Chapter 9
Natalie silently slid her laser measuring tape into her bag.
It didn’t give the metallic “whoosh” of a traditional tape measure, but even the soft click of it retracting felt loud in the oppressive silence.
Her skin prickled with the certainty that she shouldn’t be here—that she was intruding on something private.
Every instinct screamed leave, yet her legs refused to obey.
“Honey!” Monica’s shriek cut through the air like glass shattering. Natalie flinched.
“Monica, what the hell are you doing here?”
The voice rolled through the hallway—deep, authoritative, and instantly recognizable. Natalie’s breath caught. Her chest constricted, and for a beat, the air in the room seemed thinner. Rylan.
Shock ricocheted through her, followed swiftly by a confusing, bitter ache.
“What do you mean?” Monica whined, her voice dipping into a syrupy, childlike tone that made Natalie’s jaw clench. “You know the kinds of styles I prefer.” A giggle—high and grating—followed. “This minimalist stuff won’t work for me.”
A pause stretched, heavy and telling. Natalie could picture him—shoulders squared, jaw tight, weighing his words before speaking.
“Granted, my style isn’t necessarily yours,” he said at last, his tone polite but taut, “but that doesn’t answer my question.”
Natalie’s hands trembled as she shoved the tape deeper into her bag, then hitched it higher on her shoulder. Rylan was engaged? To Monica Levingston? The thought tasted bitter in her mouth.
Her pulse kicked up. She needed to get out before she heard something she couldn’t unhear. But her feet might as well have been bolted to the floor.
“I thought,” Monica said, her voice dropping to a coy murmur that still carried easily through the open rooms, “we could decorate your place together. Make it something we both could enjoy.”
The words landed like a physical blow. His place. Together.
Natalie’s stomach twisted, heat crawling up her neck.
Her chest tightened as she turned the office handle with slow, deliberate care and slipped into the hallway. She moved as quietly as possible, but the glossy hardwood betrayed her. Each click of her heels echoed like a gunshot.
She shifted her weight forward, trying to walk on her toes, practically tiptoeing toward the front door.
Almost free.
“Natalie?”
The voice—low, commanding—froze her mid-step. Her heart plummeted.
She turned slowly, as though buying time might change what she’d see. It didn’t. Rylan stood just a few feet away, brows drawn in confusion, his gaze locked on hers. Monica hovered beside him, her expression an infuriating blend of puzzlement and smug satisfaction.
Oh, no. Oh no, no, no.
Natalie forced herself to hold his gaze, though her throat felt tight. “I’ll just… leave so you two can discuss your plans in private.”
Her voice cracked slightly, betraying more than she wanted.
She turned, clutching her tote strap so hard the edge bit into her palm. She moved fast—controlled, but fast—down the hall. Rylan’s voice followed her.
“Natalie—”
She didn’t look back. Couldn’t. She reached the door, yanked it open, and strode down the steps to her SUV. Her movements were brisk, almost mechanical, but her vision blurred at the edges.
She slid inside, tossed her bag onto the passenger seat, and hit the ignition. Her hands shook as she shoved the gearshift into drive.
“Natalie!” His voice was closer now, sharp and insistent, but she pulled away from the curb without turning her head.
She didn’t want an explanation. She didn’t want to hear a lie softened with charm.
By the time she reached the office, her emotions had curdled into a tangled knot of anger and humiliation. She swallowed hard against the burn in her throat.
She hated herself for caring. For replaying their coffee shop conversation. For remembering his smile, the warmth in his eyes, the way his deep laugh had made something inside her loosen.
All the while, he’d been someone else’s.
Fury boiled in her veins, hot enough to burn through every last shred of composure she had left.
How dare he? He wasn’t just a liar—he was a cheater.
The first man who had tempted her to step out of the safe, carefully constructed fortress she’d built after her miserable, abusive engagement had turned out to be exactly the kind of man she’d sworn never to let near her heart again.
She’d believed him. God help her, she’d wanted to believe him.
Her parents had set the standard—thirty years of love, loyalty, and an unshakable partnership.
She’d grown up knowing what trust looked like, how it sounded in the quiet moments, how it felt to be safe with someone.
That was supposed to be the baseline. Instead, she kept finding men who treated promises like bargaining chips.
The steering wheel dug into her palms as she parked outside the office. She told herself she shouldn’t care. She’d found out the truth before she’d fallen too far, before he could crush her completely. That should have been a victory.
But the tears burning her eyes said otherwise. The betrayal wasn’t just his—it was hers, too. She’d betrayed herself by lowering her guard, by daring to hope, by letting him in.
She swiped angrily at her cheeks, grabbed her tote bag, and shoved the car door open. Each step toward the office was a silent vow to push Rylan—and the way he’d made her feel—out of her life. Out of her mind.
And yet, as the glass doors reflected her back at herself, one thought clung stubbornly, bitter and unyielding: I deserve better than this!