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That night, he left knowing we would never be together again.

He listened. He understood.

And apparently… he accepted it.

I still remember the exact moment I saw it in his eyes—the moment he decided to let go. There was no argument, no attempt to change my mind, no desperate promise that he would make things work. He simply looked at me, took in all I said, and accepted that it was over.

As if letting me go was something he could just… do.

My fingers curl around the strap of my bag.

Maybe that should have made things easier.

Instead, I was the one left behind, consumed by panic. Lost. Unable to even feel relieved for a long period of time over the fact that he hadn’t cheated on me.

He had accepted my decision easily.

And for some reason, the memory of that calm acceptance still sits heavy in my chest, quietly bothering me whenever I think about it.

I push the thought away and hurriedly slip into one of the mall bathrooms, pulling out my phone.

“I need your help,” I say the second the call connects.

“Selene, are you okay?” Colt asks immediately, panic flashing through his voice.

“Yes, yes,” I reassure him quickly. “But I’m out and I can’t leave because my car is surrounded by reporters.”

He curses under his breath, then asks for my location and tells me not to move.

As if I had any intention of doing that.

I’m trying to rebuild my normal life from scratch. I have no desire to deal with heartbreak while battling the press every single day too.

Something has to change.

And fast.

FORTY-ONE

Zayn

“Wouldn’t you be interested in having a few strip shows in your clubs too?” one of the men from the circle I’m trapped in asks.

“No,” I answer evenly. “We already have professional performers. We’re sticking to the concept we opened with.”

“I’ve been there once or twice myself. They’re insanely good,” another man says, the wedding ring on his finger catching the light.

The others laugh, nodding along, obvious interest written across their faces.

I know they’ve been to our locations. Partly out of curiosity, to see what the places look like, but mostly because of the women dancing there.

Their bad luck is that the girls only dance, and their security is entirely in our hands.

They arrive safely at the clubs, leave the second their shift is over, and return home without ever being left to fend for themselves. No one besides my brothers and me knows who they are, what their names are, or anything else about them.

Kai handled their contracts, while Sierra and Thalia supervised the auditions. The two of them made sure every woman understood exactly what the job involved—and, more importantly, that nobody would touch them, with or without consent.

We’re not turning the clubs into brothels, and we don’t allow any kind of interaction between the clients and the dancers.