More fucking lies. I’m getting good at this.
I spend my morning sessions distracted, correcting form on autopilot while my mind races through possibilities.
Mila rented studio spacehere. Atmygym.
The gym where I've worked for three years, where my clients know me, and my reputation matters.
This isn't a coincidence.
By lunch, I'm furious.
Who does Mila think she is?She’s crazy.What other explanation is there for doing this?
First, she texted me. Then Jade—now this?
I grab my protein shake and head for the back exit, desperate for fresh air.
The door swings open before I reach it, and there she is.
Mila looks polished and composed, her yoga mat tucked under one arm like she has every right to be here, invading my professional space. Her green eyes find mine immediately, like she knew I'd be here. Like she planned it.
I honestly wouldn’t put it past her.
"Devon." She smiles, and it makes my skin crawl. "I was hoping I'd run into you."
Run into me?So, she knows I work here. That’s why she’s here. The coffee I drank earlier threatens to climb up my throat.
"What are you doing here, Mila?”
"Teaching yoga." She gestures at the studio hallway behind her. "The owner loved my credentials.”
She gives me a smug smile.
I don’tcareabout her fucking credentials.
"You know what I mean."
Her smile doesn't waver. "I moved back to LA."
She mentioned L.A., buthere?! In my gym?
Fucking wonderful.
"You need to leave."
"I have a contract, Devon, for six months." She steps closer, and I step back. "Blocking me was dramatic, by the way. We're adults. We should be able to have a conversation."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Isn't there?" Her voice is sickly sweet. "Because I've been thinking about that night. A lot, actually. And I'm not sure you remember it the same way I do."
My blood goes cold. "Nothing happened besides a silly fucking kiss, which meantnothing.”
"You keep saying that." She tilts her head, studying me like I'm a puzzle she's already solved. "But you weresodrunk, Devon. How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure." My jaw clenches so hard that it aches.
"Are you?" She moves closer again, and I can smell her perfume—the same one from that hotel room, both sweet and suffocating. "Because your wife might have questions. About what really happened after you followed me upstairs."
