Chapter 18

Elena’s POV

I walked away fast, with my heels clicking against the ground in sharp, angry rhythms. I don’t know why I felt so angry, but I didn’t slow down . Don’t you fucking cry I tell my self over and over again as I charged ahead.

“Elena!”

Jonathan’s voice came from behind me, but I didn’t stop walking , neither did I turn around. I just kept walking. I would rather be anywhere but near him. He could talk to lady sparkles for all I care.

“Elena, I said wait, can you please fucking stop waking for a moment!”

His hand caught my arm, turning me around to face him.

I yanked my arm free. “Don’t.”

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “Why are you acting like this?”

“You lied to me,” I said, my voice shaking with anger I couldn’t control. “You said you were working late. You didn’t mention you were going on a dinner date with Lisa.”

“It wasn’t a date…”

“I don’t care what it was,” I snapped. “You lied. You grabbed your phone like you were hiding something, and then you snuck out without telling me where you were going.”

“I don’t need to tell you everywhere I go,” he said, his tone hardening. “It’s my private life, Elena. I’m not required to report to you.”

“I’m your Personal Manager…”

“And being my Personal Manager doesn’t mean you get to know every person I meet with or every meal I have,” he cut in. “There are boundaries. Professional boundaries. Or have you forgotten that?”

The words hit like a slap.

I stood there, staring at him, feeling something crack inside my chest.

He was right. Of course he was right.

I had no claim to his personal life. No right to be angry about who he had dinner with or what he did in his free time. I was his employee. His Personal Manager. Nothing more.

But knowing he was right didn’t stop my heart from breaking.

“You’re right,” I said quietly. “My apologies. It won’t happen again.”

I turned and walked away before he could see the tears burning in my eyes.

Later that evening, Jonathan stood by the car, waiting for me like he always did.

“Ready to go?” he asked when I approached.

“I’m not coming with you,” I said, not meeting his eyes.

He frowned. “What?”

“I have plans. My private life. You know how it is.”

I could feel him staring at me, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back.

“Elena…”

“Have a good evening, Mr. Hart.”

I turned and walked in the opposite direction, pulling out my phone to call a cab.

Behind me, I heard him say my name one more time, but I didn’t stop. I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say.

The bar I found was small and dimly lit, I don't know when last I went to a place like this. I really didn’t like it but I needed something strong.

I slid onto a barstool and ordered a tequila. Then another. Then another. Until I lost count and I was thoroughly drunk.

The bartender raised an eyebrow after the fourth shot, but I just pushed my glass forward.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“You could say that,” I muttered.

I didn’t know what I was doing here. I didn't know why I was so upset, why Jonathan’s words had cut so deep, why the image of him smiling at Lisa made me want to throw something.

This was supposed to be a game. A plan to get revenge on Daniel by getting close to his father.

But somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like a game.

Somewhere along the way, I’d started to care. And that was the most terrifying realization of all.

“Mind if I sit here?”

I looked up to find a guy standing next to me, he was obviously in his mid-thirties, and he was decent-looking, he also had a very easy smile.

“Free country,” I said, turning back to my drink.

He sat down anyway, ordering a beer and turning to face me.

“Bad breakup?” he asked.

I laughed, the sound bitter. “Something like that.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I shouldn’t. I knew I shouldn’t. But the tequila was making everything blurry, and I was tired of keeping everything bottled up.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I said, staring into my empty glass. “It was supposed to be simple. A game. Get close to him, make him trust me, and then… I don’t know. Win.”

“Win what?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” I said, laughing again. “But then he started being nice. Saving me during a thunderstorm. Taking care of me when I was in pain. Looking at me like I mattered.”

The guy leaned closer, his expression sympathetic but his eyes calculating. “Sounds like you’re in over your head.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“You know what you need?” he said, his hand landing on my knee. “A distraction. Somewhere quiet where you can forget about all this for a while.”

I looked at him, my vision slightly unfocused, and part of me knew this was a bad idea.

But the other part…the part that was hurt and angry and desperate to feel something other than this ache in my chest…didn’t care.