The Carver (Fifth Republic Series Book 2)
The Carver: Chapter 1

I arrived at the courthouse on Monday morning. It was overcast, with rain coming and going in waves. With a heavy heart, I walked up the stairs and entered the building to begin my divorce trial. I wore one of the outfits I’d bought for work, a black pencil skirt with a dark blue blouse tucked into the waistband.

My marriage had been over before the paperwork was filed and I’d moved on with a man way out of my league, but it still made me somber to divorce a man I’d thought I would be buried next to, someone I’d known for years but who turned out to be a stranger.

I walked down the hallway to replace the room where I would meet with Adrien and the judge, but I was stopped by a man in a gray suit, glasses, and a briefcase.

“Fleur?”

“Yes,” I said. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Antony.” He shook my hand. “I’m your attorney.”

“Oh…I didn’t ask for an attorney.” I didn’t think it would be necessary for a simple divorce case. I didn’t want Adrien’s money, so there was nothing to contest. It would be the smoothest divorce trial ever recorded.

“Bastien Dupont asked me to take your case.”

I’d told him my trial was today, but I didn’t share any details, like the fact that I didn’t have an attorney. That meant he was one step ahead of me, looking out for me when I didn’t ask him to. “I—I don’t think that’s necessary⁠—”

“He’s already paid my fee.”

“Oh.”

He moved to the door and opened it. “Shall we?”

I looked in the open door and saw the back of Adrien’s head. He had a man next to him, so I assumed that was his own lawyer. The judge sat at a table that faced Adrien and the empty table beside it—where I would sit with Antony.

I was about to be divorced, and I wasn’t even thirty.

Fucking fool.

I held my head high as I walked into the room, not looking at Adrien as I took my seat and crossed my legs. All I had was my purse with me because I didn’t know what else to bring. I didn’t have a list of things that I wanted, didn’t have receipts for anything, didn’t have any photographic evidence to use against him to get a bigger sum.

Antony took his seat beside me. “I’ll be representing Fleur Laurent for this case.”

I felt Adrien stare at the side of my face, felt him look in the hope I would look back.

I ignored him.

“Alright.” Judge Alberto got straight to the point. “Let’s begin.”

Antony started. “Because the marriage ended due to Mr. Laurent’s multiple infidelities, Fleur is asking for half of the communal property they’ve earned throughout their marriage⁠—”

“Whoa, I did not say that.” I looked at my lawyer. “I don’t want anything.”

“You’re entitled to it⁠—”

“I don’t want it.”

Antony continued to look at me, like Bastien had given him instructions that were to be followed.

“Perhaps you should speak to your client in private,” Judge Albert said. “Take a recess⁠—”

I looked back at the judge. “I don’t want anything—except my clothes and personal belongings that are still at the house. I married him because I loved him, and his punishment is to know he betrayed the only woman who actually loved him for himself. I don’t care about his money—and I’ll prove it.”

Antony released a frustrated sigh, as if he knew he was going to get an earful from Bastien when this was over.

Judge Alberto turned to Adrien and his lawyer. “If you agree to these terms, the matter is settled.”

There was a long pause. The lawyer stared at his client.

Adrien stared at the table, looked like he was about to be sick. “She takes half of the estate.”

“What?” I asked incredulously.

Adrien wouldn’t look at me. “I contest your demands. Take half of the estate.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I looked directly at him now, unsure what was happening. “I said I don’t want your money.”

“I know you don’t,” he said quietly. “But I want you to have it.”

“Well, I don’t want it.”

The judge folded his hands and gave a sigh. “I’ve been in law for nearly forty years, and not once have I seen a marriage that ended through infidelity unfold this way—with the wife not wanting his money, while the husband wants to give it. In my personal opinion, there is still love here, so perhaps this marriage should be given another chance…”

“No.” Out of the fucking question.

Adrien gave a sigh.

“I won’t take his money.” I said it again, put my foot down.

The judge looked at Adrien.

“I don’t accept her terms,” he said quietly.

The judge closed his folder and brought his hands together. “Then we’ll schedule another meeting three weeks from now. Perhaps at that time, you can decide how you want these assets to be divided. This meeting is adjourned.”

“What?” I’d come here expecting to finalize a divorce, to be free of Adrien forever, to formally drop my married last name and reclaim my maiden one. Not to hit the brakes on the process and remain in limbo. “This is bullshit.”

