Page 82 of Unlock My Heart

My heart pounds in my ears as I wait, but no response.

I frantically scroll, pulling up Jade’s contact. To my relief, she answers on the first ring. “If it isn’t my best girl, plucked out from under me.”

“Is there a hostess event tonight at the hotel lounge?” My words come out in a violent rush, uncertainty seeping into my bone marrow.

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“If I were lying, I wouldn’t tell you I was lying, now would I?” she says, amusement coating her tone.

“Jade, please tell me,” I beg.

“None of my girls are in service tonight in the lounge, that I’d swear on my mama’s grave. Now, do you feel better?”

“No,” I admit. “Are you at your office right now?”

“Yes,” she says hesitantly.

“I received a text from an unknown number hinting that Fabien is at the lounge with another girl. Please go out there and tell me if you see him, and who he’s with⁠—”

“Sweetie, let me stop you right there,” she says firmly. “The men in this world play by their own rules.”

“By men, you mean Fabien?” The fact that I even have to ask that question leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

There’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence.

“Jade, if you know something, please tell me,” I beg, hating that my voice cracks.

“Look, I don’t know anything about what’s happening tonight, but those rose-colored glasses you’re wearing aren’t doing you any favors.”

“Meaning?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re really going to make me spell it out?”

“Yes!”

“You’re not the first girl of mine to be with Fabien. Probably won’t be the last. So ignore shit-stirring texts and go about your business.”

“Who?” I say through my teeth.

Jade sighs heavily. “Look, you didn’t hear this from me, but Fabien lost his V card to Chantelle. Just be careful with that soft little heart of yours,” she warns.

It feels like I’ve been hit by a trolley.

“You won’t, but such is life,” Jade predicts, ending the call.

My mind’s reeling. Fabien told me he never paid for sex. Why would he lie about it? And his first time was with Chantelle? As in trying to shove a glass bottle up my vagina, Chantelle?

But forget all that; Chantelle’s six feet under, so who the fuck is Fabien with?

Better believe my “soft little heart” is getting to the bottom of this.

I take off downstairs and out the door, sprinting to Hotel D’Amico. Even the catch in my side doesn’t slow me down. Chest heaving, I reach the alley of the hotel, with Fabien’s sports car parked illegally.

It being here—him being here—knocks what little air I have left from my lungs. Dropping my hands to my knees, I give myself a moment to catch my breath.

The private door opens, and I straighten when I see who it is.