Page 70 of No Headlines Please

They just picked whichever version entertained them the most.

Apparently, a single cancelled wedding was all it took for the internet to lose its collective mind. By the time the story finished making the rounds, I'd somehow become a dozen villains wrapped up in one. Pick your poison.

An emotionally unstable billionaire.

A playboy commitment-phobe.

A raging narcissist.

Or, according to one local morning show host, a cautionary tale for modern women.

The way everyone talked, you'd think I'd fucked one of Sloane's bridesmaids on the altar. Now that would've been a cautionary tale.

Hell, she'd only had ten to choose from. And the craziest thing? More than one had already volunteered – well, except for the altar part.

Next to me on the couch, Delaney waited quietly for me to either tell my story or make her drag it out of me, bit by juicy bit.

The weird thing was, I hadn't told anyone my story.

Sure, Sloane knew the truth, along with Cal and Ryder Vaughn.

But the guys wouldn't talk. And Sloane would be a fool to share it – not because I'd get some sympathy, but because that golden tiara of hers would take quite a tarnishing.

Now that I was preparing to spill my guts with Delaney, I was silently asking some questions of my own.

Why didn't I beat Sloane to the punch?

Why didn't I tell the whole world that she wasn't half as blameless as she seemed?

Why didn't I throw off the role of the city's biggest heart-breaking bastard?

The more I thought about it, the more I understood why I'd kept silent.

Actually, I had several reasons.

One. It was a giant fuck-you to everyone who wouldn't leave well enough alone. And yes, this included my own messed-up family.

Two. Destroying Sloane would've caused an avalanche of collateral damage – because once you start airing dirty laundry, eventually everyone ends up naked.

Three. I didn't give two shits what people thought of me.

And besides, I'd figured it would blow over soon enough, and the world would go back to the way it was.

Except it hadn't.

Sloane was making damn sure of that.

But hey, I had to give her credit. It was a bold move for someone who'd been selling my secrets to the highest bidder.

Now, after months of bullshit from strangers on the street, I'd come to realize my mistake. My not-so-brilliant plan had been to drop out of the limelight, not to shine a spotlight on myself wherever I went.

As my mental decision tree splintered in the background, I looked to Delaney and asked, "So, how much of this do you want to hear?"

She didn't hesitate. "As much as you want to share."

If I were being glib, this was where I'd say, I don't want to share any of it. But I had already realized something.

This wasn't true.