There’s no way I want Callum back, but I’ve been so caught up keeping myself busy, so I don’t think about Slade, that I haven’t seen him yet. And I haven’t told him there’s no way we’re getting back together, no matter how long he waits, or how much space he thinks he’s giving me by staying with his friend.
It’s over and has been since the first time he cheated on me—whenever that actually was.
The only tears I shed were ones of embarrassment and self-pity. I haven’t grieved my relationship with Cal. And that tells me a lot.
Because I’ve cried every damn day, multiple times, since I ran from Slade. I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t left him that night. Would he still have left without saying goodbye? Would I have woken alone in his bed to find him gone?
Or would he have told me everything? The complete truth.
Everything in my gut tells me I’m right and not just delusional, lust drunk on what I want to believe.
Slade Beaufort isn’t a murderer.
Fifth Avenue is as busy as a designer wedding gown sample sale, and equally as chaotic. I have to swerve out of the way to avoid getting bowled into by a guy rushing past, cell phone glued to his ear.
I weave through the sea of bodies on my way to meet Mel. She upheld her end of the bargain and applied for a promotion. And now she has an interview, so we’re heading to lunch to celebrate.
A sleek car pulls up a few meters ahead, its driver exiting to hold the rear door open. I swerve to avoid another guy who isn’t looking where he’s going and almost crash straight into the suited man climbing out of the vehicle.
“Sorry.” I glance at him with an apologetic smile, but my blood runs cold as piercing blue eyes penetrate mine for the briefest fraction of a second before he looks away.
“It’s fine,” their owner clips dismissively like he doesn’t have either the time or interest in conversing with strangers on the street.
I stare at his profile. At the laser-sharp jaw. The Roman nose. The dark silky hair.
He buttons his impeccable suit jacket with one hand, nods to his driver, then sidesteps me, striding off toward a giant gold door, which is opened with a flourish by a uniformed doorman.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Beaufort,” the doorman greets as the man disappears inside.
I stand frozen, eyes inching over the glass windows and the sumptuous displays of sparkling jewels—each displayed like prized artwork. My mouth goes dry as I read the gold lettering on the front of the building.
Beaufort Diamonds.
Of course it fucking is.
Of all the places I had to walk by today, it had to be here. And it had to be at the precise moment that Sullivan Beaufort was exiting his fancy chauffeur-driven car.
He looks so much like him.
My breath bubbles in my throat, making a weird emotional squeaking sound.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I blink a few times, unable to properly focus on the redhead who’s stopped on the sidewalk to look at me with growing uncertainty.
“Do you feel faint?” she asks.
“Um… I’m fine,” I manage to rasp, before swallowing thickly.
I look down at the small girl with her, dressed in a bunny onesie. She stares up at me with familiar, big, round blue eyes.She’s got a small sticker stuck to her chest, a cartoon fruit with the words,‘You hold the kiwi to my heart’.
“Thank you,” I add, bringing my eyes back to the woman.
She smiles at me kindly. “You should come inside. We can get you some water.”
“I’m good, honestly. I’m meeting a friend for lunch. Thank you, though.”
“Okay.” She smiles again before looking down at the little girl. “Come on, Molly. Let’s go visit Daddy. We can tell him all about our morning with Auntie Sin.”