Antony placed his hand on my shoulder to quiet me.

Adrien and his lawyer walked out.

I was breathing hard, breathing through the rage that I couldn’t express in the presence of a judge and security.

“Take the money,” Antony said.

“I said, I don’t want it.”

“Don’t you see what he’s doing?”

I stilled and turned to him.

“He knows you won’t take it, so he can use that to drag this out for a long time.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, his eyes shifting back and forth between mine. “So he can stay married to you.”

When I left the courthouse and descended the steps, I noticed Adrien standing at the curb, clearly waiting for me. He was in a black pea coat and a scarf, his hands in the pockets of his coat.

A quiet rage surged inside me at the sight of him. I walked down the stairs and looked at him head on, the sidewalk quiet because it was lunchtime and most people had already left the courthouse to grab a croissant at a boulangerie.

He met my look, his eyes both tired and defeated.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Despite the rage of my words, I spoke with an even tone, like we were at a fancy dinner party with others seated at our table. “Just when I thought you couldn’t make me angrier, you somehow top it.”

He continued his stare, not rising to my ire. “Then take the money⁠—”

“I don’t want it.”

“Then I guess we’ll discuss this again in three weeks.”

It was one of the few times when I could scream right on the sidewalk. “We may be married on paper, but we’re not married in any other aspect. I have someone, and I’m sure my replacement is already in your bed.”

“I haven’t been with anyone else since you left me.”

“So you’re only faithful to me after I leave?” I asked incredulously. “That makes a lot of fucking sense.”

He stared at me for a while as he considered his next words. “Let’s go to a café so we can talk.”

“I’m fine standing right here.”

“We’re both Catholic⁠—”

“God would never punish me for wanting to leave a lying and cheating son of a bitch.”

His eyes dropped down in shame, as they should. “Maybe some time apart is good for us. Maybe you need to live your own life, have your own…experiences…and then maybe we can work on this marriage. I understand you’re angry with me and want to torture me by fucking around⁠—”

I laughed uproariously. “You think I’m fucking Bastien to make you jealous? Oh, honey. I’m with that man because he’s a goddamn hunk. It started off as just us screwing, but he’s my man and I’m his woman now. I’ve moved on.”

His eyes lifted again, and the defeat evaporated. I saw a hint of anger there, masked by the hurt jealousy. “So we’ve been apart for two months, and you’re already in another relationship⁠—”

“Woooooow.” I scoffed because it was ridiculous. “That’s rich, Adrien. Bloody fucking rich.”

“Those women meant nothing to me.”

“As did I. Clearly.” Our quiet conversation had turned into a shouting match right on the sidewalk. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“I made a mistake.”

“One bitch, one time is a mistake. A mistake I could have forgiven if you had been the one who copped to it. But there were twelve different women on your dick, Adrien. And there would have been a hell of a lot more if Cecilia hadn’t ratted you out—God bless her soul.”

“I promise I’ll never do that shit again.”

“I hope you mean that for the next woman in your life. Really, I do. Because no woman should have to suffer what you put me through. I loved your parents like my own, I loved your brother like we had the same blood, and now, I’ve lost all of them. I’m out here alone, and you didn’t lose a damn thing.”

“My parents still love you, Fleur. My mother screams at me every day to fix this. My father is more disappointed in me than he’s ever been. Trust me, they like you a hell of a lot more than they like me right now. I told them I would fix it, that I would get you back.”

“That’s never going to happen, Adrien. Ever.”

“You still love me.”

“I don’t.”

“Love doesn’t just die that quickly.”

“It dies instantly when it’s been betrayed. Keep your wealth because I don’t want it. You can draw this out for years, but it won’t change anything.”

“You won’t be able to get remarried, so it will change something.”

I narrowed my eyes when I heard what he said. I became so angry that I grew still, quiet. When I spoke, my voice was so calm, it was terrifying. “So, after cheating on me and destroying our marriage, your plan is to sabotage my happiness? That’s who you are, Adrien? Because if so, then I’m so grateful you cheated on me because now I’m with someone who would never treat me like that.” I didn’t know where my relationship with Bastien was going, if it would remain frozen in time for months or years, or if it would fizzle out in a couple weeks. But I knew with certainty that Bastien was far more honorable than Adrien would ever be.

He looked away, like he instantly regretted what he’d said. “Fleur, I’m sorry. I just fucking love you, and losing you has made me realize how much. I’m depressed, like you died or something.”

