Page 202 of The Wright Man

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt the tears hit my collarbone.

That fucking bastard.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Angelica

I was not gonna break down in the backseat of a goddamn Uber.

I clenched my jaw so tight I thought I might chip a molar. My hands shook in my lap, fists curled around the hem of my hoodie like I could strangle the fabric and not myself. My breath stuttered out of me in ragged waves—like my lungs couldn't quite catch up to the betrayal blazing through my chest.

"Miss?" the driver said again, hesitant, like he wasn't sure if I was about to sob or explode. "You okay?"

No. I was not okay.

I was not okay seeing my life on the curb like yesterday's recycling.

I was not okay watching the garage light flicker like a goddamn omen while Gavin's car sat smug in the driveway, as if it had a right to be there.

But mostly, I was not okay because I knew he did this with a smile on his face.

He knew. That bastard knew I was on my way home. He probably timed it. Watched it all from the window with that petty little smirk he always wore when he thought he'd won.

I unbuckled my seatbelt slowly, mechanically, like if I moved too fast I'd combust.

"Uh... should I just—pull off?" the driver asked.

I finally looked at him. "No. Pull up."

He crept the car toward the driveway, tires crunching softly over loose gravel, the tension in the air thick enough to chew. As we pulled up beside the mound of my boxed-up life, I felt it—that slow, heavy rise of something ancient and violent.

Not grief. Not sadness.

Something hotter. Heavier. Radioactive.

I opened the door and stepped out like I had every right to be there—because I did. My sneakers hit the pavement with a quiet thud. I didn't bother grabbing anything. I just stared at the pile. At the suitcase with the busted zipper I'd been meaning to toss. At my favorite candle, broken in half. My salon kit—open, exposed, with half my combs missing.

He didn't even try to pack it with care. He just tossed it.

My eyes burned, but no more tears came. I refused.

I was not gonna let Gavin Riddle make me cry over a heap of my own goddamn belongings.

I turned away from the street, from the nosy neighbors who were definitely peeking through their blinds. I walked around the curb like it wasn't mine, like it wasn't my life airing out on the sidewalk, and made my way to the lawn.

And there, halfway up the walkway, I stopped.

Breathed.

Felt the heat crawl up the back of my neck like a warning.

Tried to talk myself down. Just for a second.

Don't go in there screaming.

Don't go in there throwing shit.

Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose it.