Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
DEVON
The gym is packed for a Thursday afternoon.
I'm spotting a customer on the bench press when I feel it—that prickle at the back of my neck that tells me something's wrong. It's the same instinct that made me look up at the conference in New York, the same one that had me checking over my shoulder for weeks.
I scan the weight floor, but there isn’t anything unusual. Clients are sweating through their sets. The rhythmic clang of weights. The hum of treadmills from the cardio section.
“Are you alright?” the client asks from beneath the bar.
"Yeah. Yeah, sorry." I refocus, guiding him through his last rep.
But the feeling doesn't leave.
It's been three days since the coffee shop, since I told Mila to stop whatever this is. Officer Gray called yesterday to say they'd done a welfare check—Mila was "cooperative but emotional." Whatever that means.
The restraining order is active. She's supposed to stay a hundred feet away from both of us. Her yoga contract at the gym ended after the review—effective immediately.
It should be over.
So why do I feel like I'm waiting for an explosion?
"Same time next week?" my client asks, toweling off.
"Sounds good."
He heads for the locker room, and I start wiping down the bench. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and nausea rises at the thought of it being from Mila.
JADE: Katrina's forcing me to get a pedicure. Send help.
I smile despite everything. These small moments—her texting me, reaching out, wanting me to be part of her day again—they mean more than I can say.
DEVON: Suffer beautifully. I love you.
Three dots appear. Then:
JADE: Love you too. Be safe.
Be safe. We say it constantly now, like a prayer.
I pocket my phone and grab my clipboard to check my next client's schedule. That's when I hear it.
The front desk erupts.
"Ma'am, you can't be in here—"
"I have every right to be here! Where is he? Where's Devon?"
Oh no.
I know that voice. I've been hearing it in my nightmares for weeks.
I round the corner to the lobby, and there she is.
Mila stands in the middle of the reception area, her hair wild, her eyes wilder. She's wearing the same oversized sweater from the coffee shop, now wrinkled like she's been sleeping in it. Her face is blotchy, tear-streaked, and she's swaying slightly—like she’s unsteady on her feet.
"Devon!" She spots me and her whole body lurches forward. "Devon, you have to listen to me—"
The receptionist, Craig, steps between us. "Ma'am, I've already called security. You need to leave."
"I'm not leaving until he talks to me!" Mila's voice cracks.
People are staring. Clients pause mid-rep, trainers freeze with their clipboards, and the cardio machines slow as everyone turns to watch the scene unfold.
I inhale deeply. At least she’s here and not following Jade.
I’ll fucking take it.
"Mila,” I keep my voice calm, even though my heart is hammering against my ribs. "You can't be here. There's a restraining order—"
"Fuck your restraining order!" She laughs manically. "You think a piece of paper changes what we had?"
"Nothing happened." I stay behind Craig, grateful for the barrier. "We've been through this."
"Liar." She steps closer, and Craig puts out his arm to stop her. "You're a liar, Devon. You fucked me, and now you're pretending it never happened because your fat wife can't handle the truth—"
"Don't." The word comes out sharp, dangerous. "Don't you dare talk about her."
Mila's face twists. "Why? Because she's so perfect? She's not perfect, Devon. She's pathetic. She always was. She just can’t handle the truth—she never could.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. I want to grab her, shake her, and make her understand that every word out of her mouth is destroying any sympathy I might have had.
But I don't move. Because that's exactly what she wants.
"I'm pregnant." Mila presses her palm against her stomach, her voice pitching higher. "With your baby. And you're going to abandon us?"
"There is no baby!” I force myself to breathe. "And if there is, it's not mine."
"You don't know that! You don't remember!"
"I remember everything.”
She lunges—actually lunges for me—and Craig catches her, holding her back while she screams and claws at the air between us.
"You promised me!" she wails. "You said we had something special! You said she didn't understand you the way I did!"
I said none of those things. Not once. Not even close.
This is the fantasy she's built. The version of that night she's convinced herself is real.
It’s fucking terrifying.
“The police are here," someone says from behind me.
Two officers approach, exchanging a look with me, and I nod.
"Ma'am, you need to come with us," one of them says, reaching for Mila's arm.
She jerks away from him, spinning to face the growing crowd. "He's a liar!" she shouts, pointing at me. "He cheated on his wife and got me pregnant, and now he's pretending I don't exist! Ask him! Ask him what happened in New York!"
No one moves. The silence is stifling.
"I was drunk," I explain quietly, addressing the room as much as Mila. "I kissed her once. I regretted it immediately. That's the whole story."
Mila's face crumples, rage giving way to something that almost looks like grief.
"That's not—you're lying—" Her voice breaks. “We could have had everything, Dev!”
For one horrible moment, I almost feel sorry for her.
Then I remember Jade crying on the kitchen floor. The Instagram posts. The emails to her readers. The voicemail calling her fat and tired. Her words just now about making her cry in high school.
"You need help," I tell Mila. "Real help from a professional. You’re not getting any sympathy from me.”
The officers each take one of her arms. She fights like a hellcat, kicking and screaming, even trying to bite them. But they’re stronger than her and wrestle her towards the exit, reading her rights as they go.
"This isn't over!” she screams. "You'll see. When the baby comes, you'll know. Everyone will know."
Then she's gone, the automatic doors sliding shut behind her.
The lobby remains frozen for a long, painful moment.
"Show's over," Craig finally calls out, waving people back to their workouts. "Nothing to see here."
I stand rooted to the spot, my legs trembling beneath me.
I need to go home.
Then I remember the feeling of being watched earlier—that was her, wasn’t it? She was already here. Before the breakdown and all the screaming. She was watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike.
This isn't a woman scorned—it’s something much worse.
I call Jade immediately.
"Hey, I was about to—"
"Where are you?" My voice comes out harsh, urgent. "Exactly where?"
"I'm—Devon, what's wrong? I'm at the nail salon with Katrina. What happened?"
"She came to the gym. Mila. She had a complete breakdown in front of everyone."
Jade is silent for a moment. Then: "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
“Fuck, Devon.”
I close my eyes. “The police came and arrested her.”
I hear Katrina asking what's wrong in the background.
"I'm coming home," Jade says. "Right now."
"I'll meet you there."
"It’s okay, Devon.” Her voice is steady, stronger than I expect. "We'll figure this out."
She hangs up, and I grab my keys.
But I know Mila isn't done with us.
She's not even close.