Page 3 of The Art of Ruin

“My partners,” he admits. “Some friends. I didn’t want you to be hurt.”

Something inside me goes very still.

He reaches for me.

I step back.

“No,” I say. “You don’t get to touch me. You made a fool of me in front of everyone. You lied and you cheated and betrayed me but, worse, you took away the trust of everyone I know.”

If hate had a taste, it would be bitter and acidic, and that taste floods my mouth as I stare at him, the depth of his lies settling inside me. I can’t bear to be near him. I have no idea if I can control this rage inside me right now.

I open the door.

“This is over,” I tell him. “Not because you cheated. Because you decided I didn’t deserve the truth.”

He says my name again. “Casey, please. I love you. So many times I wished Lucy could be ours. I made a mistake.”

Lucy. God, that hurts. The name we’d picked out for a future fictional daughter.

Jasper steps forward, tears in his blue eyes. “Baby, please. It’s always been you. We can get past this.”

I huff a laugh. “I can and I will, and I’m sure you already have, but not together. We’re done.”

I know he sees the finality in my expression, hears it in my voice, but Jasper didn’t end up on the Forbes list without determination.

“I’m not giving up on us, Casey. I love you.”

“There is no us.”

I stand by the open door as he looks at me once more before he walks away. I close the door, letting a shaky sob fall from my lips. Then I straighten my spine, lift my head, and make a plan. I need to get away. I need a fresh start, so I call the one person I know will always have my back.

It rings once before the call clicks. “Hey, you miss me already.”

Her voice is what allows the floodgates to open. “Izzy, I need a place to stay.”

My best friend must hear my anguish because she doesn’t ask questions; she just listens and books me a flight and tells me she’ll have a room ready when I arrive. But I can’t bear to see her happiness when my own heart is breaking and tell her I need a hotel. She doesn’t argue; she just tells me she’ll text me the details.

“Thank you, Izz.”

“It’s OK, Case. Whatever it is, you’ll get through it, and I’ll help you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I hear a muffled sound, and then Izzy telling her overbearing man that she’s talking to me and to calm down. The man is literally a ball of hot, dark, gorgeous, testosterone and she handles him like he’s a teddy bear. It makes me smile when I wasn’t sure I ever would again.

At the airport later, I sit with my hands folded in my lap and watch families pass by. A man bouncing a baby. A woman kissing a tiny forehead.

My stomach tightens, but I breathe through it.

Something settles inside me.

Cold.

Clean.

Final.