Spencer turned off the engine and shifted in his seat, his gaze locking onto hers. “Monica…”She looked away quickly, her cheeks warming. “You’re making this feel a lot harder than it should be.”He chuckled under his breath, the smile on his lips sly and unbothered. “Woah… sorry for asking for permission.”Before she could respond, he unbuckled his seat belt and leaned in, slow and deliberate.Monica’s fingers clenched in her lap as he moved closer. Her heart pounded—loud and unsteady. Her breath caught as his scent hit her—faint cologne, something clean and warm and maddeningly familiar.“Spencer,” she whispered, unsure if it was a warning or a plea.His eyes didn’t waver. “You can push me away if you want,” he said low, voice barely a breath. “But don’t lie to me and say you don’t feel this too.”She didn’t move. Couldn’t.His lips hovered just a whisper from hers, and the air between them burned—full of things neither of them had dared say.“I hate you sometimes,” she muttered, br
They ate mostly in silence, save for the occasional clink of forks against plates and Lake muttering under his breath about Max actually being able to cook. By the time they were done, both plates were scraped clean.Lake leaned back in his chair, patting his stomach. “Alright. I’ll give it to you. That was good.”Max smirked. “Told you.”Lake stood, gathering the plates. “I’ll clean up.”Max shot up immediately. “No, you won’t.”Lake raised a brow. “Why not?”“You’re a guest.”“I helped cook.”“You complained the entire time.”“Still counts.”Max crossed the kitchen and took the plates from him. “Sit down.”Lake didn’t move. “Max, I can wash dishes. I’m not going to break your expensive sink or something.”Max dumped the dishes in the sink. “You don't look like someone that can do anything.”“That's not true.”“I swear. You look so soft.”Lake rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”"I know.""Let me.."Max turned, arms folded. “And you’re terrible at relaxing. Let me do this.”Lake
Lake spotted Max by the car and stopped walking. “What are you still doing here?” he asked flatly. Max didn’t move. “Waiting.” “For what?” “You.” Lake walked past him and hit the unlock button on his keys. “Don’t start.” “I’m not starting anything,” Max said. “Just tired of you acting like you don't want me.” Lake yanked the car door open but didn’t get in. "The only thing on your mind is sex.” Max’s eyes flicked up. “You know just what I like.” Lake slammed the door shut. “You showed up with some chick on your arm.” “So?” “So?” Max stepped forward. “She’s not the one I kissed in the bathroom.” Lake scoffed. “You gonna pretend again?” Max asked. “Act like it was nothing?” “I didn’t come here to argue.” “Then don’t argue. Say something real for once.” Lake stared at him. “You want something real? Fine. I felt like an idiot. Happy?” Max’s jaw tightened. “Why?” “Because you don’t want me. You want a reaction. That’s all you’ve ever wanted.” Max let out a sharp breath
Monica entered the hotel, ignoring the stares, the whispers—too drained to meet a single pair of eyes.The elevator ride felt endless, the air around her too still, too loud. As soon as she stepped into her suite, she dropped her bag and went straight for the closet.She didn’t think. She just grabbed everything—shirts, dresses, whatever her hands touched—and flung them into the suitcase like her thoughts: messy, angry, restless.“I can’t take this anymore,” she snapped to the empty room, voice cracking. “Why does it hurt so much?”She zipped the bag halfway, shoving it toward the door. It hit the wall with a heavy thud and landed on its side.Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her hands were shaking.She couldn’t stay.Not in this room. Not in this hotel. Not in this life that felt like it was caving in on her.She stormed out without glancing back.Downstairs, the lobby was quiet. Too quiet. As she passed, the receptionist picked up the phone and dialed quickly.“She’s gone,” the voic
It had been three days since Monica last saw Spencer.Three days since the fight with Liam.Spencer had done an excellent job avoiding her, parading around with Adriana like nothing ever happened. The sight of them—everywhere—had become almost routine. As if the universe wanted to punish her with reminders.On the third day of fashion week, Monica walked the runway. Not just walked—she owned it. The applause still echoed in her head. Her popularity had doubled overnight.She even chuckled when she saw the nickname splashed across the headlines:“The Artist’s Favourite.”Right. As if that name didn’t carry a sting. Spencer's favorite. That's what the name actually meant but lately, it seems this wasn't true.The fashion week would be over in a few days. She would go back to her real life—whatever pieces of it remained. Still, brands had begun to circle her again. Campaign offers, feature requests. Her manager was already negotiating new contracts.Just a few things remained to be done.
“Hey,” Candy said gently. “Are you okay? You’ve been moody since we arrived.” Monica blinked, realizing Candy was talking to her. She forced a small smile. “I’m fine.” Candy didn’t look convinced, but nodded. “I think the models are about to come out.” “Okay.” Monica tried to focus, but her mind drifted again. Back to Spencer. Back to the way his arm had slid around Adriana’s waist like it belonged there. Were they a thing now? She hadn’t asked. And she had no right to be this irritated. But it sat in her chest anyway—tight and sharp. She closed her eyes briefly. The frustration only grew. So what? Because she slapped him, he went running into someone else's arms? She crossed her legs and adjusted her seat, staring ahead. “Oh my God. That’s Greg Holland,” Rose suddenly squealed, nearly jumping out of her seat as the first model appeared. The lights shifted. Music kicked in. The runway glowed. Greg walked with precision, camera flashes bouncing off his sharp jawline and scu