“Our marriage did,” I said. “And it’s time to move on. Stalling the paperwork isn’t going to change anything, Adrien. I’m already with someone else now.”

“That worries me.”

Unsure what that meant, I waited for him to say more.

“You don’t know him, Fleur. You don’t know him the way the rest of the city does.”

“I’m fully aware of who he is and what he does for a living. Because, unlike you, he gives it to me straight. He tells the truth and doesn’t care whether you like it. And it’s fucking refreshing.” No sugarcoating. No gaslighting.

“But you don’t understand the ramifications of his position. A lot of people want him dead—so they want you dead. If you’re looking to move on and settle down with a husband and a couple kids, he’s the worst person you can pick.”

“I’m not looking for anything serious right now. The idea of going down that path makes me sick to my stomach.”

“You should steer clear of him, regardless. Fleur, this isn’t me being jealous. This is me trying to protect you.” His jealousy and anger seemed to have faded away, and all that was left was that sincere desperation in his eyes, like he really meant these words. “He’s a dangerous guy.”

“Bastien would never hurt me.”

“But a lot of people want to hurt him. He’s got a lot of enemies. A lot of eyes on his back. I stick to petty crime, so I’m not fully immersed in his world, but I know shit gets fucking serious. It’s not safe for you.”

“It’s funny that you say that—because you hurt me far more than he ever could.”

Adrien wore the most defeated look I’d ever seen, like my words had struck him harder than a closed fist to his nose. “They call him the Butcher for a reason, Fleur. You’re a smart girl, but you don’t even need to be smart to know that it’s dangerous to live in his world. If you were killed because of it, I’d have to take my own life because I couldn’t live with myself, knowing my stupidity directly led to that outcome.” His voice had lowered with pained sincerity, like he was begging me. “There are a million guys out there, and you’re a fucking bombshell who can have anyone you want. If it’s not going to be me, then please, choose someone else. Someone with a normal, boring, safe life.”

All the anger I felt for him died, just for a moment, hanging on to the desperation in his voice. The way he spoke to me as a friend, as a confidant, not as the ex who wanted me to take him back.

“I just want you to be safe, Fleur.”

I’ll be there in a couple minutes, sweetheart.

I sat at the dining table, still in the same pencil skirt and blouse because I’d gone back to work after finishing up at the courthouse. My job at the investment company was posh and sterile, the office renovated on the inside for a modern look, even though it was inside an old building. The adviser I worked for was married with two kids and an overall nice guy. I hadn’t spoken to Bastien all day, so when he texted me, it was without preamble. He just said what he wanted without caring if I wanted the same thing.

I did want the same thing, but now there was a weight on my heart.

It was heavy with the warning I shouldn’t heed—that I’d left one bad relationship and stepped into a worse one. Worse but for different reasons.

But even if Adrien were right, I wasn’t sure if I would ever have the strength to leave. Bastien was one of a kind, and every man who came after him would just be a disappointment. His memory would haunt me into old age.

He let himself into my apartment a moment later, in a long-sleeved black shirt that his muscles stretched out nicely. He wore black jeans and boots, his blond hair a little ruffled from the wind outside. His blue eyes were on me when he walked inside, a giant in my little loft, his subtle smile pulling at my heartstrings.

My mind and heart were at odds with each other, but my heart won the match, lifting me to my feet and stepping into his chest, five inches taller in my heels so my arms could circle his neck.

His hands went straight for my ass and squeezed as he kissed me, giving me a hot kiss with breath and tongue, his hands yanking up my skirt so he could feel my cheeks in his bare hands.

He guided me backward toward the couch in the corner, not breaking his stride as he kissed me, and he lowered me to the couch as he moved on top of me. My skirt was already hiked up, so he pulled down my thong, left the heels on, and then unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down so he could sink inside me.

I gasped like I’d never felt him before. Never felt a dick so big.

With his jeans just over his ass, he fucked me into the corner of the couch, leaving my blouse on like he wanted me too much to take the time to fully undress. The sight of me alone got him that hard.

“I’ve been thinking about this pussy all fucking day.” No one did dirty talk like he did. I’d never been with a man who talked during sex and pulled it off so effortlessly. It was the depth of his voice, his confidence, the way he said it like he’d done it a hundred times. Even if he did the same with all the others, it still turned me on like fucking crazy.

