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The gilt-framed mirror above his bureau caught my eye as I turned.

I stopped.

The woman staring back was someone I almost recognized. Almost. She had my face, my dark hair tangled and wild from a night of Sebastian's hands in it. But her eyes…

Her eyes were different. Harder. Older than the girl who'd stepped off a plane in Paris with a suitcase full of ambition and a laughable belief that talent was enough to survive in this world.

That girl was dead. Had been for a while now, if I was honest.

The firelight played across my bare skin, alternating warmth and shadow, and for one disorienting moment, I saw what Sebastian must have seen when he looked at me. Not a woman, but a territory to be mapped and claimed. Every bruise and bite mark on my body evidence of contested ground.

I pressed my palm flat against the mirror, covering her face. Covering mine.

The glass was cold. Real. The only honest surface in this entire room.

Through the gap between my fingers, one eye stared back. Defiant. Furious.

Good. I could work with furious.

Furious was the opposite of broken, and I refused to give Sebastian Diamanti the satisfaction of breaking me in the same room where he'd tried to own me.

I held my own gaze until my breathing steadied.

Then I dropped my hand and turned my back on the mirror, on the woman in it, on whoever she'd been before last night.

She wasn't useful anymore.

The woman who was going to walk out that door needed to be someone new. Someone who could carry the weight of loving a monster and still put one foot in front of the other.

Decision made, I shoved my legs into my yoga pants and tossed my sweater back on. My chemise was around here somewhere, but I had no energy to look for it.

Let the next woman unfortunate enough to catch his attention find it wedged between the mattress and the headboard, for all I cared.

Despite my intentions, the idea of Sebastian sharing his bed with another woman sent a piercing pain straight through my heart.

Damn him.

Without a backward glance, I left his bedroom, slamming the door behind me.

That was goodbye. This is over.

This is only the beginning, babygirl.

I marched out as if I had a choice.

The ring still on my finger.

That was how he'd already won.

CHAPTER 39

SABRINA

My backpack had blood on it.

I stopped short when I entered my room.

The bag sat in the center of my bed, a silent message.