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Because Rafe isn’t exactly the hospitable type, there’s absolutely fuck all in here other than towels and hand soap. I run the water in the sink, splashing my face before gulping down a few mouthfuls.

I brace my hands on the sides of the marble, staring at myself in the reflection. My stubble has grown out, bordering on unkempt. The dark circles under my eyes create a hollowness to my overall appearance.

Everything sucks.

Halston is back in daily negotiations with Darcy, but we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. Celine has completely reneged on everything, using my relationship with Verity as fuel for her ire.

Oh, fuck.

I vaguely remember calling Halston while I was at the bar.

Shit. What did I tell him?

I shove my hands in my pockets, searching for my phone. I scour the bedroom to see if Rafe put it somewhere or if it fell under the bed. When I come up empty, I decide to trek out of the room and down the stairs to the main floor. There’s a good chance he tossed my phone and wallet on the entryway table, not giving it a second thought.

I’m halfway down the steps when he calls out to me.

“The princess has risen from his slumber.”

He’s lounging on the couch, laptop perched on his thighs and mug of coffee in his hand. Even though it’s a Saturday, he’s dressed in chinos and a loose, short-sleeved shirt.

I give him a half-hearted smile. “You’re hilarious.”

He sets his mug down and grabs a pill bottle from the coffee table. He tosses it at me without any warning.

Despite the sluggishness crawling through my body, I manage to catch it before it clocks me in the face.

“Seriously?”

He shrugs.

I open the bottle, pouring out four capsules before screwing the lid on and chucking it back at him with the same lack of warning. He catches it without giving me a glance.

You’d think he’d be a little nicer to me, but you’d be wrong.

“Where’s my phone?”

I trudge down the last few steps and then turn in the opposite direction to head for his kitchen. I grab a glass and fill it with water before popping the pills and swallowing.

“What phone?” he calls back.

“Don’t be an ass.”

I take one of the blue coffee pods and place it in his machine, letting it whirl to life and create its magic. My stomach turns, reminding me of all the alcohol that’s still sloshing its way through my system. I scan the rest of Rafe’s kitchen for something to eat, but it is abysmally empty due to how often he travels.

I grab my coffee and then trudge back to the living room and drop next to him on the couch. The motion sends my brain rocking in my skull, and I let out an unfiltered groan.

“Here.”

He hands me my phone, and I immediately unlock it to search through the unread notifications. There are a handful of texts from Halston this morning, each of them confirming exactly what I expected.

In my drunken depression, I gave him the final go-ahead to bring our case to a judge.

I hate that everything has gotten to this point. I spent so long hoping that Celine and I would be able to resolve this on our own, that we wouldn’t have to resort to something like this.

To wind up in the exact position I’d been trying to avoid feels like a failure. It makes me sick because I spent years suffering and trying to appease her—for what?

I double-check my recent calls, and my stomach bottoms out.