Page 63

Judging by the look on her face, she heard every word.

Or at least the only words she needed to hear.

TWENTY

Selene

The trip from New York to London feels a thousand times worse when you’re flying commercial, even in first class.

I’m just grateful I managed to sleep through most of it. I needed those hours of rest, no matter how restless they actually were.

Last night, I got lucky and found a seat on the flight so I could arrive in London at the same time as my team.

When Zayn left the casino right after asking me if I’d slept with Erik—a question I only fully processed hours later—I had to take a taxi back to the hotel.

I arrived just in time to find him about to fuck God knows which number woman this week. Or however many days it’s been at this point, because my brain can’t keep up anymore.

Less than a week, I think.

Jesus.

I’ve lived enough over the past few days to fill half a year—events, emotions, revelations.

The way he acts, the things he does, make me feel dirty. Replaceable.

I never expected him to stop seeing other women after our night together, but I’ve already lost count of how many there have been since then.

He brought them into the same bed where he spent the entire night making me feel special, where he treated me like I was the most important woman in the world.

Only to prove afterward that, to him, I’m no different from all the others.

Today, I have to go to Hartho, where I’m headed right now, to present the final results of the New York casinos and clubs.

I’m incredibly proud of how everything turned out, and I wish I could actually enjoy my success the way I should.

But within days, Zayn stormed into my life and turned everything into even greater chaos.

“We’re here, miss,” the taxi driver says when he notices the car has already stopped and I still haven’t reacted.

“Thank you,” I answer quickly, handing him the cash and stepping out of the car.

At the reception desk, the woman checks my ID, then asks one of the security guards to escort me directly to the elevators leading to the upper floors.

Taking advantage of the fact that I’m alone, I glance at my reflection in the mirrored walls.

Today, my hair is straight, falling loose down my back. Before leaving, I refreshed the color, and the purple is vibrant now—so vivid it catches anyone’s attention. I’m wearing a pink satin dress that leaves both shoulders bare, topped with a lightweight linen blazer that’s perfect for summer.

On my feet are high-heeled sandals in the exact same shade of pink as the dress, and my wrists are adorned with silver bracelets.

This time, I’m not wearing a single ring.

Maybe that way I’ll stop misleading people. I want it to be obvious that I’m no longer engaged. Not for men, but for people who know me. I have no reason to hide that reality anymore.

“Good afternoon,” a warm voice greets me as the elevator doors open.

The woman standing there smiles kindly.

“You must be Selene Diaconescu,” she adds. “I’ll take you to the conference room.”