"What the hell!"
The words tore out of me before I could even stop them, louder than the thunder cracking outside the penthouse windows. I had pushed the door open with my usual quietness, already rehearsing the smile I wore for Ethan even when his back was turned to me. But this time I didn't need to fake anything. The sight before me had ripped the air from my lungs. Ethan Cross, the man whose ring I had worn with pride, was sprawled in silk sheets, his mouth pressed against the neck of my closest friend, the same woman who had once sworn she would never betray me.
The sound of my voice made them both freeze. My friend's gasp cut through the silence, her face flushing with the shame she couldn't hide. Ethan didn't even bother moving away from her. He simply lifted his head with a look of irritation, as though I had interrupted him in the middle of a business deal, not caught him in the middle of a betrayal that split me open.
"Savannah, you weren't supposed to—" he started, voice low, dismissive, that tone he always used when he thought he could control the narrative.
"Save it," I snapped, but my throat tightened around the words. The burn of humiliation spread across my skin. My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my ears, in my temples, in my chest.
My friend scrambled for the sheets, clutching them around her body, eyes darting to me with a mixture of pity and guilt. That was what broke me more than anything: the pity.
"You son of a…" I choked on the rest, because if I stayed a second longer I was going to collapse right there on the plush carpet. And I refused to let either of them watch me fall apart.
So I straightened. My fingers trembled as I reached for the delicate diamond necklace at my throat—the one Ethan had given me with promises that now felt laughable. I unhooked it slowly, deliberately, ignoring the way my vision blurred. Then I let it fall onto the nightstand with a sharp clink that echoed louder than my voice ever could.
"Consider this my goodbye," I said, though the words sounded steadier than I felt.
And then I turned. I didn't slam the door because I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me crack. I walked out, my heels clicking against the marble floor, the sound steady even while every step sent cracks through my chest.
The elevator ride down felt endless. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked like a stranger: mascara smudged beneath my eyes, my mouth trembling no matter how tightly I pressed it shut. By the time the doors slid open onto the glittering lobby, I had painted my face back into something close to composure.
The doorman gave me his usual polite nod, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. I stepped out into the night, the rain soaking into my hair, into the thin fabric of my dress, and for the first time in years I had no driver waiting, no sense of belonging to the world I thought Ethan had given me.
I walked. I didn't even know where my feet were carrying me, only that I needed to move, to keep going, because if I stopped I would crumble. My phone buzzed in my purse—Ethan's name lighting up the screen again and again. I didn't answer.
I ducked into the first boutique café I saw, a warm little place with golden lights and the smell of coffee strong in the air. I needed something familiar, something grounding. I ordered without thinking, the comfort of routine holding me together. A latte, a pastry. Simple.
I handed over my card, my hand still shaking slightly. The cashier slid it through the machine, then looked up at me with a tight smile. "I'm sorry, ma'am, it's been declined."
The words hit harder than Ethan's betrayal. Declined.
"That's not possible," I said quickly, trying to steady my voice. "Run it again."
He did. Same result. He tried another card I offered. Declined. One by one, every card I carried—every card tied to the accounts Ethan had once insisted I use—failed.
A sick realization crept into me. This wasn't an accident. This was intentional. He had cut me off before I even had the chance to leave him. Ethan Cross hadn't just betrayed me in bed, he had planned for me to walk away empty-handed, humiliated, powerless.
Heat surged into my face. The people waiting in line behind me shifted uncomfortably, the cashier's polite patience fraying. I couldn't breathe. For a moment I thought I might collapse right there, but then pride—pure, stubborn pride—pushed me upright.
"I'll come back," I said smoothly, though my cheeks burned. I left the pastry, left the coffee, left behind a piece of myself on that counter. I walked out into the rain again, the city spinning around me in neon lights and blurred faces.
My hands were shaking so badly I had to press them against the brick wall of the café to steady myself. The rain mixed with the tears I had been holding back, hot and cold at the same time. He thought he had broken me. He thought cutting me off would end me.
But he didn't know me.
I straightened again, pulling my wet hair back from my face, forcing myself to breathe even as the panic clawed at my chest. I would not let this city see me fall.
And just when I thought I could catch my breath, just when I thought I had survived the worst of it, I heard a voice behind me—deep, familiar, and far too calm.
"Savannah?"
I froze.
I knew that voice. And the last person I expected to see standing there in the pouring rain was…