Chapter 6 #3
The phone rings again, and again. Rowan still doesn't wake.
My heart is hammering now. Something in my chest tightening with each ring.
I reach across Rowan's sleeping form, grab the phone from the nightstand.
My thumb hovers over the screen for half a second.
Then I swipe to answer and press the phone to my ear.
"Hello?..”
Silence on the other end. Not dead air—I can hear breathing, the faint sound of movement. My heart is pounding.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice, young, confused.
"Oh. I... I'm sorry. I must have the wrong number."
I sit up straighter in bed, my pulse loud in my ears.
"You called Rowan Sterling. This is his phone."
A long pause. Too long.
"Is... is Rowan there?"
My stomach clenches. "He's asleep. Who is this?"
Another pause, and I can hear her breathing quicken slightly on the other end.
Madeleine: I'm... this is Madeleine. I'm sorry, I didn't realize—who are you?
My stomach drops. Everything in my chest goes cold.
Winter: I'm Winter. Rowan's girlfriend.
The silence that follows is awful. Stretched. Heavy.
Madeleine: His... girlfriend?
Winter: Yes. Who are you, Madeleine?
Madeleine: (voice small, shaky now) I think I need to go.
Winter: Wait. Why are you calling my boyfriend at 12:30 at night?
Madeleine: I didn't know. He never... he said he was single. I'm so sorry.
The line goes dead.
I sit there in the dark, holding Rowan's phone.
The screen stays lit for a few more seconds—Call Ended—then fades to black.
My hands are shaking.
He said he was single.
I look at Rowan, still asleep beside me.
His face peaceful, relaxed, completely unaware that everything just shattered.
My hands are shaking so hard I almost drop the phone.
I reach over and turn on my bedside lamp.
The light is harsh, bright, flooding the room with sudden illumination.
I grab Rowan's shoulder and shake it. Hard. Not gentle.
"Wake up."
He doesn't stir immediately. I shake harder.
"Wake up."
Rowan's eyes open, groggy and confused. He blinks against the light, trying to orient himself.
"What? What's wrong?"
My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"Your phone rang."
He's still half-asleep, trying to process.
"What?"
"Madeleine called."
I watch his face. I watch sleep clear from his eyes in an instant. Watch confusion replaced by something else; Panic.
"Winter—"
"Who is Madeleine?"
He sits up, reaching instinctively for his phone. I pull it back, out of his reach.
"It's not—"
"Who. Is. Madeleine."
Rowan runs a hand through his hair, the gesture I've seen a hundred times when he's stressed.
"A friend. She's just a friend."
"Friends call at 12:30 at night?"
"She's going through something. Probably needed to talk."
I stare at him. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
"She said you told her you were single."
Rowan goes very still. For a moment, he doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just sits there looking at me, and I can see him calculating. Deciding how much to admit. How much he can get away with denying.
"She said that?" His voice is careful now.
"Yes."
"Winter, listen—"
"How long?"
"What?"
My voice rises, loud in the quiet bedroom.
"HOW. LONG?"
Rowan gets out of bed, starts pacing. His hands go through his hair again—nervous energy, panic he's trying to contain.
"It's not what you think."
I get out of bed too, standing on the opposite side. My hands are shaking with rage now, not shock.
"Then tell me what it is!"
"She's... we work together. It's complicated."
The pieces fall into place: “M”.
The texts all evening.
The phone calls he wouldn't take at dinner.
"Your assistant." My voice is flat.
"Madeleine is your assistant."
I remember seeing her months ago when I stopped by his office. Young, brunette, beautiful. She'd smiled at me, handed Rowan a file, and disappeared.
"Winter, please—"
"Answer the question!" I'm gripping the phone so hard my knuckles are white.
"How long have you been sleeping with her?"
Rowan stops pacing and finally looks at me.
"I don't know. A few months. It didn't mean anything."
"A few…months?"
"Maybe longer. I don't know. It just happened."
"Things don't just HAPPEN, Rowan!" My voice is shaking now.
"You made a choice. How. Long."
Silence.
He's still calculating. Still deciding how much truth to give me.
"HOW LONG?"
He flinches at the volume. Takes a breath.
"Nearly a year. Maybe more."
The words hit like a physical blow. My knees actually weaken. I grab the dresser to keep from swaying.
"A year?" I can barely get the words out.
"We've been together for over two years, and you've been cheating for nearly half of it?"
"It wasn't like that—"
“—What was it like then?!" I'm yelling now, don't care if the neighbors hear.
"Explain it to me!"
Rowan turns away from me, pacing again. His hands go through his hair, tugging at the strands.
