Chapter 43
The week that follows Christmas Day passes in a blissful blur.
Whatever happened before the holiday slips beneath the noise of the season, and Max has made sure of it.
He’s been keeping her busy—having scaffolding erected, arranging paints, and reserving a prime section of wall in their apartment’s lobby for her to transform into a mural while she sketches ideas onto paper.
For the first time in a while, she feels motivated to paint.
On New Year’s Eve, after the winter sky has gone dark and with hours of paint layers behind her, Lila finally feels the weight of the project settle in.
She glances down from the scaffolding and immediately averts her eyes. Max stands silently below, watching her patiently in his work clothes, briefcase in hand, while she adds a few lingering strokes. She is stalling, reluctant to leave her perch.
“I know what you’re doing. The sooner we get there, the sooner we’ll come home.”
She groans inwardly, puts her brush and the paint can away, and begins to descend.
William Waldegrave is hosting another wild party to ring in the New Year.
After finding out it was his party she had attended back in September, she would much rather stay home, counting down to midnight quietly with Max instead.
She pictures them sharing a hot and steamy kiss when the clock strikes twelve—among other activities…
like dancing the night away. But Max told her he was expected at the party, promising they would leave soon after midnight.
Later, at Will’s penthouse loft in SoHo, the heavy scent of perfume, liquor, and cigarettes hangs thick in the air, giving her a slight migraine.
A DJ works from the corner of the vast living room, strobing lights slicing through cigar smoke and vapor clouds.
The bass thrums through the industrial flooring, making her heart beat hard and fast in her chest.
She clings to Max’s arm like a lifeline as politicians’ sons and daughters and trust fund heirs drift toward him.
Their eyes flicker to her, then back to Max, hungry to ask about his next business move.
Dressed in a black cashmere turtleneck and tailored black pants, his hair slightly undone, Max’s casual attire and rare relaxed expression seem to draw admirers from every direction.
Feeling overwhelmed by the number of people swarming around him, she excuses herself, searching for a dark corner where she can quiet her mind.
She steadies herself in the same spot she stood the last time she was here—the night she was pulled into the arms of the last man she’d expected to see, and ended up dating.
“Enjoying the party?”
The host, Will, leans against the window she’s been leaning her head on, his arms crossed as he looks down at her with that same knowing smirk playing at his mouth. His eyes flick over her from head to toe, amused.
“I just need some air,” she says.
“Air’s hard to find here,” he teases.
“You’re giving me a weird look,” Lila says, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she glances at him from the corner of her eye. Her shimmering champagne, sequined mini dress suddenly feels too revealing, and she instinctively straightens, tense under the unwelcome gaze.
“What weird look?” he asks, his smile widening.
She rolls her eyes and turns her focus back on the view outside.
“Come,” Will says, pulling her away from the window. His hands find her shoulders as he steers her down a hallway until they’re near a closed door.
“Wait! What are you—”
He opens it, and she sees that they’re standing in front of a bedroom heavy with the scent of roses. A dim lamp glows on the nightstand, throwing the room into a soft amber haze.
“You can lie down here in the guest room. Max will come find you once he’s done being the belle of the ball.”
A woman lies half across the bed, her blonde waves fanned out, one arm draped over the edge. She groans, rolling slightly before snapping, “Ugh! Close the door! My head is pounding.” She grabs a pillow and flings it weakly in their direction.
Will lifts an arm and catches it easily. “My baby sister,” he murmurs close to Lila’s ear, the warmth of his breath making her stiffen. Then, louder, to the woman: “Be nice to this one.” His grin widens as he adds, “Max said she bites.”
Before Lila can respond, she is nudged through the door. It clicks shut behind him, leaving her alone with the woman sprawled across the bed and the muffled thump of music bleeding through the walls.
“You’re here with Max?” The woman narrows her eyes as she scans Lila up and down.
“Um, yes?” Lila replies, her voice pitching higher than she intends.
“I’m jealous. I think he only has eyes for brunettes.”
The unexpected comment grates on her, and her jaw tightens on instinct.
“I’m Winslet.”
Winslet begins patting the bed for her phone until her hand finds it. “Here. Add me on Insta,” she says drowsily, thrusting the phone toward Lila.
“Lila,” she murmurs as she takes the phone and trades follows.
