Chapter 62
Chapter Sixty-Two
ROMAN
Clover whips her head in my direction. “You what?” she asks, voice breaking on the last word. “Is that true?”
“Yes, but please let me explain.” I reach for her, but she pulls away, nose wrinkling in disgust, like she can’t stand the idea of me touching her.
“No,” she grits out.
The word cuts like a knife, and I raise my hands to show her I won’t touch her, even though I desperately want to.
Her eyes flood with tears, tangible confirmation that I am in fact the shittiest human being in existence.
“Clover, please let me explain...” I beg. I don’t care how undignified I sound. I’d get to my knees and clasp my hands if it meant her hearing me out.
“I can’t be here,” she whispers as she backs away, before turning and heading toward the bathroom to change out of the wardrobe provided by the magazine.
The door slams behind her, and I whirl on Deacon.
“What the fuck was that?” I shout.
“Roman, please, you’re making a scene.”
“Oh, I’m making a scene? You leaked that publicly to humiliate her, to get at me. Fuck off.”
“The statement wasn’t meant to offend anyone, I can assure you.”
“What the hell happened with talking to legal and removing that clause?”
“I didn’t want to,” he smiles and turns away. Pulling on his arm, I yank him back toward me.
“I’m not done with you yet,” I growl.
Deacon looks down to where my hand is wrapped around his arm. He shakes me off and sneers. “You so badly want me to be your villain. But you’re your own worst enemy, son.” He walks away, Janine simpering after him.
Icy dread and guilt crawl through my system because, for once, Deacon is right. Pushing those thoughts to the side, I head to where Clover is. She needs to be my priority right now.
Knocking on the bathroom door, I hear movement inside.
“Clover, please.”
Silence.
“Please, open the door—”
The door sails open and narrowly misses me. Clover steps out and past me, making a beeline for the wardrobe rack to place her items there. She’s back to wearing the black leggings and zip-up hoodie she arrived in this morning. She’s removed her makeup, but her hair remains in the ponytail.
“Thank you so much,” she says to the wardrobe person, who has watched the whole scenario unfold and has their mouth gaping like a fish after watching that train wreck occur in front of them.
Following her like a lost puppy, I keep repeating her name. Begging, seeking, hoping for a chance to explain myself. She continues toward the exit and pushes out into the cloudy day.
“Clover, please, please let me explain.”
“What could you possibly say?” She whirls on me, and fresh tears are in her eyes. They begin to fall as she stares at me, and each time one does, I hate myself a little more. “You have ten seconds to convince me you’re worth listening to.”
It hurts, but I deserve it. I deserve worse.
“After our argument at the water fountain the day we signed the relationship contract, I was fucking stupid and immature and I asked legal to add the clause.”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “Wow.”
Desperately, I wait for her to say anything else. Hoping she can free me from the torment I’m feeling.
“It was selfish and so fucking wrong of me–”
She raises a hand to cut me off, and I fall silent. “Let me get this straight. You couldn’t handle me telling you the truth about your position of power at the studio... so you went and used said position of power to get me fired?”
I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
“You have a million opportunities in this life because of your name. My name offers me nothing. I have had to work my ass off for everything I’ve ever gotten. This is the first big break I’ve ever had, and you took it away because your ego couldn’t handle the truth?” She fumes.
I don’t respond. There’s nothing I can say because she’s right. That’s exactly what I did.
“You could do anything you wanted. You’re beautiful and brilliant and so talented,” her voice cracks.
“You could pursue music, and instead you’re wasting your time being a paper doll for Starlight Studios.
You’re too chickenshit to go after what you want.
I was brave and talented enough to do it with this role, and you took that from me. ”
I step closer to her, but she pushes me back, the depth of the pain I’ve caused her written all over her face.
“I mean this from the bottom of my heart. Fuck. You.”
The last piece of my heart cracks as she turns her back to me and sobs. Before I say or do anything, she walks away, leaving me to spiral in shame and self-inflicted heartbreak.
When I return to the hotel room later, her bags aren’t there. She’s gone.