Dominic’s question still hanging in the air like smoke.
And then—like my life had decided to be a cruel joke—my phone buzzed.
A text.
From a number I hadn’t saved.
But now I didn’t have to pretend I didn’t know who it was. I could save her in my contacts.
Name her there.
Kiara:
You okay? You went very quiet today.
I stared at the message until the letters blurred.
My thumb hovered.
And for the first time in a long time, the answer I wanted wasn’t efficient.
It was honest.
I typed:
Me:
No.
I hit send.
Then I sat back on my couch, breath shaking, and waited to see what would catch fire first. Because something always did.
From Rachel’s Diary:
I did it. I drove him away.
Dominic and I are over.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
RACHEL
The viewing was nothing like I expected.
No crowd.
No wine.
No buzz.
Just a white room that smelled faintly of paint and cleaning solvent, the kind of space where sound went to die and everything felt louder because of it.
René stood near the back with his hands folded behind him like a museum guard. Two other people lingered by the far wall, speaking quietly in French.
I recognized them both.