When she looks up again, Winslet, who had rolled to one side to give her some space, has already drifted back to sleep, soft snores filling the room. Lila switches off the lamp so only the glow of the night sky spills across the room, then lies down beside her.
Setting Winslet’s phone on the nightstand, Lila sinks back against the pillow, the room growing strangely still. With a wry flick of her thumb, she pulls out her own phone and scrolls through the profile of the woman lying next to her.
Winslet’s profile features chaotic group shots from raucous parties, each filled with bright faces and bold color. There aren’t many photos, but every one of them is loud with life, except for the last.
Its tones are muted and blue, the flash bleaching the faces of the people closest to the camera.
It was uploaded years ago and shows a group of women caught mid-laugh at a party, their bodies blurred in motion.
But at the far edge of the frame, half hidden in shadow yet somehow clearer than the rest, is…
Max.
And he isn’t alone. Standing tucked against his side is a tall and slender woman with long dark hair.
His arm is wrapped around her waist, holding her close as he turns to kiss her.
Lila zooms in, her heart pounding harder with each second she stares.
The longer she studies the image, the hotter her anger burns.
Seeing that the woman is tagged, Lila clicks on her profile, swallows, and saves the link. This is not how she imagined her New Year would begin, but nothing in her life ever seems to unfold the way she plans.
She tumbles into a rabbit hole in the dimly lit room, scrolling through the woman’s profile.
Unlike Winslet, Kayley from New Jersey has spammed the world with hundreds of her photos.
“Kayley,” she mutters, scrolling so close to the screen that her vision blurs. “Kayley. Kayley.”
Kayley is a retired stripper turned bargirl.
She models now and then.
Usually in small swimsuits that leave little to the imagination.
Lila grits her teeth, noting that they are the kind Max likes.
Right before midnight, Max stumbles into the room and crawls on top of her.
Winslet has long since wandered off. Lila smells the alcohol on him immediately, and when he kisses her, she tastes it too.
His mouth moves with a clumsy urgency. The version of him who is always composed has vanished.
What she gets instead is a man stripped of inhibition, raw and reckless.
“You’re drunk,” she says, surprised. She has never seen him like this.
“Only a little. Only for tonight,” he murmurs, slurring just a touch. “I need to be slightly inebriated to deal with these leeching bozos.”
He glances at his wristwatch.
“Five… four… three… two,” he whispers. “Happy New Year, sweetheart.”
He rests his forehead against hers and sighs, “I love you. Let’s go home and fuck.”
“That’s all you know,” Lila mutters dryly.
“All I know is you,” he replies.
“I don’t know… you’re a bit of a manwhore.”
“What do you mean?” His frown is unsteady, his eyebrow lifting in confusion. “How?”
“I don’t know. I’m just tired,” she sighs. The last thing she wants is to start the year with an argument.
He kisses her cheek and pushes himself up. “Then let’s go home, sweet girl.”
After New Year’s Day, Max feels like he no longer has to check her phone, assuming she spends all her time on it reading or searching his name. He finds her fascination with him adorable. It never occurs to him that she has shifted all that obsessive energy onto someone else.
By the time February arrives, everything between them feels perfect—to him.
He feels untouchable.
But deep inside her, something dark is quietly festering.
Kayley. The woman who came before her.
The ghost Lila cannot chase away.
The thoughts have taken over, whispering that Max must compare them every day, that she is measured against someone who had the power to hurt him deeply. And did.
It took her weeks, but Lila eventually uncovered everything she needed to know.
It wasn’t easy tracking Kayley down, but after piecing together fragmented clues, Lila had built a map without even realizing it. The street Kayley lives on. The club where she works. The storefronts behind her selfies and the reflections on her sunglasses.
Even the places where she walks her little white dog.
Toto, a crusty-eyed Pomeranian named after her favorite musical.
Lila twirls a lock of her hair around her finger, scrolling back up to recent photos of Kayley again. Gone are the long, dark locks from the image on Winslet’s profile. Kayley has been blonde for a while now with her hair cropped above her shoulders.
Matt had once insisted that Kayley and Lila looked alike, but Lila sees nothing of herself in this woman. The woman on her screen has piercing brown eyes that seem to challenge her, paired with a wicked smile that makes it clear she thinks she’s better.