From outside her door, she could hear the usual predinner noises. Paul’s loud getting-ready music flowed all the way into her cabin, blending with the sounds of Sophie and Bee in the hallway, passing off hair tools and requesting feedback on their outfits. The normalcy of it made her bite her tongue with remorse, so close to the version of herself who would have been happily joining them. She didn’t even get one dinner with Danial, didn’t get to enjoy this trip as one of them for even a full day. From her position on the bed, she looked up just enough to catch a glimpse of herself in the cheval mirror, so swollen and red from crying that her lips looked like a drop of cherry jam against her skin. A bitter laugh escaped her as she noticed how, even in this state, she still looked much better than usual. The tan, the lashes, the brows, all of the aesthetic interventions she’d wasted so much money on now felt like a mockery: he didn’t even get to enjoy her overpriced bikini wax.

She concentrated on that person in the mirror, an attempt to distance herself from her own emotions by studying her appearance. Slowly, she rose from the bed and walked over to face herself, sitting cross-legged in front of her reflection. Her curls had mostly escaped from their elastic band, falling chaotically around her face. How could she have not checked the email? She knew it was no use explaining what happened, that her attempt to spare him the harshest embarrassment was only a result of her spitefully including his work with Santander in the first place. She would have to explain her obsession with his work, her resentment for this life path he chose, everything that led up to the video’s publication. And he would be right to hate her for it.

Every time she remembered how good she’d felt with him just hours ago, the peaceful joy of his affection, a river of fresh tears poured down her cheeks. None of it felt real: not their passion the night before, or their perfect day together, or him standing in her room, full of rage and betrayal. It was humiliating: not only had she lost him again, but there was no pretending she hadn’t wanted him, no pretending that she had ever moved on.