I’m not a guy who’s glued to his phone. I leave it lying around—on my desk, Courtney’s desk, the conference room, the break room. Hell, just last week, it went missing for a whole day before we found it.

Self-loathing simmers just beneath my skin. I made it too easy. I was too trusting, too distracted. And now all I can do is sit here and face the wreckage of what I allowed happen.

“It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to grab it while it was unlocked and swap your number.”

The reality of it crashes down, the guilt running deep.

“I never checked your number. Never thought to. Hell, favorite—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I haven’t memorized your number, so I wouldn’t have noticed when someone changed it even if I had looked.”

“I never memorized yours either. There was no need because your contact was saved in my phone. People don’t do that these days, so don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Maybe not but the guilt gnaws at me. I trusted all the wrong people. And now we’re left standing in the wreckage, sifting through the pieces of everything we lost.

“Who in your life would’ve done this to us?”

“Two people come to mind—Celeste and Tyson. But apparently Courtney played a role as well. I’m not sure what that means.”

For a long moment, all she does is stare at her hands, like the words she needs are hiding somewhere in the lines of her palms.

“Alex.” Her voice cracks when she says my name. “I didn’t let you go.”

My heart fractures all over again. “I didn’t let you go either.”

We’ve been pacing the floor, pushing each other’s boundaries, testing old wounds. Now, side by side on the sofa, there’s nowhere left to run.

Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.

We just sit there, caught in the weight of everything we’ve lost—months of heartache, anger, confusion—all because of someone’s twisted interference.

I’ve loved Magnolia from the second I laid eyes on her, and if it’s possible, I love her even more now. Maybe because I experienced what life looks like without her in it—and I know I can’t survive it again.

But I need to know the truth.

The question burns my throat on the way out. “What is going on between you and McRae?”

Her entire body tenses at the sound of his name. “Tyson McRae is the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

My blood roars in my veins. “I don’t want to have this conversation either. But I won’t give that fucker the satisfaction of twisting the knife. Tell me the truth—have you fucked him?”

Her head snaps back. “No, Alex! I haven’t fucked him.”