Chapter 5

Sela

His eyes went wide with genuine shock.

I turned and opened the door, then shut it firmly behind me before either of them could see inside. The hallway was empty except for Julian and Ivy, both looking like they'd sprinted from the party. Julian's shirt was untucked, his hair disheveled, and there was a wildness in his eyes I'd never seen before. Ivy stood slightly behind him, her expression oscillating between wounded innocence and barely concealed satisfaction.

Julian's gaze raked over me, taking in my rumpled dress, my smudged lipstick, the general air of debauchery clinging to my skin. "What the fuck, Sela—"

"I already told you on the phone." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with studied casualness. "Why are you here? Did you want to watch? Is that your thing now? Voyeurism?"

He looked like I'd slapped him. "You can't be serious—"

"You've slept with her how many times?" I jerked my chin toward Ivy, who gasped like I'd accused her of murder. "Dozens? Hundreds? But you never thought to mention it to me. So forgive me if I don't see why I owe you a detailed report on my sex life. Especially now that we're broken up."

"You don't mean that." But there was uncertainty creeping into his voice now, fear beneath the anger. "You're just drunk. You don't know what you're saying—"

"I'm saying that you're a liar and a coward." The words came out cold and clear, stripped of the pleading desperation that had characterized every conversation we'd had for the past six years. "I'm saying that we were never actually a couple. You never took me to your home. Never introduced me to anyone who mattered. Never even acknowledged me in public unless it was convenient for you."

He opened his mouth, then closed it. No defense came.

Ivy stepped forward, her eyes glistening with what I'm sure she thought were convincing tears. "Julian and I never slept together! We're just friends—close friends, yes, but it's completely innocent—"

"Oh, spare me." I laughed, and it sounded unhinged even to my own ears. "I found your naked photos in his bedroom. He said they were 'art shots.' I found your bra in his car. He said he'd bought it for me—never mind that it was two cup sizes too big. I was so desperate to believe him that I convinced myself it was true. But that was me lying to myself. You want to lie to me too? Really?"

Her mouth fell open, the tears forgotten. "You're... you're different tonight. What happened to you?"

"Alcohol." I smiled, bright and terrible. "It can make you drunk, or it can make you sober. Tonight, it made me realize that I'm not going to let two worthless pieces of shit ruin my life."

She lunged at me, all pretense of innocence abandoned, but I was faster. My palm connected with her cheek in a crack that echoed down the hallway like a gunshot. She stumbled back, hand flying to her face, staring at me with genuine shock.

"Julian!" She turned to him, expecting rescue, but he was just standing there, frozen, like his entire worldview had shattered and he couldn't quite process the debris.

"Sela." His voice came out hoarse, stripped of its usual arrogance. "Let's talk about this. Please. We can work this out—"

Ivy's head whipped toward him, betrayal naked on her face. Apparently, she'd expected him to defend her honor, not try to salvage things with me.

"There's nothing to work out." I stepped past them both, heading toward the elevator. "You two deserve each other. Congratulations on finally being honest about it. Enjoy your life together."

"Wait—" Julian reached for my arm, but I jerked away before he could touch me.

"Goodbye, losers." I hit the elevator call button, then looked back over my shoulder one last time. "Oh, and Julian? You might want to work on your stamina. I'd hate for Ivy to be as disappointed as I was."

The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside, watched their stunned faces as the doors slid shut, and finally—finally—let myself breathe.

My hands were shaking. My heart was racing. And somewhere beneath the adrenaline and the tequila, I could feel the first tremors of what I'd just done starting to register. I'd burned every bridge, salted the earth, and declared war on the only life I'd known for six years.

But as the elevator descended, carrying me away from that hallway and everything it represented, all I could think was: Victor Hawthorne.

And the way he'd kissed me like he was starving.