Cynthia’s POV
I slam my car door shut, the humid Los Angeles breeze doing little to cool the fire simmering inside me. Alexander’s face flashes in my mind—calm, composed, indifferent. Indifferent to me. My heels click sharply against the marble floor of my foundation’s office building, a steady rhythm to my rising frustration. By the time I push open the door to my office, I’m seething.
With a frustrated puff, I toss my handbag onto the couch and grab a cup of coffee from the table, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. The warm ceramic in my hand doesn’t soothe me. Instead, it gives me something to hold onto as my thoughts spiral.
“He left me. Again,” I mutter under my breath, the words bitter on my tongue. “Not even a damn glance in my direction.” I laugh, the sound hollow and sh
