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She frowns. “You sure?”
Nodding, I look out the window at the imposing building. I sent Xander a text to say that I was on my way over and needed my stuff. He read it but I didn’t get a reply. Nausea churns my stomach, and I clamp my lips shut. If I see them, I need to be alone. Another tear rolls down my cheek, and I swat it away, furious with myself for all the crying. But I don’t know how else to release the visceral pain that engulfs me. I know it’s not scientifically possible, so why does it hurt like my heart is literally breaking inside my chest? Why does every single heartbeat feel like it’s going to be my last?
“If you’re sure. I’ll be right here, honey. Call if you need me.”
I nod again and climb out of the car. Dread thunders through my veins like it’s the iron in my blood, and I can hardly breathe as I make my way to the entrance of their building. Foolishly, I still feel a tiny glimmer of hope that one of them will see me and realize what complete fuckwits they’re being.
“Ms. Sloane.” The doorman gives me a curt nod. “Your things are here for you.” He opens the door to the building and indicates a small pile of neatly stacked boxes along with my suitcase and backpack sitting in the lobby.
I sway on my feet and tears blur my vision, but I notice the stupid electric bike leaning on the wall. Is that supposed to be my parting gift—my consolation prize?
I swallow down a thick knot of emotion. “Where’s my bike?”
“It’s right there, miss.”
I glare at the doorman. “No.Mybike. The one I came here with.”
He blinks at me, confused.
“Where is my goddamn bike?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I storm through the lobby toward the elevator, and he chases after me. “Miss, you can’t go up there.”
“I don’t want to go up there. I want my goddamn bike back,” I screech, wholly aware that I look and sound like I’m in the throes of a mental breakdown, but I don’t care. I don’t want their charity. I don’t want anything from them. I never even want to see them again. “I just want Betty.” I sink to the floor, drop my head between my knees, and sob.
I hear the faint buzzing of a phone and then the doorman’s voice. “She says she wants her bike.”
A fresh wave of anger and hurt washes over me. They’re watching? Those sick fucks. Renewed by my fury, I stand and wipe the tears from my face, glaring at the doorman even though I know he’s simply a pawn in whatever twisted game they’re playing. “Her name is Betty.”
“Betty?” the doorman says with a puzzled look on his face. A second later, he ends the call and flashes me a sympathetic smile. How many other women has he watched this happen to? “Your bike will be here in a moment. Would you like me to help you with your things?”
I haul my backpack onto my back, pick up a suitcase, and straighten my shoulders. “No, I don’t need any help.”
ChapterForty-Four
WEST
Xander walks into the kitchen holding today’s mail in his hand, and my heart sinks. Today’s the day we discover the true depth of her betrayal.
“Is that it?” I nod at the advanced copy of the magazine that was FedExed here at my request.
His knuckles are white around the glossy pages. “Yeah,” he rasps. “I almost opened it, but I…” He shakes his head and runs his free hand through his hair.
Zeke steps up beside me, arms folded across his chest. “Open it, Fitch. Let’s see what the hell she wrote about us,” he says, his voice little more than a throaty growl.
Xander swallows, his eyes darting between mine and Zeke’s.
“Do it,” I bark, ready to get this over with. I can’t assess exactly how much damage control will be needed until I see what she wrote, and I want to get a jump start on that before it hits the shelves tomorrow.
Xander’s fingers tremble as he unfurls the pages and opens the magazine. He scans the contents section, a frown pinching his dark brows together.
Zeke rocks on the balls of his feet. “You see it?”
Xander grunts and flicks through the pages, frantically searching for the evidence of Lily’s betrayal.
My heart is in my fucking throat, blood thundering in my ears, and all I can do is wait. My fingers twitch with the effort of not tearing the magazine from Xander’s hands. When his blue eyes widen and his skin turns whiter than snow, I’m forced to swallow the bile that burns my esophagus.
