ASHLEY
It does.
Burns.
PLAYBOY ON LOOSE? 👀👑
I blink.
Stare at the f*****g photo of Beckett—shirt halfway unbuttoned, neck glistening with sweat, girl draped over him like she’s the prize he just won for surviving the week.
Of course.
Of course.
I press the heel of my palm to my eye and breathe in through my nose.
“So f*****g stupid,” I whisper.
Because I knew. I knew what he was. What he always was.
So much for asking those what if’s, huh?
I throw my tablet onto the table harder than necessary. The screen lights up with a half-written report I’ve been ignoring for days. I rub at the growing ache behind my temples, the pressure building like my skull’s one good sigh away from splitting open.
I have things to do.
Deadlines. Spreadsheets. Foundation Week is around the corner