"You don't understand. You're never here. Always working. What did you expect?"
The words hit me like a slap.
"I expected you to be FAITHFUL." My voice breaks on the word.
"That's what relationships are."
He spins to face me. "You're acting like you're perfect. You've been distant too."
"Because you've been LYING to me!" I'm shouting now, my whole body shaking.
"For over a year!"
"Don't make this all my fault."
I stare at him. "Whose fault is it, Rowan? Mine? For working hard? For building a career?"
"For never being present." His voice rises to match mine.
"For caring more about your design projects than us."
There it is.
Design projects.
Dismissive. Demeaning. Like everything I've built is a hobby he tolerates. My hands are fists at my sides.
"The career that just landed a three-and-a-half-million-dollar project?"
"Oh, here we go." Rowan throws his hands up.
"The Chen project. You never shut up about it."
"Because you never ASK!" I'm screaming now, don't care who hears.
"You never care about my work unless it's convenient for you!"
"That's not fair."
"What's not fair is being lied to for over a year!"
Rowan stops pacing, plants his feet, crosses his arms.
"You want the truth? Fine." His voice goes cold.
"She's easier than you. Doesn't overthink everything. Doesn't question everything I do. She just... is."
The cruelty of it steals my breath. For a moment, I can't speak. Can't move. Just stand there as his words sink in, each one a knife.
"Get out," I whisper.
"This is MY apartment." He steps closer, voice hard.
"MY name on the lease."
Something breaks inside me.
"Then I'll get out."
I move toward the closet, yank open the doors. Start grabbing clothes off hangers—dresses, blouses, skirts, anything within reach. Throw them on the bed.
Rowan follows me. "Winter, wait. I didn't mean that. I'm just angry."
I spin to face him, arms full of clothes.
"Yes you did. You meant every word."
"I'm frustrated. You're making this bigger than it needs to be."
I laugh—sharp, bitter, not remotely amused.
"You cheated on me for over a year. How is that not big?"
"Because it's over." He reaches for my arm, but I jerk away.
"I'll end it with her. We can work through this. Couples therapy. Whatever you need."
I drop the clothes and grab my suitcase from the top shelf of the closet. Throw it on the bed, unzip it with shaking hands.
"I need you to have been faithful," I say, my voice breaking.
"But I can't have that, can I?"
"You're being dramatic." Rowan stands in the doorway, watching me throw clothes into the suitcase.
"Plenty of couples get past this."
"I'm not interested."
I move to the dresser, yank open drawers. Underwear, bras, sleep shirts—grab handfuls and shove them in the suitcase. My hands won't stop shaking.
"So what, you're just done?" His voice rises again.
"Throwing away two years?"
I stop, turn to look at him.
"I'm not throwing anything away. You already did that."
"Winter—"
"We're done. Completely done."
He takes a step toward me.
"You'll regret this. You'll wake up tomorrow and realize you overreacted."
I grab more clothes from the closet, my movements jerky and frantic.
"The only thing I regret is wasting two years on you."
Rowan's expression hardens. "I made you relevant in this city. Your little design firm would be nothing without my connections."
I stop. Set down the armful of clothes I'm holding. Turn to face him slowly.
"My LITTLE design firm?" My voice is dangerously quiet.
"I built Winter Hayes Design myself. Every client, every project, every success—that's MINE. And I just got offered a project that's going to change everything. So fuck you and your connections."
Rowan's eyes narrow. "What project?"
I realize too late that I said too much. Don't care anymore.
"Not your concern."
"Tell me what project."
"No." I turn back to the suitcase, keep packing.
"This conversation is over."
He stands there, and I can feel him watching me. Trying to figure out what I'm talking about. But I'm done explaining anything to him.
I grab my laptop from the desk, the charger, important documents from the drawer. My portfolio with Knox's business card still inside. Everything that actually matters.
Rowan's voice shifts again—softer now, pleading.
"Winter. Be reasonable. It's past one in the morning."
I can't believe I gave up my apartment to move into this fucking place with you." I'm shoving toiletries into a bag now, my movements rough.
"You're a goddamn liar."
"Where are you even going?"
"Not your problem."
"Winter, please." He steps into the room now, hands out like he's approaching something wild.
"At least wait until morning. We can talk when we're both calm."
I zip the suitcase closed with shaking hands.
"I am calm. And there's nothing to talk about."
Pull the suitcase off the bed. It hits the floor with a thud.
"This is a mistake." Rowan's voice is getting desperate now.
"You're going to wake up and realize you overreacted."
I grab my purse, my phone charger, one more bag of essentials.