I didn’t know what Kash had done to me, but I didn’t think I could ever reverse it. He had changed me elementally. There was no going back.

Only forward, I supposed.

When I’d left Archer yesterday, it was with a year’s severance and a glowing recommendation from Caroline in exchange for not suing Archer for damages, of which there were many. I walked out feeling like I’d won. And then I walked into Longbourne and lost it all again.

He hadn’t believed me. He didn’t trust me, that mistrust so deep, he assumed I would get in bed with the devil just to save my own skin.

That was perhaps the worst part of all. He’d thought so little of me that he believed me capable of so much selfishness.

Part of me wanted to wallow still, starting with the refusal to blow dry my hair. I could braid it, tie it back, something fast and easy and utterly unlike me. But I had a forty-eight-hour wallowing ban to comply to. So I rallied. I blew out my hair. Used a silly, expensive, probably useless oil on my face, leaving it dewy and fresh. Dashed on mascara, dusted a touch of color on my eyebrows. With a little lip gloss, I was presentable. And better—I didn’t feel like a bridge troll anymore.

There was something to be said for a few minutes of self-care and a little mascara.

When I exited the bathroom, it was with more cheer than I’d had since before that cursed wedding, and for that, I was grateful. It gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be miserable forever.

Ivy was ready and waiting for me, and together, we ventured out. The closer we got to the apartment, the more excited I got, thinking about renovations. I had thoughts and plans and a notebook in my bag, teeming with lists that I hoped wouldn’t drive Luke crazy. Ivy distracted me by brainstorming names for my new event company, but the best we came up with was Parker Planners, which was not only boring, but sounded like I made organizational tools. Granted, helping people organize their lives wouldn’t be a terrible second career, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel on events. Not yet.

When we reached the foot of the brownstone, my smile was broad and genuine. My mind skipped with possibilities as we climbed the stairs, and I slipped my key into the door of my home that would never be mine and turned the knob.

I stepped inside thinking I’d find what I’d found before—an echoing, empty, slightly dirty, completely perfect space. But it was more perfect than I could have imagined.

Because it wasn’t empty at all.

Standing in the bay window was Kash Bennet.