No. No, no, no.
“That’s not what I meant,” I said quietly, uselessly, but it was already too late.
Ethan pushed to his feet, jaw tight, eyes bright in the low light, and without a word, without looking back, he turned and walked out, leaving me sitting there like the world’s biggest fucking idiot.
What the hell had I just done?
My phone pinged, the sound slicing through the noise in my head.
I stared at it for a moment before reaching into my pocket, my hand unsteady as I pulled it free. My breath turned shallow, pulse hammering as I looked down.
Aria
I hate being the bearer of bad news
but I thought I’d give you a heads-up
I had this one taken down but you know they have a habit of popping up anyway
Happy birthday Ash
A link waited beneath the message. Somewhere in the middle of it, I’d stood. I hadn’t even felt it happen.
My thumb hovered before tapping down. The page loaded slowly, and when it did, two photographs filled the screen. The first showed Luca and me arriving at Mateo’s gallery opening, his hand at my back, cameras catching us mid-step as if we were something curated for display. The second was from the café—thatafternoon, the day I had set out to break Ethan’s heart. They had captured the exact instant he’d looked up at me, smiling warmly, something open and unguarded in his face, something that had never belonged to anyone but me.
Below the images, a headline stretched across the page—not kind in the slightest—accusing me of exactly what had happened and dragging both of them into public scrutiny once again.
“Fuck!” The word ripped out of me, loud against the terrace air, taking the last thin thread of sanity I had left with it.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ETHAN
The apartment door slammed shut behind me, the echo carrying through the space as anger surged under my skin. But beneath it—under the heat and the sting—something far worse pulsed. Something empty.
He doesn’t want me.
Why the fuck did I even come here? Why the hell was I in this city, dressed like this, chasing after what? A man who couldn’t even look at me without flinching?
Tearing at the costume—the sash, the skirt, the stupid wings—I yanked everything off in one frantic motion. Storming into the bathroom, I twisted the shower to hot until steam swallowed the mirror, then grabbed a fistful of makeup wipes, dragging them over my skin with shaking hands, scrubbing at the shimmer, the bronzer, the glitter clinging like a reminder of how stupid I’d been.
Desperate. I looked desperate.
Because that’s what I was, right?
Desperate to have him.
Desperate to matter.
Desperate to be someone worth choosing.
So fucking desperate that when my dad took everything from me, I just… let him. Didn’t fight. Didn’t defend myself. Didn’t even ask why.
And this job? This city? I had to run straight tohim. Of course I did. I insisted on staying close because I always fucking do that. I always choose the people who won’t choose me back. I gave him my heart once, and he shoved it straight back at me. Because who would want it in the first place?
I scrubbed harder until my skin went red under my fingers and the wipes piled up in the sink. The shower roared behind me, fogging the mirror until I couldn’t see myself at all.
