The gala ended at 10:30.
I followed Victor out of the hotel. A black Maybach waited at the curb. The driver opened the rear door.
I was about to say I'd take a cab when Victor's hand pressed against my lower back, steering me into the car with gentle force.
He got in beside me. The door closed.
Almost immediately, the privacy partition slid up. The back seat became a sealed space.
The cabin was dark. Victor pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and held the screen up to me.
When I saw what was on it, all the blood rushed to my head.
It was a w******p chat window.
At the very bottom of the screen, a lone message sat: [We're done.]
Below it, a red error icon — his follow-up messages couldn't go through because I'd blocked him.
"Chloe." His voice carried a raw, restrained hurt. "Why di
