It had been three whole days since she last saw him — not that she was counting.
Jace wasn't texting, wasn't calling.
Wasn't orbiting her like he used to.
At first, it was a relief. A return to order.
She went to the gym. Ran six miles on pure caffeine and rage. Let Zara drag her out twice — once to a new club, once to a rooftop after-party full of forgettable men with loud watches and nothing to say.
But somewhere between the second glass of whiskey and the third fake laugh, she realized something unsettling.
She wasn't having fun.
She tried. God, she tried.
She flirted. Took numbers. Let a stranger whisper something obscene in her ear just to feel something. But it was all… dull.
The thrill was gone.
And in its place?
Silence.
A silence that clung to her skin like smoke after a fire.
She hated it.
Soraya threw her phone across the room, watched it bounce on the couch without a single notification lighting up the screen.
"This is so stupid," she muttered to no one, dragging her hands through her hair. "I don't care. I don't care."
The words tasted like lies.
She got up, paced.
The heels of her boots clicked sharply on the marble floor. She used to like that sound — it meant control, confidence, power. Now it just sounded like a metronome in an empty room.
Was this what people felt when they lost something?
No.
She hadn't lost anything. She was the one who walked away.
So why did it feel like something was missing?
Soraya stopped in front of the mirror. Stared at herself for a long moment.
Same sharp cheekbones. Same smoky eyes. Same cold mouth painted the color of blood.
So why did she look so tired?
"Maybe this is just who I am," she said aloud. "Toxic. Cold. Unreachable."
She smiled bitterly at her reflection. "Maybe I'm built to ruin people, not miss them."
But even as she said it, her throat tightened. Just a little.
And for the first time in years, Soraya didn't feel like the queen of anything.
Just a girl alone in a penthouse, wondering why the world felt so damn quiet.