My ankles locked together around his waist, and I grabbed on to his shoulders, buried under the mountain of his chest, lying there and taking the best dick of my life while he happily gave it. I’d had a long and depressing day, but he turned me on faster than a car accelerated to full speed. I dug my nails into his back as my face moved into his shoulder. The edge of my teeth pressed against his skin as I came.

He gave a masculine moan as his pumps slowed down, the two of us coming together, my ankles pressing into his back while my nails clawed at his shoulders. My makeup was destroyed by the tears I shed, moistening my mascara and making it smear underneath my eyes when I closed them.

He pulled out of me and left the couch before he buttoned his jeans like he had somewhere to be.

“Are you leaving?” I pulled down my skirt and sat upright, composing myself as best I could, as if I hadn’t just gotten screwed in the corner of the couch.

“Got shit to do.” He fixed his shirt before he looked at me. “Just wanted to make a pit stop. When I said I’d been thinking about that pussy all day, I meant it.” He looked at me the same way he had when he’d first walked into the apartment—like he could fuck me again.

I rose on my heels, slightly disappointed that he was about to run off again. He’d never done that before. Whenever he came to me, he always stuck around for at least the night. But the last thing I wanted to do was be clingy.

“My driver will pick you up at eight thirty.”

“He will?”

“We’ll have dinner. I’ll meet you there.”

He’d never done that before. “Why don’t you just pick me up?”

“Because I have a meeting at the restaurant. Once that’s done, we’ll have dinner.”

He seemed to have this all planned in his head, so I went with it. “If you’re busy, we can have dinner tomorrow.”

“You’re doing it again.”

My mouth shut so fast.

“I’m never too busy for you.” He moved into me and gave me a quick kiss before he walked out without another word. His heavy footsteps were audible on the rug in the hallway. Then they were gone, and so was he.

His driver picked me up at eight thirty on the dot, pulling up to the curb where I stood in my dress, heels, and coat. He opened the back door for me and drove me toward the Eiffel Tower. As the structure loomed larger, I realized we were close to Bastien’s apartment, but then we passed it and went straight to the tower.

I didn’t know where we were going.

When the driver pulled straight up to the tower, a group of men was waiting there dressed in all black, looking like a SWAT team even though they carried no visible weapons. The driver opened the door for me, and I joined the four men, who welcomed me in silence.

“This way.” One guy took the lead while the other three formed a perimeter around me, escorting me like I was the president with my own security detail. We approached the base of the tower, bypassed the security everyone else was required to undergo, and I was taken into a private elevator. The three guys stayed behind, while the one in the lead rode in the elevator with me, the box dangling in midair as the cables pulled us up sideways.

I knew there were two restaurants in the Eiffel Tower, so I assumed we were dining at one of them, something I’d never done even though I’d been born and raised in Paris. When we came to a stop and the doors opened, I expected the loud chatter of guests talking while they dined, but it was quiet—like no one was there.

The guy stepped out first and motioned for me to follow him.

We passed the hostess desk and turned toward the main room, a large window against the back wall that showed Paris below. Dozens of tables were covered in white tablecloths, but only one table was in use.

Bastien sat at a table for four, surrounded by three other men while they smoked and drank, the only people inside the restaurant. Bastien’s back was to me, so he didn’t see me enter the dining room. “London is a fucking joke. After Brian lost his head, it’s been pandemonium over there, and I’m too fucking busy to dabble into that shit. If you want to take it, so be it. But the tariff still applies.”

I didn’t belong here.

The man who had escorted me into the tower guided me to the other side of the room, where a table for two was positioned against the window. He was gone the second I sat down. A waitress appeared a moment later, bringing me a glass of water along with a bottle of wine. She uncorked it and filled my glass before she left it on the table and disappeared.

The guys kept talking on the other side of the room, the specifics of the deal unclear to me because of the distance between the tables. But it was obvious that Bastien was the one running the show, and the guys took his lead.

A couple minutes later, the meeting seemed to have finished because all the men rose to their feet, shook hands, and they departed, while Bastien remained behind. He put out his cigar in the ashtray before he turned to me and crossed the room, his eyes lit up and playful at the sight of me.

When he reached the table, he leaned down to kiss me before he took the seat across from me. “I’m fucking hungry.”

“How come no one else is here?”

