I pulled back sharply out of his reach. “No. Listen to me. All my life, men have dismissed my love. I’m too independent, I’m too clingy. I’m not enough, or I’m way too much. Too loud, too thin, too talented, or not talented enough—there is always a reason. But you? I only wanted to be there for you—as a friend. Both times. I reached out twice to show you that I cared, and both times you pushed me away and humiliated me. Do you even realize how painful that is? When someone you love does that to you? Has anyone ever rejected you that thoroughly, Elliott?”
He didn't answer. He didn’t have to. I pursed my lips and gave a tight nod, treating his silence as the exact confirmation I already knew was coming.
“No, of course it’s never happened to you. And you know what absolutely kills me? If the roles were reversed, I would never say those horrible things to you. Never. War or no war.”
His face twisted into an expression of pure torture; his eyes glazed over with unshed tears.
“I love you, but you hurt me once and I left. Against my better judgment, I let you back in again, and you hurt me even worsethis time. I deserve better than this. I am done. Please—if you care about me at all—give me my space and let me go.”
He understood. I didn’t have to explain myself any further. I couldn't risk opening up to him again; he had shattered me once and danced on the broken pieces. I couldn’t survive it a second time.
He stood there, completely speechless. There was nothing left for either of us to say.
The door swung open, revealing Morgan and Penelope exchanging tense, wide-eyed looks—I was entirely certain they had heard every single word through the wood. I swiped quickly at my cheeks—thanking God internally for waterproof mascara—and walked straight out of the room, passing right between them.
I hadn’t caved, but a massive part of my heart stayed behind in that room with him, screaming at me to turn around, accept his apology, and just move on. I refused to listen to it.
My heart hadn't exactly done me any favors lately anyway.
thirty-nine
VANESSA-TWO WEEKS LATER
I metPenelope outside a glossy high-rise in downtown Los Angeles. She looked every bit the boss-bitch businesswoman in dark sunglasses and a hot-pink power suit—the exact kind of effortless cool I secretly tried to steal. She was the type of woman young girls should idolize. People assumed her success had been handed to her because of her dad, an agent to the stars, but anyone who actually knew Penelope and understood their relationship knew she had fought tooth and nail for her spot.
She spotted me and slid her sunglasses down her nose. “You ready for this?” It was the second time I’d heard that question in just as many weeks.
Was I? I had absolutely no idea. Everything I thought I knew had been crumbling around me lately, and I didn’t need any more surprises. I shrugged and looked up at the skyscraper. Lately, I hadn’t been planning anything at all; I just let whatever happened happen.
We walked into the building and immediately got screened by security—ID check, bag scan, the whole deal—before being escorted straight to the elevators. The doors slid shut, gleaming so bright they caught our distorted reflections. I was wearing the only pair of jeans I owned without holes, a graphic tee, and a structured blazer. Mom had fussed over my outfit like she always did, but she was lucky I had agreed to wear the blazer at all. I didn’t want to conform; I dressed strictly for me.
I already had my tribe. I didn’t need anyone else. Of course, Elliott drifted right back into my head—he was always living there. I had sent him the gown sketches through Penelope; she confirmed he received them but had never mentioned whether he actually liked them. It was killing me not to know his plan. If the gowns were for Emma, had she approved them? Was it her wedding to Elliott, or someone else’s entirely?We had kissed and slept together—hadn’t we? That actually happened, right?
Ever since the wedding, I'd had way too much time to overthink. He had stayed far away afterward, completely respecting my space: no calls, no texts, no unexpected visits. Part of me was utterly devastated by it, because his silence confirmed that it was really over.
The elevator doors opened, and we were greeted by an assistant who smiled widely at us, as if we had brought food. We hadn’t. It was confusing. A smile that massive should only be reserved for someone holding a delivery bag. I figured that waswhy my food delivery drivers always rated me highly—because of the sheer, unadulterated joy on my fucking face every time I saw them at my door with a bag of takeout.
She ushered us into a massive conference room and told us she’d be right back with us. The room was huge, and the wall facing the rest of the office was just a giant panel of glass, allowing us to see everyone bustling about. It was the single most distracting thing to my ADHD brain. How was I ever going to focus on whatever this meeting was supposed to be about? And what was with all the mystery?
Next to me, Penelope didn’t seem to have a single care in the world. She pulled out her laptop like the perpetual workaholic she was. I rolled my eyes, and she caught me, throwing a sharp hiss my way.
Then I noticed movement through the glass. I watched as the assistant who had shown us met with a woman wearing a perfectly fitted black suit. It was a beautiful suit—one I made a mental note that I wanted, no,neededto own—but that wasn't what held my complete attention. It was the fact that I recognized her. She was the woman from the Catherine James benefit, the girl who had been Elliott’s date, and the one who had shown up at the house with Elliott. She must have felt me staring because she turned around and caught my eye. She smiled widely. There was no food on the table, so I instantly knew I couldn't trust her.
“Some people smile to be polite, Vanessa, not because they’re evil,” Penelope muttered, her fingers never leaving her keyboard.
The door swung open and Elliott’s girlfriend—whatever her official title was—walked in, still wearing that bright smile.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. Her British accent hit me like a physical force; no wonder Elliott had wanted to sleep with her. Honestly, hearing her talk mademewant tosleep with her. How had I completely missed the accent? Oh right, I’d technically never heard her speak. I didn’t smile back, prompting Penelope to kick me hard under the table.
“Get your shit together,” Penelope whispered fiercely. “What would your parents say?”
She was right. I forced myself to stand and offered my hand. “We haven’t been waiting long. I’m Vanessa Miranda. This is my agent, Penelope Juarez.”
“I’m Emma Grant. It’s nice to finally meet you properly, Vanessa—though I guess we’ve already crossed paths unofficially.”
She came off genuinely warm and kind, which only made it harder to hate her. Then a sudden mental picture of Elliott with her flashed through my mind, and the hatred flared right back up. My face flushed hot.
“Penelope said you didn’t give much detail over the phone, but I want to be upfront: Ever After Bridal holds exclusivity rights on any of my past designs, if that’s relevant to why we're here,” I said, wanting to get that out of the way immediately. Penelope hadn’t been generous with the information, so I was left to piece the puzzle together myself. Emma designed jeans; I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why she wanted to meet with a bridal gown designer.
