Chapter 3
Jace stepped out of the bathroom, wiping his face with a damp towel. The room was still a mess tangled sheets, empty bottles, and that damned wedding receipt staring at him from the nightstand.
He sat on the edge of the bed, sighing heavily as his eyes landed on the crumpled paper. His head hurt a little less now, but the tight feeling in his chest stayed.
Reaching for his boots, something near the bed caught his attention—a small photo, half-crumpled, barely visible under a cardholder. It must have fallen out of Scarlett's things.
He picked it up. The photo was simple—two women smiling, arms around each other. Scarlett was one, younger, grinning wide. The other woman looked familiar… maybe the girl Scarlett had mentioned. Chloe?
Jace stared at it longer than he meant to, not sure why it hit him so hard.
His phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand. Work.
He hesitated, then answered.
"Carter. Back or still drunk somewhere?"
Jace grimaced. "I'm back."
"You're needed. Now. Get your *ss in."
"Yeah. On my way."
The line went dead.
He grabbed his jacket, took one last look at the photo, and set it back on the nightstand. Part of him wanted to chase after Scarlett—to figure out what they were supposed to do now.
But the part burned by betrayal just wanted to move forward.
He stepped out, slamming the door behind him.
The taxi slowed in front of a modest apartment between a pawn shop and a diner that never closed. Scarlett didn't wait for the driver to cut the engine. She tossed some bills forward, muttered thanks, and stepped out into the bright morning sun.
Her heels clicked on the concrete as she climbed the steps, fingers fumbling for keys while holding her purse.
Inside, the apartment felt too clean, too quiet—as if nothing had changed, like last night hadn't broken something inside her.
She kicked the door closed behind her, dropped her purse on the counter, and leaned on the kitchen island, taking a deep breath.
Her eyes fell to her hand.
The ring.
A simple gold band, probably picked in a drunken haze, now felt wrong on her finger—because it was.
Her lips trembled as she slid it off. Slowly. Carefully. As if taking it off could erase the guilt twisting her stomach.
She stared at it in her palm.
Then she walked to the sink and dropped it in with a metallic clink. Not gone forever—just away from her skin.
She moved on autopilot—opening drawers, grabbing a duffel bag from the closet. Clothes. Makeup. Essentials.
Each movement tight, precise. She wasn't running away. She was taking herself back.
She zipped the bag, picked up a framed picture of her and Caleb—the one she hadn't had the heart to remove.
Looking at it now, the betrayal felt raw.
Her fingers tightened, and she turned the frame face-down.
No more tears. No more spiraling.
She was leaving. Not for him, not for Jace—just for herself.
The morning air hit her as she stepped outside. But for the first time in days, her chest felt a little lighter.
Scarlett stepped forward, eyes straight ahead.
Her taxi pulled up. She didn't hesitate—paid the driver, grabbed her bag, and stepped out.
Her legs felt heavy, but her resolve was steady.
She rang the buzzer for apartment 3C, chewing her lip as the seconds stretched.
"Yeah?" a voice came through the intercom, rough and tired.
Scarlett kept her voice even. "It's me. Can I come up?"
Silence. Then a click. The door buzzed.
She stepped inside.
Upstairs, the door to 3C swung open before she could knock. Naomi stood there barefoot, messy bun, oversized hoodie, half-eaten Pop-Tart in hand.
Her brows shot up. "Scarlett?"
Scarlett's eyes filled before she could stop them.
Naomi softened immediately. "Oh, babe…"
She stepped aside silently. Scarlett walked in, dropping her bag by the couch. The smell of cinnamon and cheap air freshener hit—comforting in its familiarity.
Naomi closed the door behind her, turning slowly. "You look like hell."
Scarlett gave a dry laugh. "Thanks."
Naomi studied her, then reached for the Pop-Tart again. "Talk to me."
Scarlett sank onto the couch, rubbing her temples. Exhaling, she said, "I did something really, really stupid."
Naomi sat beside her. "Define stupid. Drunk text your ex or burn his house down?"
Scarlett whispered, "I slept with a stranger."
Naomi blinked. "Wait. What?"
Scarlett nodded, voice hollow. "Vegas. Drunk. Don't remember half."
Naomi's jaw dropped. "You were supposed to be nursing heartbreak, not pulling Britney Spears circa 2004."
Scarlett groaned. "Don't joke. Can't handle it."
Naomi's teasing vanished. "Sorry. You okay?"
Scarlett shook her head. "No. I broke every part of myself holding on to Caleb. Now… I wake up next to someone I don't even know."
Naomi leaned back. "Want my couch?"
Scarlett glanced up, touched. "Seriously?"
Naomi nodded. "Always."
Scarlett whispered, "Thank you."
Naomi nudged her gently. "We'll fix it. Rest first. Then figure out who this stranger is."
Scarlett smiled weakly. "His name's Jace."
Naomi lifted an eyebrow. "Well. At least he has a hot name."
Jace walked into the station, shoulders tight, jaw set. He barely slept. That morning kept running through his head—Scarlett leaving quietly, not even looking back.
He dropped into his chair like the weight of everything was on him.
Mason, halfway through his coffee, glanced over. "You look terrible."
"Feel like it," Jace muttered, opening his laptop without really looking at it.
Mason leaned back. "You okay? Didn't think you went out like that these days."
Jace exhaled slowly. "Wasn't supposed to be a night out. Just drinks. But I woke up with someone."
Mason's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Jace lowered his voice. "Both drunk. Ended up in the same hotel room. She left right after."
Mason blinked. "Did she say anything?"
"Barely. Just… sorry. Then gone like she couldn't leave fast enough."
"Damn," Mason said. "That's rough."
Jace shook his head. "No, it wasn't. She looked like she was carrying something heavy. Weird."
Mason tapped his coffee cup. "Do you even know her name?"
"Yeah," Jace said quietly. "Scarlett. Found a photo that must've fallen out of her wallet. Name on the back."
Mason frowned. "Keeping it?"
"Don't know. Feels wrong to throw it away."
"Thinking about finding her?"
Jace hesitated. "No idea where to start. No number. No clue."
Mason looked at him. "You sure this isn't just rebound guilt? You've been through a lot."
"I know. Chelsea cheating messed me up. But this… Scarlett felt different. Even if it was just a night."
Mason shrugged. "If she meant something, you'll figure it out."
Jace nodded, but his mind was still stuck—back in that room, with a girl he barely knew, and a photo he couldn't stop thinking about.