LOGINCAMERON’S POV A FEW HOURS EARLIER The motel room feels like it’s closing in on me. Four walls, a bed that smells faintly of bleach, and a TV playing some late-night infomercial in the background. My phone lies on the pillow beside me, the screen dark now, but the images—that video—are burned into my mind. Fox. Fox kissing Lexi. His hands gripping her like she’s the only thing that matters in the world. My chest feels hollow, like someone reached inside and pulled something vital out of me. I sit up, dragging a shaky hand through my hair as tears blur my vision again. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry anymore. I promised myself after the first time I watched it—after the second time—that I’d stop. But here I am, replaying it again in my head, torturing myself with every detail. How could he? How could Fox—my Fox—do this to me? I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, trying to block out the image, but it’s no use. It’s there, taunting me every time I close my eye
I stare at Jane’s bakery from my car. It’s morning, and there’s still no sign of Cameron. He hasn’t responded to my text, and I couldn’t sleep knowing he might be out there alone. My frustration boils over as I push open the bakery’s double doors and step inside. The warm scent of freshly baked goods wafts through the air. A few customers, mostly workers grabbing a quick breakfast, mill around. The bakery is beautifully kept, much more inviting than I expected. At the counter, a young woman with dark brown eyes arranges baked goods in the display case. She looks up when she notices me. “Hi, welcome to Jane’s Bakery. What can I get you?” she asks, her voice friendly but distracted. I clear my throat. “Is Jane here? I need to speak with her.” Her expression shifts to one of suspicion. “Who are you?” “I’m Cameron’s friend,” I say quickly. “I’m visiting, and I need to speak with her. Have you seen Cameron today?” She hesitates, looking me up and down. “Not really. Mrs. Brook
FOX I have to find him. My grip tightens around the wheel, one hand steady, the other fumbling for Lexi’s phone. I unlock it, entering the password—the one I know too well, the one she still hasn't changed. That fact unsettles me, but I push the thought aside. My fingers hover for only a moment before dialing Cameron. The line rings and rings, but there’s no answer. Frustrated, I toss the phone onto the passenger seat, my mind racing. Where could he be? If Lexi really sent him that video, he’s probably somewhere hurting, thinking I betrayed him. I pull the car over to the side of the road and try his number again. This time, it goes straight to voicemail. My chest tightens. He’s turned off his phone. “Fuck!” I slam my fist against the wheel, pain shooting through my already bruised knuckles. The anger doesn’t subside. It feels like my whole world is falling apart. Why did I ever get involved with Lexi in the first place? Why didn’t I think with my head instead of my dick? Gr
FOX’S POVI speed out of the manor, my hands gripping the wheel tightly. My thoughts are spinning out of control, and the only thing anchoring them is one name: Lexi. She’s behind this—she has to be. My father’s reaction, the timing—it all points to her. I pick up my phone and call her, but she doesn’t answer. I try again. Nothing. Her voicemail picks up, and that’s the last straw. With a roar of frustration, I slam my phone against the dashboard. The screen cracks before it falls to the floor of the car, but I don’t care. I’ll deal with it later. I drive straight to the frat house. It’s relatively quiet, just as I’d ordered earlier this week—no parties, no nonsense. As soon as I step inside, the room goes still. Conversations die mid-sentence, and every pair of eyes in the living room lands on me. Good. I stop dead in my tracks, my gaze locking on Mike, his girlfriend Cynthia, and—of all people—Carter. What the hell is he doing here? I told him I never wanted to see his s
FOX’S POV “This is really beautiful, Mom. I can’t believe you quit writing in the first place,” I say, scrolling through a passage in her book on her laptop. It’s Saturday evening, and I’m at my parents’ manor. Cameron left for his parents’ house yesterday, and I’ve been restless ever since. Without him in the apartment, the silence felt unbearable. When Mom invited me over for dinner, I couldn’t say no. “I’m glad you like it,” she says, flipping something on the stove. “My editor thinks it’s amazing too. We’re discussing publishing it globally, but I’m still unsure.” “Why? You’ve always been a great writer,” I say, reaching for a cookie from the jar on the counter and popping it into my mouth. She sighs, turns off the stove, and smiles at me. “I just don’t think I’m ready to face the world again after such a long break.” Her gaze softens. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you. How have you been?” “Good,” I reply, a little too absently as I grab another cookie. “G
It’s Saturday evening, and I’m completely drained. I spent the entire day helping Mom at the bakery, baking in the kitchen, and assisting the only worker she hired after I left for college. Her name’s Gold, a 21-year-old Spaniard with a bubbly personality and a habit of talking too much. She’s good at her job, though, and Mom seems fond of her. “See you around, Cameron. You were great company,” she says in Spanish as she heads out for the day. I lock the door behind her, then climb the stairs to our small apartment above the bakery. A hot shower and some dinner sound like the only things keeping me upright at this point. I also plan to try calling Fox again—he hasn’t replied to any of my texts since yesterday. I sent him a message this morning and even tried calling, but nothing. It’s not like him, and I can’t help but worry. When I step into the apartment, the aroma of something warm and sweet greets me. Mom is bustling around the kitchen, and Dad is beside her, helping her mix







