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I hand my driver’s license to the security guard as I pull into the lot. Because I’m on the approved list, he lifts the barriers and I head straight for the underground garage. I haven’t coordinated anything with Ethan, but I’m certain his car is parked here. If he’s late, I’ll wait without announcing myself. The longer he takes, the more time I have to compose myself.

He always travels with a company car and a driver, so I can’t tell which car belongs to him at a glance. I park in an empty space and prepare to check my reflection, to touch up my makeup. The engine dies, the car stills, and then I hear another vehicle start.

In the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of a black G-Class with tinted windows. I can’t make out who’s inside, but the sight alone is enough to send a sharp, familiar jolt through my chest. I grab my backpack, phone, and keys and climb out.

My heart pounds like the first time you catch a glimpse of your teenage crush—wild, restless, a little too loud. I walk toward the driver’s door just as the window rolls down and Ethan’s voice reaches me.

“About time you arrived.”

I lift my gaze, already prepared to roll my eyes at him, only for the motion to stall halfway.

The passenger seat isn’t empty.

Irina sits there.

For a breath, everything inside me drops, a cold, hollow sensation spreading through my chest before I can stop it. I hadn’t expected that. Not her. Not here. My eyes flicker toward Ethan instinctively, searching for something I can’t quite name, but I don’t allow the reaction to linger long enough for either of them to notice.

You know that sinking, disorienting feeling when you see your crush with someone else? There’s nothing pleasant about it.

But I refuse to let Ethan worm his way back under my skin just to provoke pain, anger, or any of the other messy emotions I have absolutely no right to feel.

So I do exactly what I planned.

I roll my eyes dramatically, letting him see every ounce of irritation I’m willing to show. Then I turn my attention to Irina, forcing a thin, practiced smile onto my lips, the kind that hides far more than it reveals.

I give her a short, curt nod.

“Irina.”

That’s all.

Then I move to the door, open it, and get in.

I set my backpack beside me, pull my AirPods out, crank the music as loud as I can, and tug my cap low over my eyes so no one can tell whether I’m awake or not. Resting my head against the seat, I let the bass pulse through my skull, steady and grounding.

Remember earlier, when I couldn’t decide whether to ride with Ethan or drive alone?

I should have driven in the opposite direction—completely alone—for the entire weekend.

Too late now.

But let me be clear—this is the last time I give Ethan any power over me. He ignored me for a whole year. Fine.

I’ll out-ignore him.

I will be colder, firmer, and infinitely less available.

EIGHT

Ethan

It’s been nearly an hour since we arrived and, just as expected, everyone was already gathered out on the terrace.

The guys have the grill going, laughter and smoke curling into the cool mountain air.

I only went upstairs long enough to drop off my bag—and Irina’s, because apparently they think we’ll be sharing a room. By now, there’s no real doubt in anyone’s mind that something is going on between us.

No one asks directly—except for the one time Sierra was unapologetically Sierra and cut straight to the point—but the presumption is obvious. They think we’re in some sort of relationship. Still, knowing how private I am and how buried in work I usually am, I’m sure they assume it’s nothing serious. Which it isn’t.