Gabriella watches me carefully. “I agree. You deserve to be happy. But not like this.”
She nods like they have silently agreed on something I wasn’t invited to. “You’re better than this. Or at least, I thought you were. Don’t be Dad. Let her go, and sleep this off before he wakes up.”
Their words hang heavy in the air, leaving me no room to argue. Deep down, I know they’re right.
Hours later, I lie in bed, staring at my phone, trying to resist the one thing I’ve been avoiding all day. “Don’t do it,” I mutter.
But I do it anyway because I’m an idiot. Jenna’s business profile is public, and I can’t stop myself. My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating, but I keep scrolling.Shit.I drag a hand down my face.Is she trying to torture me?
Her latest post is nothing—a shot of gold and silver New Year’s balloons in her living room. But in the corner of the frame, there it is. Her leg. Those damn legs I want wrapped around me. It’s barely noticeable, a glimpse of her, but my chest aches anyway.
It’s ridiculous. It’s just a photo, a leg, a sliver of her life. Yet here I am, obsessing over it, wondering if she’s having fun at her party, or if she’s thinking about me too.
Meanwhile, my DMs are overflowing with good-looking, available women, all eager to distract me. Seriously, there are eight billion people in the world, and I’m fucking stuck on the one I can’t have.
Chapter 32: Spilling Truths
Jenna: January
Doves frantically flying.
Shadows chasing. Masked man pulling.
Screams echo through the dark sky.
Drip. Drip.
The bridge stretches endlessly.
The ground shifts beneath me.
I’m running. Almost there…
Falling.
Drip. Drip. Cold. Wet.
I didn’t make it.
The birds… now black crows… turn to stone.
Cold. Lifeless. Frozen mid-flight.
Eyes hollow. Watching.
Drip. Drip.
Water turns to alcohol.
My throat burns. I can’t breathe.
Screams ripple, distorting into nothing.
Just darkness.
Drenched in sweat, I jolt awake. My hand instinctively reaches for my throat before my brain registers this is not real. The crash of waves pulls me back—Bali. Not home. Even in this tropical paradise, I can’t escape myself. I can’t outrun the chaos I created.
Jacob turns over, absentmindedly patting my head like I’m a child or our pet dog. “You okay?”
