His eyes widen, flick to Logan.
Logan turns.
And the moment our eyes meet, I know.
I know.
His face pales. “Baby…”
There’s a tremble in his voice I’ve never heard before. Not on stage. Not in private. Not ever.
“I need you to know—I haven’t touched anyone since I found you again. This… this video, this tape or whatever the Hell it is, it’s old. I was drunk. Out of my mind. It meant nothing.” His hands open at his sides, like he’s surrendering. “My team’s on it. They’re trying to bury it, but it’s already out. Front page of the damn tabloids. It’s blowing up.”
He takes a step toward me.
I don’t move.
Can’t.
“It’s not what it looks like. Please believe me, baby. Please.”
I want to say something.
Anything.
But my voice is gone.
Because it’s not the tape.
Not really.
It’s the feeling. The knowing—that the rest of the world got a piece of him I’ll never be able to erase. That his past, his mistakes, have followed him here. To us. And they don’t knock before they break the door down.
My eyes burn, but I refuse to blink.
A single tear slides down my cheek.
Logan sees it.
His lips part like he might cry too.
Like he might beg.
But I don’t give him the chance.
I turn around—quiet, careful, composed in that fragile kind of way right before something breaks completely—and walk away.
No words. No screams. Just silence.
And that’s somehow worse.
It’s not always betrayal that breaks you. Sometimes it’s the silence that follows the truth.
Because he didn’t cheat.
But it still feels like he did.
The door clicks softly shut behind me.
