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And this is already crossing lines I don’t intend to blur.

TWENTY-THREE

Thalia

Apparently, a woman can walk up to a man, ask him for a night of sex, and still end up leaving his place feeling used and… discarded—if that’s even the right word. Cheap. Empty. My last night clearly proved it.

I don’t think it took me longer than a minute to arrange my clothes and walk out the door, or more than five minutes to make it back to Theo’s home.

Everything after that blurs together—the silence, the cold air against my skin, the way my chest ached for reasons I didn’t want to name.

The problem is, I didn’t really sleep afterward. My body was exhausted, but my mind wouldn’t stop racing.

Now it’s barely seven in the morning, and I’m supposed to show up at the office and function like a normal human being.

To make matters worse, I have an endless list of things to sort through—organizing the upcoming events in chronological order, checking budgets, coordinating with suppliers—basically preparing everything so I can leave for vacation with the entire group on Monday. Including Ethan. Which, of course, is absolutely great. No?

Because who wouldn’t want to spend a week in paradise with the man who just made them feel disposable?

Sometimes I amaze myself with my own genius.

It’s almost funny, really. I was the one who went to him. I was the one who thought it would be a good idea to sleep with Ethan Hardy—not once, but twice.

What exactly did I expect to happen? That he’d change overnight, suddenly crave something more, maybe even ask me to stay? That he’d stop entertaining all the women throwing themselves at him and decide he wants me?

God, Thalia… what a fool.

After a night spent half cursing him and half reliving every touch, every sound, every way he made me feel, I finally reach for my phone somewhere under the pillows. My fingers brush against the cold screen, and I unlock it, my eyes still half-closed, expecting nothing more than a few useless notifications.

Instead, my home screen explodes with messages, tags, and alerts—Instagram, X, news sites. I must have left the internet on.

A new notification flashes at the top of the screen, this one different from the rest—an incoming text. My eyes catch the sender’s name immediately, and my stomach twists before I even open it.

I hesitate for only a second before tapping it open. The message loads, and the words hit me like a slap.

Mother: You stupid little bitch. I forced you to get close to them for a reason, and the good life you’re living is thanks to us. If you keep provoking me, everything will end immediately for you too.

I read the message over and over again, along with the dozens of others just like it that I’ve received over the past months, and I can’t seem to pull myself out of the trance she manages to throw me into every single time.

I know it’s wrong. I know I should put a stop to it. But I can’t. No matter how hard I try in this moment, fear wraps itself around me again, squeezing, until it leaves me completely paralyzed.

I’m still receiving notifications, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the conversation with my mother, where only she speaks—demanding, pressing, threatening. That is, until something else catches my attention. A name. His name.

Ethan Hardy.

My heart stumbles violently in my chest, and I’m suddenly wide awake. I tap on the oldest alert, my thumb trembling slightly, and wait as the page loads.

The moment it does, a sharp pain shoots through me, like a punch right under my ribs.

Ethan Hardy in Love? The Billionaire CEO Breaks Millions of Hearts Overnight

Sorry, Ladies—Ethan Hardy is Officially Off the Market

A Romance or a Business Deal? Ethan Hardy and Antonia Bordeaux Announce Their Relationship

The New Power Couple—Hardy and Bordeaux Make It Official

For a long moment, I can’t bring myself to breathe. I stare at the headlines, rereading them, hoping I’m hallucinating from lack of sleep. But they’re all real. His name is everywhere. And next to it—hers.