Page 152 of The Wright Man

And then he left.

No slamming. No shouting. Just the quiet finality of goodbye.

The wall shattered. But I didn't try to rebuild it. Because it was already too late.

At the ceremony, he sat in the back. I never looked at him. Not once. But I felt him there.

I walked down the aisle like nothing happened. Like my heart wasn't bleeding under layers of satin and lace.

Gavin smiled like a man who won.

And as soon as the officiant pronounced me and Gavin husband and wife, Maleek stood up, gift in hand, and walked out.

Daddy saw. Tina and Bella saw.

I pretended I didn't.

I didn't call after him.

And he didn't expect me to.

We let each other go.

And that was what killed us both.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Maleek

"Hi, you've reached the voicemail of Angelica Ree—"

I hung up before she could finish her name.

Again.

I stared down at the phone like it had just slapped me. My thumb twitched over the screen, aching to call her back, but I already knew what would happen. I'd hear that same mechanical greeting, that same voicemail I'd now heard at least ten times. I'd leave another message she wouldn't answer.

The first voicemail was calm. Steady. Like I still believed I had a chance to fix it.

The second one? Awkward. I didn't know what to say and said too much anyway.

The third one was calm again, like I was trying to lie to myself.

The fourth... I barely remember. Just breath and panic and apologies spilling out of me like a geyser.

I was unraveling.

Since the second she ran out of GhostFit like the building was on fire, I hadn't been right. I wanted to chase her. I almost did. But I didn't want to scare her more than I already had, and my first instinct—throwing Riq through the damn window for opening that door—was barely restrained by the last thread of sense I had left.

So instead, I came home. And paced. And checked my phone. And paced again. And sat down. And checked my phone again like a dumbass. Like she'd suddenly text me back because I stared at the screen hard enough.

It had been hours.

And I could still taste her.

Her lip balm. Her skin. The salt of her tears. The desperation in her breath. Still felt her hands fisted in my hair. Still felt the curve of her hips in my grip, the press of her thighs wrapped tight around me.

I was still on fire for her.