The report sat on Easton's desk like an accusation.

I knew because Charleigh told me. Not directly. She sent a single text: "Client meeting fell apart. Father's asking questions."

I read it twice. Then I set my phone down and went back to work.

I was in my fourth week at the consulting firm. The Apex project was exactly as complicated as Romeo said it would be. Lots of ego. Lots of posturing. But I liked it. I liked the problems that had clean solutions if you thought hard enough. I liked that nobody expected me to fix their messes for free.

Delphine called during lunch. "Easton's been asking about you."

"To who?"

"Everyone." She paused. "He's not handling this well."

I looked out my office window. "That's not my problem."

"I know. I'm just telling you."

I hung up and pulled the Apex file back open. I had a presentation in two hours.

I didn't think about Easton.

I didn't let myself.

---

Saul Wallace walked into his son's office without knocking.

Easton looked up from his laptop. His father stood in the doorway holding a folder. He didn't sit down.

"The Marchetti account is gone," Saul said.

Easton blinked. "What?"

"Gone. They canceled the contract this morning." Saul opened the folder and set it on the desk. "Because you missed three consecutive deadlines and didn't return their calls."

Easton stared at the file. "I'll fix it."

"You won't." Saul's voice was flat. "I spoke to Marchetti myself. He said the relationship worked when Jimena Shaw was managing it. He didn't say your name once."

Easton's jaw tightened. "I can handle it."

Saul looked at him for a long moment. "How much of your work was actually hers?"

Easton opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Saul nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."

He turned and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him.

Easton sat there staring at the folder. His phone was on the desk. He picked it up and opened Instagram.

He scrolled. And scrolled.

Then he stopped.

A mutual friend's story. Posted twenty minutes ago. Jimena at a restaurant. She was laughing. A man sat across from her. Tall. Dark suit. Leaning toward her like she was the only person in the room.

Easton's hand tightened around the phone.

He screenshotted the image. Zoomed in. The man's face was partially turned, but Easton didn't recognize him. He looked at Jimena. She looked happy.

She looked like she'd already forgotten him.

He called her. It rang four times. Voicemail.

He called again. Voicemail.

Again.

Again.

On the sixth call, the line went dead immediately. She'd blocked him.

Easton stared at his screen. Then he opened the screenshot again.

The restaurant. Tribeca. He knew that place.

He stood up.

---

Romeo was telling me about a supply chain problem when I saw the flash of movement.

Easton pushed past the maître d' like the man wasn't there. His face was flushed. His tie was loose. He crossed the restaurant in ten strides and stopped at our table.

"Jimena," he said. His voice was too loud.

I looked up slowly. I felt Romeo go still across from me.

"You need to leave," I said quietly.

Easton ignored me. He turned to Romeo. "Who the hell are you?"

Romeo didn't move. He looked at Easton the way you'd look at something mildly inconvenient. "You're making a scene."

"I'm making a scene?" Easton laughed. It didn't sound right. "You're sitting here with my fiancée—"

"Ex," I said. My voice was steady. "Ex-fiancée."

Easton turned back to me. "We need to talk."

"No."

"Jimena—"

"No." I set my glass down. The restaurant had gone completely silent. Every table was watching. I stood up. "You don't get to do this."

Easton stepped closer. "You're really going to throw away ten years for some random—"

"Stop," I said.

He didn't stop. "You think he actually cares about you? He's just—"

I slapped him.

Not hard. Just enough.

The sound cut through the silence like glass breaking.

Easton stared at me. His hand went to his cheek.

I picked up my purse. I looked at him one more time.

"You ruined our engagement party to comfort another woman," I said quietly. "You spent ten years making me feel like I was never enough. You called me sixteen times today because you can't handle the fact that I'm done. So no. I'm not throwing anything away. You already did that."

I turned to Romeo. "Let's go."

Romeo stood. He placed cash on the table without counting it. Then he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me toward the door.

Easton didn't follow.

I didn't look back.