SIX

THALIA

Across the city, my new apartment still smelled faintly of fresh paint.

Freedom had a strange scent.

I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the half-opened boxes scattered everywhere. The place wasn’t nearly as large as the Langford estate, but it felt lighter somehow. The silence didn’t feel heavy here. It felt… peaceful.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come in!”

The door swung open, and Knox, my good friend and lawyer, walked in like he owned the place, a bottle of champagne balanced in one hand.

“Wow,” he said, glancing around the apartment. “Minimalist chaos. I like it.”

“It’s called moving,” I said.

He set the bottle down on the counter and looked around again.

“Not bad,” he said. “Small, but nice. Also significantly less terrifying than the Langford mansion.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve been to the Langford estate once.”

“And once was enough,” he said. “That house felt like it was judging me.”

“It probably was.”

Knox grinned and lifted the champagne bottle.

“You’re celebrating tonight.”

“I’m unpacking tonight.”

“No,” he corrected. “You’re celebrating.”

He popped the cork before I could stop him. Foam spilled over the rim as he grabbed two glasses from the kitchen counter.

“To Thalia Wentworth,” he said dramatically.

“Formerly Langford,” I corrected.

Knox handed me a glass. “Exactly. To being single again.”

I hesitated for a second, then clinked my glass against his.

“To being single.”

We drank.

Knox leaned against the counter, studying me over the rim of his glass.

“You know what?” he said.

“What?”

“You look depressed.”

I frowned. “I am not depressed.”

“You’re wearing a beige sweater and gray pants.”

“So?”

“So the Thalia I knew in college would rather swallow broken glass than wear beige.”

“That was years ago.”

“Exactly,” Knox said. “What happened to you?”

“Life happened.”

He tilted his head.

“Correction. Brandon happened.”

I didn’t respond.

Knox watched me quietly for a moment, then sighed.

“You used to be the loudest person in the room,” he said. “Remember sophomore year? You dragged half your department to that horrible karaoke bar at midnight.”

I laughed despite myself. “That place was fun.”

“You sang on top of a table.”

“I was encouraged.”

“You were drunk.”

“Details.”

Knox smirked.

“That girl vanished the second you married Brandon.”

“That girl grew up.”

“No,” Knox said calmly. “That girl got buried under someone else’s expectations.”

I looked away.

He pointed at my clothes.

“And this,” he continued, “is evidence.”

I glanced down at my sweater.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s beige.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“It’s tragic.”

I laughed.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“You used to wear red leather jackets,” he continued. “And those glitter boots.”

“They were not glitter boots.”

“They were absolutely glitter boots.”

“They were stylish.”

“They were blinding.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself.

“Did Brandon hate colorful clothes too?” Knox asked suddenly.

I hesitated.

His eyes widened.

“You’re kidding.”

“He preferred… neutral colors.”

He set his glass down and crossed his arms.

“You stopped going out.”

“So?”

“You stopped dressing like yourself.”

“It’s just clothes.”

“You stopped being you,” Knox said flatly.

I sighed.

“You’re exaggerating.”

Knox pushed away from the counter.

“Get up.”

“What?”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re fixing this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I just moved in!”

“And now you’re going out.”

“I haven’t been to a bar in years.”

“Exactly,” Knox said.

He grabbed my wrist.

“Come on.”

“Knox—”

“No excuses.”

“Where are we even going?”

“To fix your wardrobe first.”

“That sounds expensive.”

“Good thing it’s not your money.”

“Knox!”

“Relax,” he said. “I owe you after that statistics project you saved me from in college.”

“That was eight years ago.”

“I hold grudges.”

***

An hour later, I was sitting in a salon chair while two stylists worked on my hair.

“This is insane,” I muttered.

Knox sat across the room, scrolling through his phone like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“You kidnapped me.”

“I rescued you.”

“I didn’t need rescuing.”

“You absolutely did.”

One of the stylists laughed quietly.

“He’s very invested in this makeover,” she said.

“Too invested,” I replied.

Knox looked up.

“I heard that.”

“Good.”

Another stylist walked over holding a dress.

“Your friend picked this.”

I stared at the dress.

It was black, elegant, and definitely not something I had worn in years.

“That’s not subtle,” I said.

“Exactly,” Knox replied.

Twenty minutes later, the stylist spun my chair toward the mirror.

“Done.”

I blinked at my reflection.

My hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders. My makeup was light but sharp enough to highlight my eyes. The dress fit perfectly, the slit showing just enough leg to feel bold without being ridiculous.

I barely recognized myself.

Knox stood and looked me over.

“There she is.”

“Who?”

“The real Thalia.”

***

Fowler's nightclub exploded with music and light the moment we stepped inside.

The bass vibrated through the floor while colored lights flashed across the packed dance floor.

Knox spread his arms.

“Now this,” he said, “is therapy.”

“You think loud music is therapy?”

“Absolutely.”

We walked toward the bar.

Almost immediately, people started staring.

“Wow,” someone whispered behind us.

“Who is that?”

“Isn’t that Knox Carter?”

I glanced at him.

“You’re famous here?”

“I think so,” he said casually.

He was definitely famous here. Back in college, Knox was popular among the girls, the school’s golden boy. As much as he loved having fun, he was extremely serious when it came to work.

Before we reached the bar, a blonde woman approached him.

“Knox,” she said with a smile, touching his arm. “Where have you been hiding?”

“Working,” he replied.

“You disappeared on us.”

“I had cases.”

“You always have cases.”

She tilted her head.

“Dance with me tonight?”

Knox gestured toward me.

“I already came with someone.”

She glanced at me, surprised.

“Oh.”

“Another night,” Knox said politely.

She laughed. Then she walked away.

I looked at him.

“You know everyone here.”

“Occupational hazard of being charming.”

I laughed, shaking my head. Damn! I’ve missed my friend.

At the bar, he ordered two drinks.

While we waited, he leaned closer.

“Someone’s been asking about you.”

“About me?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

He nodded toward the corner.

A woman stood there watching us.

My breath caught.

“Olivia?”

She walked toward us slowly.

“You look alive again,” she said.

“Olivia…”

“We can argue later,” she said quickly. “Right now, I’m just glad you’re out of that marriage.” She looked towards Knox and said, “he told me.”

I laughed awkwardly.

“You always were brutally honest.”

“You always needed someone to be.”

Knox raised his glass.

“Well,” he said. “Reunion accomplished.”

Olivia smiled. We used to be close, but after I got married, Olivia noticed I was changing and kept telling me not to lose myself, that I was not happy. But I broke contact with her, thinking she just hated that I was married.

“Thank you for dragging her here,” Olivia said

Knox shrugged.

“Someone had to.”

“You two are terrible,” I said.

“Correct,” Olivia replied.

Twenty minutes later, Knox grabbed my hand.

“Dance floor.”

“What? No.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not dancing.”

“You absolutely are.”

Before I could protest, he pulled me into the crowd.

Music blasted around us as lights flashed across the room.

“You remember how to dance?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Someone nearby laughed.

“Look at them.”

“They look perfect together.”

“Are they a couple?”

I rolled my eyes.

Knox spun me once dramatically.

“See?” he said. “Still got it.”

“You’re attracting attention.”

“That’s normal.”

“For you maybe.”

A group of girls nearby whispered loudly.

“That’s Knox Carter.”

“He’s ridiculously handsome.”

“Who’s the girl with him?”

“I don’t know.”

Then suddenly—

A hand grabbed Knox’s arm.

Hard.

“Take your hands off my wife.”

The music seemed to fade for a second.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned.

Brandon stood behind us.

His eyes burning with fury.