Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
And the truth settles like a stone in my chest—I’ve never stopped wanting her or caring about her.
And seeing her belong to Lance…
That might just be the most unbearable thing yet.
CHAPTER 2
Lara
The moment we step into the elevator, Lance’s hand takes mine and he clamps down on it like a vise. It’s a dual message—you’re not going anywhere and I’m going to make you hurt right now.
“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch.
I don’t say anything. Not yet. I’ve learned over the last few months what sets Lance off, and me questioning him in public is a definite trigger.
The elevator doors close and I watch the floor numbers light up, one by one. The silence is suffocating, my hand throbbing as we descend.
His demeanor changed the minute Reid first asked me how I’d been. I could sense the tension simmering through his body and when he followed me and Bex to the bathroom, rather than stay to talk to Nash Sinclair, I knew it wasn’t going to end well for me tonight. It was so embarrassing the way he pulled me away from Bex after we exited the ladies’ room, like I was a child who’d misbehaved in public. God knows what Bex told Reid when she returned, but my cheeks are still warm with humiliation.
We exit the elevator and I have to jog in my heels to keep up with his long, angry strides through the lobby. The moment we step out onto the street, he explodes. “What the fuck was that, Lara?” he snaps, yanking me toward the curb. “You think I didn’t see it?”
“See what?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm. Measured. The same way I always do when he gets like this.
“Don’t play stupid with me,” he seethes, spittle flying from his mouth. “The way you were looking at him. Like some lovesick little schoolgirl.”
A taxi pulls up and Lance practically shoves me in the back seat.
“That’s not fair,” I say as he climbs in after me. “I wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice is low, dangerous. “You practically melted when he smiled at you.”
I shake my head. “You’re imagining things.”
The cab driver glances at us in the rearview mirror, then wisely says nothing. Lance doesn’t care. He’s in full steamroll mode now.
“Don’t play innocent. I saw the way he looked at you. You were always his little lapdog growing up. God, I should’ve known this would happen.”
I fold my arms across my chest, pressing myself against the door, trying to create space that doesn’t exist. My skin is flushed, not just from embarrassment, but from rising anger. Because this isn’t new. This is who Lance has become, and he resembles very little of my childhood friend and man whose proposal I accepted without a doubt in my heart.
We pull up in front of our hotel and he throws a few bills at the driver before practically dragging me out of the cab.
His fingers dig into my arm as we walk through the lobby, past a smiling concierge staff and guests in evening wear. No one sees the way his hand tightens when I hesitate. No one sees anything but the facade, but I’ll see the bruises in the morning.
Upstairs in our suite, the second the door shuts, the mask drops.
He slings me away from him and I stumble, catching myself before going down. I whirl to face him, preferring to know what’s coming.
“I know what you were trying to do,” he snarls in agitation, pacing back and forth. “You love to embarrass me. You take joy in it.”
“I wasn’t doing anything, Lance,” I snap, voice finally cracking under the pressure. “I was talking to people. Being polite.”
“You were flirting with my brother,” he yells, and I wince. There’s no way people in the rooms to either side of us wouldn’t hear him. Things are spiraling.
I’m spiraling and my sense of self-preservation evaporates.
I bark out a laugh that sounds brittle, even to me. “You’re bloody paranoid, you know that?”
He steps closer, invading my space. “Don’t you fucking laugh at me.”
“Why? Because I’m right?” I take a step back, not from fear, but so I can look at him clearly. “You’re not mad about me talking to Reid. You’re mad because you’re feeling guilty.”
Lance freezes. Just for a second, but I see the fear in his eyes.
I seize on it because it’s so rare for me to get the upper hand. “You’ve been cheating on me,” I say, voice steady even as my heart hammers. “I saw the texts.”
“What texts?” he grits out. The hesitation is gone, replaced by fury.
“You left your phone unlocked one night and I saw them. You didn’t even try to hide it.”
Silence.
He blinks. But not in shame. Not in apology.
No. He narrows his eyes in offense. “You went through my phone?” he growls.