Page 47

I didn’t drink. Not a single glass of champagne. Not one stolen sip of courage. And still—I feel hungover. Not in my body. In my soul. I blink up at the ceiling like it might offer me answers. But all it does is spin. Everything aches. My muscles. My chest. The corners of my eyes where tears wanted to fall last night but didn’t. Because I wouldn’t let them. Not in front of him. Notforhim.
Saxon fucking North.
Why did he come? Why now? And why does the ghost of his voice still live in my ears like it pays rent?
I press my fingers against the bridge of my nose and groan. It feels like my brain is swollen. Like every thought has claws and they’re dragging through the inside of my skull.
I’m so tired. Of pretending to be fine. Of lying to myself and everyone else. And the worst part? The way my body betrays me. Still reacts to him like he’s the only thing that’s ever made it feel alive.
I curl into myself, dragging the covers up over my head, like maybe I can shut him out. Like maybe, if I hide long enough, the version of me that used to need him will burn out with the rest of the poison. But I know better. This isn’t going away on its own.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall, biting my lip until it hurts. My phone buzzes somewhere on the floor. I ignore it. It’s probably Mia. Or Shelby. Or both. But there’s only one person I want right now. Someone who won’t try to fix me. Someone who never flinches when I crack.
Tayana.The keeper of my secrets. The only person who doesn’t ask for the cleaned-up version of my pain. She sees me—really sees me—and somehow still stays.
I reach for my phone and type two words.
“You up?”
And when she responds a minute later with:
“Always. Want me to come over with coffee?”
I finally breathe. Because the storm inside me doesn’t feel quite so deadly when I know someone’s willing to sit in it with me.
“Two almond cappuccinos,one triple-shot because I knew your soul would be crying,” Tayana says, dropping the tray on the kitchen counter. “And a lemon muffin because carbs heal.”
I want to smile, but I don’t even have the energy for it. I take the coffee, nod in thanks, and lean against the counter like it’s the only thing holding me up.
Tayana watches me for a beat, then pulls out a stool and waits. She’s beautiful in that way that Russian princesses often are—like her bloodline was forged in ice and fire and violence. There’s a kind of old-world elegance to her. Regal without trying. Her cheekbones could cut diamonds, and her eyes—sharp and gray as winter steel—miss nothing. She’s the kind of woman people stare at, but never for long. Not because she’s forgettable, but because there’s something in her gaze that warns:Don’t look too long unless you’re prepared to pay a price for it.
Her hair is dark and thick, usually twisted into something careless that somehow still looks like it belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine. And when she smiles, really smiles, it’s a rare thing—like the sun catching frost. But when she’s holding you in her arms, whispering truths you didn’t know you needed to hear, she feels like safety in a world full of open wounds.
She’s my constant. My secret-keeper. My anchor. And if it wasn’t for her and her husband, Rafi Gatti, I wouldn’t be here today. I owe my life to Rafi, the youngest Gatti brother. Not figuratively. Not poetically. Literally.
Because when I was nothing more than a name on a list and a whisper in the dark, he kept looking. He kicked in doors, he broke rules, he dragged the worst of the underworld into the light until they had nowhere left to hide. He didn’t stop; he chased my ghost through the city like it was sacred. And maybe to him, it was. Because ultimately, he’s the one who found me. And if he hadn’t, maybe I’d be buried in a ditch somewhere. Maybe I’d be alive but unrecognizable—hollowed out, walking the earth like a corpse with my name crossed off a missing persons list. So yes. I owe Rafi Gatti everything.
And because of that, I owe my loyalty—the unflinching,wordless kind—to the Gatti family. And maybe that’s part of why I trust Tayana the way I do. Because the man she chose to build her life with is the one who refused to let mine end.
Tayana never prods or asks. She knows I’ll get there when I’m ready. In the end, that’s what undoes me. Because within seconds, the words start spilling out of me like I’ve lost the ability to filter anything.
“I think I’m in love with the man who betrayed me,” I say, voice raw.
Tayana lifts an eyebrow, but she doesn’t interrupt.
I stare at the rim of my coffee cup. “Saxon North. Ever since he’s come back, I feel like my life has been a mess. I don’t want to be just some inconvenient footnote in a love story he thinks we’re still living.”
Her silence makes it worse. It makes it real.
“And I hate it. I hate how my body remembers him. Like my pulse is waiting for the green light. Like I haven’t spent months trying to cut him out of my system.”
I swallow hard. It scratches.
“Last night, he kissed me. I wanted to slap him. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to scream that he doesn’t get to show up and light a match and walk away again.”
Tears burn behind my eyes, hot and unwanted.
“And the sickest part?” I whisper. “I miss him.” My voice cracks. “I still miss him.”