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My driver says nothing. Just starts the engine and pulls into the night, the city glowing around me—unaware of the war unraveling inside my chest.

I rest my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes. This was a mistake. All of it. Because I forgot who I am without him. And I can’t afford to do that again.

I thought I’d come here to fight for us. To try one more time. But tonight wasn’t a step forward, it was a fall backwards—into something twisted and hurtful and unfinished.

Still, I know I’m staying. I had already accepted three client meetings over the next two weeks.

The car slows as we approach the grand entrance of the Majestic Hotel. Glided lights, elegant domes, polished marble floors. A world where I can breathe again. Or at least I can pretend.

The bellman opens the door and collects my luggage. The concierge already had my suite keycard waiting. I follow in silence, barely registering the click of my heels against the glossy floor, the hum of luxury around me.

Room 1011. What a fucking joke.

Inside, I let the door close behind me. The suite is beautiful—quiet, tasteful, warm. But all I can do is stand in the center of the room, staring out at the river, at the lights of London shimmering like tiny promises I don’t believe in anymore. I exhale slowly and slip my phone out of my bag.

Work. That’s where I start.

I open my calendar and verify all three meetings for the next weeks. I even message a fourth potential client I’d been ignoring for months.

I’ll work from here, from this room. I won’t set foot in the Hartho offices unless I have no other choice. Let Nick stay in his tower of ice. I have no intention of knocking twice.

Because I may have come here for him, but I’m staying for me.

The phone buzzes against the marble-top table near the agenda I tossed beside it.

Thalia.

Of course.

With a deep breath, I sink onto the edge of the bed and swipe to answer.

“Hey.”

“Ser, how did it go? Please tell me you have good news,” she says, her voice hovering between cautious excitement and pity. Or maybe it’s hope and dread at once.

I let out a bitter laugh, pressing my hand to my forehead.

“Ugh. Thalia, the only good news I have is that I had an orgasm—after months of nothing. And if you think that counts as good news, considering the person responsible was Nickolas, who did it against a wall and then immediately told me I got what I came for and could leave…”

I exhale sharply, the words tumbling out of me in a long, breathless stream.

“Then sure, great news.”

There’s a long pause, and then I hear her inhale sharply on the other end.

“Oh. My. God. Sierra, are you serious? What the hell is wrong with him?”

Her voice pitches up, furious now, vibrating with the kind of rage only a best friend can feel.

“I should’ve come with you. I swear, he needs a couple of slaps to knock the asshole out of him.”

I let my head fall back onto the pillows, closing my eyes.

“I don’t know what he needs, but I’ll tell you what he’s not getting—another chance to treat me like a whore.”

My voice cracks slightly, but I keep going.

“I let my guard down. I let him touch me like that. I touched him back. And the second it was done, he locked himself in the damn bathroom. Like I was a mistake he couldn’t wash off.”