“Because I booked the whole place.” He looked at the menu the waitress had brought earlier. He turned over his shoulder and called toward the kitchen, “Let’s get this going.” He faced me again and poured himself a glass of wine. “How’d today go?”

I was still overwhelmed by everything that had just happened, that I was dining in Jules Verne, one of the most iconic restaurants in Paris, because the man I was seeing had booked it for a meeting. The divorce hearing felt like a week ago. “You didn’t have to get me a lawyer.”

“You should never represent yourself in a trial.”

“It’s not like I’m on trial for murder.”

“It’s still a legal matter.”

“But he was under the impression that I wanted half of the estate when I don’t want anything. So, he must have gotten that information from you.”

He absorbed that accusation with no reaction. “Out of principle, you should take it. Just because he earned the money doesn’t mean it’s not half yours. But more importantly, this divorce will be over much quicker if you just accept it.”

My eyes narrowed. “So you know Adrien wants me to take it.”

“Antony told me it was in the paperwork he filed. It’s obvious he’s trying to drag this out.”

Bastien hadn’t even been in the courtroom, and he’d figured it out. He didn’t even know my husband, but he knew his endgame.

“You don’t need his money, not when you’ve got a much richer man to take care of you. But you should bleed him dry as payback for what he did to you. He obviously cares more about money than you.”

“But I cared more about him than I ever cared about money—and that’s the point.”

“You would rather be righteous than vindictive?”

“Yes. Wouldn’t you?”

He stared at me for a while before a smile formed on his lips. “Piss me off, and I’m the most vindictive motherfucker you’ll ever meet. If it were me, I’d take him for everything. If it were me, I would wait until he got serious with someone new before I told her what a lying, cheating sack of shit he is. And then I would do it with the next girl…and the next girl…until he dies alone.”

He didn’t threaten me at all, but the tension in my arms made me feel like he had. He said it all with a smile, but that made his words more terrifying. Adrien warned me Bastien was dangerous, and I was witnessing a hint of that firsthand. “What will you do to me if I piss you off?”

His smile was wiped clean off his face as his eyebrows furrowed at the question. “You’re immune to my wrath. All women are.”

“But what if I cheated on you? You would do that?” Taking half of what was mine was one thing, but to sabotage Adrien’s future happiness was ruthless.

“I’d kill the guy who touched you, but I would do nothing to you.”

That answer just made me more uncomfortable. My eyes shifted away from his face to the window, the cold evening seeping through the cracks and hitting my bare skin. The waitress came over to bring our first course, which was lucky timing because I needed a moment to figure out how I felt about all of this.

Bastien stared me down while the waitress served us. He didn’t say thank you before she walked away. Just stared hard at my face like his eyes were bullets. When she was gone, he spoke. “I’ve upset you.”

I kept my eyes aimed out the window and ignored the soup placed in front of us.

“What did I say?”

Despite how cold the window was, I was flushed with a searing heat that burned my cheeks. It was the first time I’d felt afraid of him because it was the first time I’d seen a version of him I didn’t want to see. “I would like to leave, please.” My voice came out quiet, calm, even though I was nothing of the sort.

He just stared at me.

I rose to my feet and grabbed my coat off the back of the chair before I put it on.

He continued to sit there. “Are you going to answer me?”

“I—I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

He cocked his head slightly, the flames in his eyes igniting. “Sit down.”

“I said, I want to leave⁠—”

“Sit your ass down.” He slammed his closed fist against the table, and the plates and silverware made a distinctive clatter. “Now.”

I dropped back into the chair, my mouth dry with discomfort. “I asked to leave⁠—”

“You can go after we talk,” he said. “Now, tell me what the fuck I said to offend you so deeply.”

My eyes went down to the soup again, hot in the jacket.

“Look at me.”

I forced my eyes to his.

“Take off the coat.”

I obeyed, only because I was smothered in the heat.

“Explain.”

I saw the red flags and felt the drums of warning pound in my chest. So afraid of getting hurt again in any capacity, I was steering clear of any chances for regret. “You’re dangerous.”

He cocked his slightly like he didn’t understand. “I’m very fucking dangerous, sweetheart. But I’m not dangerous to you.”

“You just said you would kill someone if I fucked them.”

“Yeah, I would.” He doubled down, didn’t backpedal, didn’t gaslight me.

“So, I would get someone killed…and I would have to carry that guilt.”

