The valet pulls the car around.
There’s a hand on my arm.
“Let’s go home, Cupcake.” McCarthy sounds pleased.
“Home?” I choke out.
McCarthy takes in my tear-and-makeup-stained cheeks, the anger and humiliation on my face.
“I’m not going home with you, not after you ruined everything.”
“Ruined?” His fingers dig into my arms as he looms over me. “Those men? All of them were stalking you. They were making your life miserable. I tracked them and—”
“How?”
“Mirrored your phone. It’s not important.” He’s impatient.
“You went into my phone?”
“I did it to save you.”
“You didn’t do that for me. You did that for yourself, because you just want to win at all costs. You want to be right at all costs.”
“They cannot take you from me. You’re mine, do you understand?” He’s crazy as he shakes me. “I won’t let anyone take you from me. They were trying to take you from me.”
I shake my head silently.
“Yes, they were,” McCarthy snaps. “You’re not that upset about it. You’re not even crying. You like being taken care of, being protected.”
“You ruined me, you crossed every single fucking boundary, and you publicly humiliated me.” I tick the list off on my fingers.
“Public humiliation?” he scoffs. “You were barely collateral damage.”
“I’m going to lose my job.” I’m hyperventilating. “I’m going to be fired and blacklisted.”
“So?”
“So? You ruined me. Don’t you even care? What am I saying?” I wrench away from him. “Of course you don’t care. You never cared about me. I’m just another weapon in your arsenal. No, not even that. I’m just a bullet you throw away after using.”
“You’re so dramatic, Cupcake.” His tone is patronizing.
“Stop calling me that.”
He ignores me. “What does it matter? You’re going to be my wife. You never have to see any of those people again. I’ll take care of you, give you anything and everything you need—babies, you can redecorate, host parties, book clubs. You can even have an island for rescue dogs or hamsters or whatever.”
I realize as I listen to him talk, listen to his flippant tone, hear the selfishness, that I hate him. I well and truly hate him—more than I hate my dad, more than I hate my stalkers, more than I hate my exes.
I hate him because I actually thought he loved me, actually believed that a man like him loved a girl like me.
“You condescending, patronizing bastard. I am not marrying you.”
“Of course you are. You’re going to choose this over me?” He gestures to the chaos behind us, people streaming out of the venue, faces covered. “I don’t think so.”
Hannah’s on the steps, shocked as she runs after her client. Bethany is pissed. The Prism C-suite is about to collectively have a stroke. Then there’s my father: the man whose love I’ve been chasing my entire life.
“You’re never going to be your dad’s pride and joy,” McCarthy continued.
My god, he’s so cruel.
