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When I arrive at the office in the morning, he’s already here, and when I leave in the evening, he stays behind, probably for another four or five hours. Meeting after meeting, the construction for a new hotel chain, in parallel with a chain of casinos. The guys are always present—either all together or taking turns—but Ethan? He’s married to his work, exactly as I knew from the very beginning.

So I can’t decide what bothers me more—the fact that he’s buried in work, or that Irina has more access to him than I do.

What’s certain is that a thousand thoughts run through my mind constantly, and I can’t seem to stop them.

And, to make everything worse, my parents have started harassing me again. At first, they called twice, sometimes three times a day. When they realized I wasn’t answering, they began sending messages—messages I deleted without even opening. But I know I can’t continue like this. The only reason I haven’t changed my number yet is fear—fear of what they might do to retaliate.

Zayn has asked me a few times how I am, if they’ve bothered me again. I hate that I lie to him, but I truly don’t want to burden him with my problems. He’s busy enough, and he already saved me from them that night. Yet knowing someone out there genuinely understands the situation helps me feel less like an ungrateful daughter—the way my parents keep trying to make me feel.

Because ever since I left home, doubt has lived lodged somewhere between my mind and my chest. Should I have done more for them? Should I have insisted on helping them, tried harder to pull them out of that place? Should I have helped them heal from their addictions? Should I have sent money every month to cover their expenses?

These questions used to echo through my head night after night. And inevitably came the hope that maybe the next conversation would be different. That maybe they would miss me. That maybe—for my sake—they would want to change. Ridiculous, isn’t it? I’m old enough to know better, yet my expectations remain those of a child.

My phone vibrates on my desk. Thinking it’s Jessica sending me the details I asked for earlier, I grab it without hesitation.

But the moment the screen lights up, every drop of blood drains from my body.

Mother: I bet you felt oh so important when that rich boy kicked us out without blinking. But you should know by now that in life, everything comes with a price. To make it clear that we’re not playing, we prepared a little surprise for you. For you and all those fancy people around you. If you don’t give us the money you owe us soon, we’ll have plenty more surprises ready.

What surprises? What is she talking about? God, what have they done?

My breath turns shallow, uneven, as if my lungs refuse to work. I try to keep myself under control, to avoid creating a scene here, in front of everyone, but it’s unbearably hard.

I want to leave. I want to lock myself in the bathroom until I can breathe again. But I’m so dizzy I’m afraid I’ll collapse the moment I stand up.

My phone vibrates again—this time in my hand.

I look down at the screen, my fingers trembling, but it’s just the message I’ve been waiting for from Jessica—a perfect excuse to escape for a moment. She’ll assume I’m going to call the venue for her.

I push myself up slowly, using the desk for balance until I’m steady enough to stand. Then I straighten my spine and walk toward the bathroom, each step heavy with the dread twisting in my stomach.

I don’t know what to do because I don’t know what my parents have done. Should I call Zayn? He already knows the whole story. Maybe he could help. But what would I even tell him? That I have no idea what’s happening?

What if they sent the message just to scare me? Maybe I should wait to see what this “surprise” is, then try to fix whatever needs fixing.

Inside the bathroom, I wash my hands with cold water, letting it run over my wrists longer than necessary. Then I press a handful of cold water to my forehead, hoping it will calm the trembling beneath my skin. I inhale deeply, exhale slowly—several times—staring at my reflection until I look like I can hold myself together.

I grab my phone and text the owner of the venue Jessica needs. I’m not capable of a real conversation right now, but I have to notify him as soon as possible that I need the place reserved.

Only when I feel like I’ve regained some semblance of control do I move toward the door. But I don’t even manage to touch the handle before it swings open on its own.

And Sierra walks in.

“I’ve been looking for you for ten minutes,” she says quickly. “Of course you’re in the farthest bathroom.”

I try to let out a quiet laugh, light enough not to raise suspicions. “The others were all occupied, Ser.” Then I pull her into a quick hug, hoping she won’t feel how tense I am.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

“We came to visit Nick, and Serena is with him—and half the guys—in his office,” she says with a bright smile. “I saw your desk empty, and Jessica told me you walked this way, so I came to find you.”

As I prepare to answer, my phone vibrates again, and a jolt of panic shoots through me so sharp I nearly drop it. Sierra notices instantly.

“You okay?” she asks, worry squeezing her voice.

I let out the most believable chuckle I can muster, pressing a hand to my chest. “Jesus, I just got scared by my own phone buzzing.”

Without even flipping the screen to check the notification, I reach for the door handle.