“Don’t fuck anyone else, and you’ll save lives. You’re a superhero.”

I didn’t replace this one bit funny. “I’m being serious.”

“You aren’t the type of person to fuck around, so this hypothetical situation is pointless.”

“But everything you said…shows me who you are.”

He stared at me for a long time, eyes narrowed and lethal. “Let me tell you who I am, sweetheart. I don’t believe in forgiveness or second chances. For those who think they can outsmart me and cross me, I cut them into slices of bacon and feed them to the dogs on the street. My ruthless temper precedes me, and my reputation is its own empire. But there are lines even I don’t cross. I would never hurt a woman or a child, for any reason whatsoever. And I would never hurt you, not just because you fall into that category, but because of how deeply I care for you.” He stared for several beats, his gaze molten-hot as it burned into mine. “That’s who I am. You’re the last person on this earth who needs to be afraid of me.”

I looked out the window again.

Despite the fact that he was starving, he continued to focus on me and let his food grow cold. “Sweetheart.”

I wouldn’t look at him.

“I still don’t understand the issue here.”

I turned back to him. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m not dangerous to you.” His temper flared. “How many times have I said that?”

“But you’re dangerous by association. What happens when someone wants to avenge the person you turned into human bacon? They’re going to come after me. I’m the one who’s going to be used to get to you. Being on top means everyone below wants to take you down. The target on your back is also on mine. So, yes, you’re very fucking dangerous, Bastien.”

In silence, he stared at me, his expression hard as a statue.

I hadn’t expected dinner to unfold like this. It all happened so fast. “I walk into an empty restaurant, and you’re doing a deal right across the room.” Adrien’s words haunted me too, but I didn’t dare say that out loud.

Bastien was quiet for a long time. “It’s an unspoken rule—families are immune. We don’t come for wives or children. It’s dishonorable, and no one wants to work with a dishonorable man because he may turn around and do the same to you. Being with me doesn’t put you in danger. And even if someone ever tried to start something—” he looked me hard in the eye “—I would never let anything happen to you. I would die for you. I would let my body be pumped with a hundred bullets before you got a single scratch. I would slice my own fucking throat to spare you any discomfort.” His eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “You understand me?”

My eyes flicked away again.

“Eyes on me.”

I sighed before I looked at him again.

“You were fine with this, and now you aren’t. So, where is this coming from?”

I didn’t want to say.

He continued to study my face, searching for the answer. “It was that little bitch, wasn’t it?”

How the fuck did he do that?

He must have taken my silence as affirmation because he said, “That’s the most hypocritical bullshit I’ve ever heard. You were in far more danger with him than you ever would be with me.”

“He steals art. He doesn’t deal drugs or move weapons.”

He scoffed. “The wealthy appreciate wine and art more than anybody else. Whether you earn your money pushing heroin or selling rifles to criminals, it doesn’t change that fact. And they aren’t happy that your ex is taking Monets, Picassos, and da Vincis from the people and putting them in rich assholes’ shitters. He’s pissed off a lot of people, and once they figure out it’s him, he’s dead.”

I breathed quietly, but I felt my adrenaline spike.

“Another thing that he hid from you.”

That whole time, I’d thought I was perfectly safe, but now, I realized my husband had had a target on his back while he slept right beside me.

There was a long stretch of silence between us. Bastien seemed to be giving me a moment to process everything he’d said. He stared at me all the while, his usual intensity gone and his eyes dark. “I’ve said my piece. Now you can go.”

I stayed in the chair, feeling the threat of his words press against my throat like a knife.

He looked over his shoulder. “Lorenzo.”

The man who had escorted me here came around the corner and approached the table.

“Take her home.”

“Of course.” He nodded then stepped aside, giving us a moment to say goodbye.

Bastien looked at me again, waiting for me to leave.

“I’ll stay⁠—”

“I want you to leave.”

It felt like someone had struck me with a baseball bat from behind. It broke my ribs and bruised my lungs. I felt the blood flow in places it shouldn’t. The damage was irreversible—exactly like the relationship I’d just destroyed.

Bastien didn’t blink. Stared me down like I was one of the people dumb enough to cross him. “Leave.”

I had no words. Had no fight. I finally rose to my feet, grabbed my coat, and walked away from his table. Before we rounded the corner to the elevator, I turned back to look at him.

He had angled his head slightly to look out the window. His expression was visible in the reflection—and he looked mad as hell.