He said we needed to talk and I didn’t argue because my body had gone into automatic survival mode… heel on, wine glass dropped, mind already spinning… Jack was still in the kitchen drying the stupid knife he used to slice cucumbers for a salad he barely touched while I unravelled beside him, and I didn’t know what to say, not to Jack, not to Ryan, not to myself. I didn’t ask where we were going because I wasn’t really sure I existed anymore, not in any grounded sense… all I knew was that Ryan had sent a car, a sleek black car that screamed damage control and secrets, and I’d gotten in like I was possessed.
We didn’t go to the office or one of those loud restaurants where the food came with dim lights and plausible deniability. We pulled up to a hotel that didn’t even have a name printed
