Back to the apartment.
Back to the source of it all.
The moment I stepped inside, the air felt wrong—thick, charged, like the aftermath of a storm. And strangely quiet. Martina and Taylor were nowhere in sight, which made no sense. They never left the apartment unattended.
I went to my bedroom.
Caroline was still there.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, the words tearing out of me. “And why did you lie?”
She didn’t look startled. She didn’t look ashamed. She looked resolved.
“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, almost gently. “I want you back.”
Before I could react, she pulled my shirt that she was wearing over her head, her movements confident, and walked toward me naked. The sight hit me like a violation—of my space, my home, my life.
“We’re good together,” she said softly. “We always have been. We never should’ve broken up.”
Her fingers traced down my chest, familiar in a way that made my stomach twist. I grabbed her wrist and shoved her hand away harder than I meant to. “How did you even get in here?” I snapped. “Past Martina and Taylor?”
She yanked her hand back, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “No onewas around. I’ve been here before, remember?” She sat on the bed, claiming the space.
That’s when something cold slid into my gut.
Why would they leave without telling me someone was in the penthouse?“You and I,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “that ended a long time ago.”
She laughed, short and dismissive. “Not that long. Last summer. You remember. When you got back from Europe. We spent the night together.”
The memory surfaced against my will—blurred, distant, something I’d already filed away as a mistake. “Yes,” I said quickly, too quickly. “One night. That’s all it was.” I scoffed, more to convince myself than her. “And trust me when I say this—I don’t want you back.”
I looked at her then, really looked. The calculation behind her eyes. The entitlement. The certainty that she could still insert herself into my life.
“You’re devious,” I said coldly. “And selfish. You always have been. Now put your clothes on and get out.”
For a moment, fear flickered across her face. Real fear.
She dressed in silence and left without another word.
The door closed, and the apartment felt stripped bare.
I stood there, staring at the empty space where she’d been, my thoughts racing too fast to catch. I pulled out my phone and called Taylor. “Where are you?”
“Mr. Evans,” he said, sounding rushed, “I’m driving Martina to your parents’ house. Mrs. Evans asked for extra help with the dinner preparations.”
The timing felt… convenient.
I ended the call.
None of it made sense.
Not the way it all aligned so perfectly against me.
Nyah’s face haunted me—shock giving way to heartbreak, heartbreak hardening into something final. She had believed what she saw. Or maybe she’d believed what it looked like. Either way, she hadn’t trusted me enough to stay. She hadn’t wanted my explanation. Shehadn’t wantedme. She’d done exactly what she’d told me she’d done before.
The thought hurt a hundred times over.
Everything we’d shared—late nights, quiet mornings, our lives—felt suddenly fragile. As if it had only existed because nothing had tested it before.
