They’re watching. All of them. And they know Violet and I are best friends. If they suspect she was aware of my relationship with a client and didn’t report it, she could be next.

“Please,” I say, cutting her off. “Just go back to work.”

Violet’s mouth opens, but no words come out. She looks at me like she’s searching for some explanation that will make this make sense. But there isn’t one. Not one I can give her, not here.

Movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention—coworkers gathering to see what’s happening, their curious stares slicing through me like a thousand tiny cuts. I can hear the whispers already. They don’t even try to hide them.

She’s being escorted out.

Wonder what she did.

Didn’t see that coming.

She’s always been Gabby’s pet.

Shame burns through me, hotter than the grief that’s been eating me alive. I lift my chin, refusing to let them see me break. Not here. Not now.

But inside, I’m crumbling. My entire life—my job, my relationship, my future—has fallen apart in a few days, and the one person I want to turn to isn’t an option anymore.

Tears prick my eyes, but I force them down. I’ll cry later. Right now, I have to make it out of this building with whatever shred of dignity I have left.

The security guard clears his throat. “Miss Steel.”

I nod, swallowing hard, and let them lead me away, leaving everything behind.

Chapter 10

Alex Sebring

I can’t breathe without her.

Chapter 11

Magnolia Steel

I’m not even sure what day it is anymore.

Chapter 12

Alex Sebring

The house is dark. Still. The kind of calm that suffocates, a quiet that makes you question if you’re the only broken person in a world that stopped spinning.

I tried going to sleep earlier, but Magnolia’s side of the bed still smells like her––cherry blossoms and vanilla.

I love it.

But I also fucking hate it.

I couldn’t stand being in the bedroom anymore so I’m here on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table, head leaned back against the cushions. The TV and lights are off. Hours have passed since I moved.

My phone rests on my stomach, the screen black. I tap it once, thumb hesitating, but I open the music app.

She used to play music in my house all the time. Said it helped clear her head because silence made her overthink—and she was already too good at that without help.

I could never recall the song titles, but I remember the sound… and the way her bare feet padded across my floors. The way her voice hummed along under her breath when she wasn’t singing off-key.