the deal with McNeal.”
