The simplest loss was my job. No doubt it was gone, the spectacle last night so outrageous, I would not only be fired, but it would be difficult for me to find another job. Impossible really, especially if Natasha got involved.

When it came to vengeance, I trusted her at her word. It was perhaps the only thing I trusted her on.

The betrayal was beyond the pale. A wriggling, writhing discomfort slithered through me, and on its tail was adrenaline, sharp and cold. They had manipulated me, controlled me, used me. And the knowledge was a shrinking cage, sparking an anxiety I hadn’t known in years but on a scale so grand, there was no escaping it. It would affect every corner of my life.

Especially once the show aired.

And underscoring it all was that I’d lost the one good thing in my life. The best thing in my life.

It was too much to bear, the burden too heavy. I could have handled the betrayal if I still had him.

I could have handled anything if I still had him.

Tears sprang fresh, sliding into the creases of my nose before being absorbed by the pillow I hid beneath.

The doorknob jiggled just before I heard the creak of the door opening.

“Hey,” Ivy said softly, closing the door behind her. “You in there?”

I scooted over so she could sit, but I didn’t emerge from my cocoon.

Her hand rested on my leg, gave it a squeeze. “Are you hungry? It’s almost two.”

“No,” I said, the sound muffled by down.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I unshielded enough of my face to squint at her with one eye. “What else can I say?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping sleep would help. That maybe you’d wake with some kind of clarity.”

“If I’d slept, maybe that would be true.”

Acclimated a little to the light, I moved the pillow, propping my head on it so I could blink at her through the sunshine. Stupid sun, all bright and cheerful. All I wanted was an unending night to mourn. It didn’t seem like too much to ask.

My gaze hung on Ophelia where she sat on the windowsill, her leaves green and vibrant, the new shoots of growth filling me with a sense of pride, then a deep and relentless sadness at what I’d lost.

“Did you hear from Mom?” I asked, hoping we could avoid talking about me.

“She called yesterday, asking for more pictures. I can’t believe I got her to agree to wait to come see us for a few weeks. I think she’s had a suitcase packed for a month.”

I chuckled halfheartedly, trying to think of something else to say. But I was too slow.

“Are you going to talk to him?”