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She turns to leave. But she doesn’t get to say something like that. Not her.

I catch her wrist and pull her back toward me.

Leaning in slightly, jaw clenched so tight it aches, I look straight into her eyes—cold, unblinking, deadly serious.

“Rich coming from you,” I say, my voice low and razor-sharp. “To say something like that to me.”

She can’t play both sides—stab me in the back and then paint herself as the victim.

Her eyes widen, hurt shimmering in them as she registers the change in me.

“I’m the one who should regret giving you more than one night,” I continue, still calm, still ice. “Hell, the first night shouldn’t have happened at all.”

My voice remains steady—but the words land like blows.

She reacts as if I’ve physically struck her. Pain flashes across her face—raw, exposed, entirely unguarded.

She’s so easy to read it’s almost laughable. Every emotion she tries to hide surfaces instantly. You’d think someone that transparent might be honest.

But honest people don’t do what she did.

FIFTY-FIVE

Thalia

I can’t decide what hurts more—his words or the way he looks at me—but I’m done with this endless game between us.

I’m done with him painting me as the villain, as a cold, ruthless woman, or whatever the hell he convinced himself I am.

And the fact that he regrets “even giving me a night?”

I let out a humorless laugh as I yank my hand out of his grip, desperate to free myself. But he tightens his hold, refusing to let it slip away.

“Of course you regret it, Ethan,” I say, this time with nothing held back. “You’re used to a different kind of woman.”

With my free hand, I shove him in the shoulder, just enough to carve a sliver of space between us, to breathe anything other than him.

He laughs—piercing, ironic—and keeps his eyes locked on mine as if he could tear the truth straight out of me.

“What kind of woman, Thalia?” he asks, genuinely amused.

“The kind who only wants sex. The kind you can talk to like equals because they are rich, powerful, strong…” I fire back without hesitation.

If we’re having this conversation, if it’s already painfully obvious that everything meant nothing to him, then I’m allowed to say exactly what I think.

“Rich?” he repeats, brows snapping together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Seriously? He wants to do this? He really wants to keep pretending?

“Jesus, Ethan,” I say as I finally manage to wrench my hand free.

My pulse is still racing from his touch, but I need to control myself.

“It’s obvious we live in different worlds, different galaxies.”

I look him directly in the eyes, refusing to blink.

“I always knew we could never have anything more. Because you don’t want more, because we aren’t from the same social class. I could never be your equal.”