Chapter Thirty-two #2
He doesn’t believe me. I know it. I can see it in his expression.
I lean in and kiss him, soft, searching, trying to distract us both.
He pulls back just slightly. “I’ll get you one of my cars. Or someone can drive you.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. I’ll take an Uber. I don’t need the drama of pulling up to my apartment in a blacked-out Maserati.”
His brow arches. Typical.
But he doesn’t argue.
The Uber pulls up in front of my apartment, a place I finally call my own.
It’s been two weeks since I moved in, and not once have I regretted it.
My parents’ house, with all its cold marble and emptiness, never felt like home.
Too many silences. Too many ghosts. This place?
It’s mine. Not just the name on the lease, but mine in the way I decorated it, chose it, paid for it, even if part of the money came from my trust fund.
I still earned the rest. I still chose this.
Three bedrooms, two massive bathrooms, a kitchen I never use properly, and a floor-to-ceiling view of the city from the ninth floor.
The light pours in at sunset like the sky is bleeding gold, and sometimes I sit on the couch with a glass of wine pretending the world outside doesn’t exist. It doesn’t compare to Lorenzo’s mansion, but it’s mine. Every square inch of it.
I drop my keys into the bowl by the door, kick off my shoes, and immediately text Sienna.
Me: I’m alive. I’ve been with Lorenzo all week. I have so much to tell you.
Seconds later, she calls.
“OH. MY. GOD,” she screams so loudly I flinch. “I KNEW IT. TELL ME EVERYTHING.”
I do. Almost everything, anyway. I tell her about the week I spent at his place, about the way he looks at me like he’s already memorized every inch of my skin, about how I’ve officially crossed into the realm of becoming a cliché in a dark romance novel.
She giggles at every detail, makes me swear to give her updates, and tells me she missed me like hell.
We plan to meet tomorrow night. I need her.
I miss having someone who knows everything without needing the full explanation.
After I hang up, I scroll through my notifications.
Ian had texted earlier asking why I’d missed work. I replied simply: “Sick. Needed rest.” Not technically a lie. Just... incomplete.
And then there’s my mother. Ten missed calls, six texts, and one long voice message where she blames everything she’s done on her “mental instability” and tells me I need to be more understanding. As if understanding justifies bruises.
I text her back:
Me: Been sick. Busy. I’ll visit soon.
That’s all she gets.
Last is Blakely.
Blakely: If you’re not in on Monday, you’re fired. Happy weekend.
I roll my eyes. Such a ray of fucking sunshine. But as much as she’s a nightmare, I need the job. I’ve grown attached to it. Attached to having something that gives me purpose.
I head straight to the shower. The water hits my skin like a rebirth. I take my time, scrubbing, exfoliating, shaving even though I barely need to. I wash my hair twice just to feel the weight of it clean again. By the time I step out, the steam has fogged up every mirror.
I dry my hair, do my skincare, and pull on a fresh silk robe before curling up in my reading chair. My favorite book waits on the side table, dog-eared and loved. But before I start, I open TikTok. I scroll past book recs and thirst traps and fake therapy sessions. Comfort content.
Then I do something shameful.
I check Lorenzo’s Instagram.
Nothing new.
But something feels... off. My notifications have been lighter.
My last post barely passed a hundred likes when normally it’d be triple that.
Weird. I haven’t been that active, sure, but not dead silent.
Still, I shake it off. It doesn’t matter.
I’m not here for validation. I’m here because, well, okay, I might be trying to build a following before I publish my first book. But still. One thing at a time.
Then a new notification pops up.
Group chat: HOTTEST BITCHES ALIVE
Created by Kylie.
Kylie added you.
Kylie added Clara.
Kylie added Sienna.
Oh God. This can only end in chaos.
Kylie: Did all of you whored around that night?
Sienna: I have no idea what you’re talking about ??
Clara: Bitch, I saw you grinding on that hot Colombian.
Me: Wait, how do you know he’s Colombian?
Clara: My brother knows him. Don’t change the subject. Spill. Did you suck Lorenzo off?
Me: What??
Kylie: She probably did. That’s why she ghosted us for a whole week.
Sienna: HEY! Leave her alone!
Sienna: Just between us girls... does he taste like sweet cannoli?
Me: You guys are disgusting ??
I laugh out loud despite myself, cheeks turning a violent shade of red.
Kylie: Could you grab it with one hand or did you need both?
Clara: Definitely both. Her hands are tiny.
Sienna: He does give big dick energy.
Me: BYEEEE.
I toss the phone onto the couch, still laughing, my face sore from smiling.
They’re insane. I love them. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m in a good place, just me, in my home, freshly scrubbed and wrapped in a robe, the sound of city traffic below me and the warmth of friendship buzzing through my phone.
I open my book.
And for tonight, I let everything else fade.