I swear under my breath and answer without turning on my camera.
“Hey.”
Jax doesn’t bother with hello. “Where are you?”
I grip the edge of the dresser harder than necessary. “Packing.”
There’s a beat of silence. Long enough to register.
“…Packing what?”
“My stuff.”
Another pause. This one heavier.
“Bro,” Jax says slowly. “Don’t screw with me. You mean your place or—”
“The penthouse.”
He snaps. “CAM. What do you think you're doing?”
I keep folding. A T-shirt. Another pair of socks. “It’s complicated.”
“No,” he says. “It’s not complicated. It’s you panicking.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Yes, it is. I know you.” His voice drops, sharp with certainty. “You're into her.”
I shut my eyes.
My throat burns.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
“Why not?”
Because she thinks I used her. Because I think she’s already choosing someone else. Because staying feels like waiting for the blade to drop.
I don’t say any of it.
“It’s over,” I mutter.
Jax swears under his breath. “Cam, man… talk to her.”
“I’m doing what she wanted.”
“She wanted a conversation,” he snaps. “Not a disappearance.”
"Then she shouldn't have said it."
I zip the duffel shut.
Jax exhales hard. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
“No. Definitely.”
