As the door closed behind him, Rayna sat there, staring at the mug in her hands, her fingers tightening around the ceramic.
So that was it.
She'd allowed herself to believe in something soft. Something promising. Ethan had whispered possibilities into her ears in Florittle. He had made her laugh, made her feel like the center of something rare. And now? Now he couldn't even be bothered to call.
Her pride screamed at her to delete his number. To let him go and call herself foolish for ever hoping he was different. Because clearly, he wasn't.
He was just like the others. Just better at pretending.
And maybe it was a good thing he showed his true colors now. Maybe it was better to be disappointed early than devastated later.
She set her mug down and leaned back against the couch, pulling the throw blanket over herself.
But even as she told herself it was fine, even as she tried to pretend it didn't matter, a quiet ache pulsed in her chest—persistent, undeniable.
