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I don’t move, and the bottle crashes onto the floor nearby, exploding into shards and beige liquid.
Silence crashes over the room just as abruptly.
Neither of us moves.
She stands there breathing as though she’s just outrun death itself. And I remain perfectly still.
At least on the outside. Inside, everything is unraveling.
“What?” I ask after several long seconds. “Say that again.”
“You heard me perfectly,” she spits. “Unlike all the women you’ve been fucking this whole time… I’m pretty sure they aren’t your friends, and the sex was very real.”
Little by little, she seems to regain control of herself.
Or maybe it’s nothing more than adrenaline carrying her through the aftermath of everything we’ve just unleashed.
“That morning, you said you wanted us to pretend nothing ever happened,” I remind her, deliberately ignoring her accusation.
“Yes,” she answers immediately. “Because that’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
Something shifts in her expression. The grief is still there, buried underneath. But now another mask slides into place.
Calm.
Professional.
Determined.
“I’m exhausted, and my emotions are all over the place. That’s all,” she says, clearly trying to end the conversation. “Please let me rest. Tomorrow, I promise we’ll have nothing but a strictly professional collaboration.”
“Selene…”
“Leave, Zayn.”
She walks to the bedroom door.
“Everything that needed to be said has already been said.”
Before the sentence is fully out, my phone starts ringing.
I ignore it.
“You can answer it,” she says, motioning toward the door.
I don’t move. I simply keep looking at her.
The ringing stops. But a second later, it starts again.
Before I can react, she walks over, slips her hand into my pocket, pulls out my phone, and glances at the screen.
A video call.
From a woman.
“Take your fucking phone and get the hell out of here,” she snaps, shoving it into my hands and trying to push past me.
I catch her with one arm, drawing her firmly into my chest, then answer the call with my free hand.
