How long do you think a guy like that will stay with someone like you before he gets bored?

The deadline for our two-month trial period loomed at the end of the month. I’d avoided thinking about it because I wasn’t sure what I would do—stay in a relationship that made me terrifyingly happy and risk it ending one day, or run back to the comfort of my solo bubble? That was, of course, assuming I had a choice and Xavier wanted to be with me after the trial period concluded.

What if he didn’t?

That would make things easier for me. I wouldn’t have to choose, and I could slide back into my old life like it’d never happened. Like we’d never kissed or floated in a pool beneath the city skies. Like he’d never held my hand during a race to the hospital or set up a rooftop movie screening on a beautiful fall day. Like I’d never comforted him, trusted him, and—

The world blurred for an instant.

It was so unusual and disorienting, I couldn’t comprehend it. When I did, a reckless shock of hope darted through me, and I reached up, my breath stuck somewhere between my throat and lungs.

My fingers touched my cheeks. They were dry. I blinked, and the world was clear.

Of course it was.

Disappointment and relief amplified the pressure crowding my chest. My office suddenly felt too small, the air too thin. I could still smell my sister’s perfume, and it made my stomach roil.

I needed to get out of here before I suffocated.

Jillian was waiting outside my door when I exited. “Sloane, I’m so sorry,” she said, her expression stricken. “I tried to stop her, but she got past me, and once she was inside, I didn’t want to—”

“It’s fine.” At least my voice was clear. Thank God for the small things. “Please call building security and ask them to place Georgia Kensington-Harris and Bentley Harris on the guest blacklist. I want them to call the police if either comes within a thousand feet of my office.”

“Consider it done.” Jillian worried her bottom lip. “Are you okay? Do you, um, want a doughnut?”

She believed sugar was the answer to all problems.

I almost smiled, but my facial muscles didn’t have it in them. “No, thanks. I’m working from home for the rest of the day. Assign Tracy to oversee the Curated Travel interview with the Singhs instead.” I gave her a few more instructions before I left and walked to my apartment instead of taking a car.

Nothing cleared my head like a good walk.

I missed Pen. I missed Rhea. I even missed the tiny sliver of hope that my sister and I could reconcile one day, which was ironic considering I’d never felt like I truly belonged in my family.

But there’d been a time when I could pretend, and on days when I was too tired to fight, pretending was enough.

What happened in my office had effectively killed that hope.

It’d drawn too much blood.

As for Xavier…

I entered my building’s lobby and slid into the elevator right before the doors closed.

As for Xavier, he hadn’t given me any indication that he wanted us to end. He’d been nothing but supportive and caring since we started dating; I’d be stupid to doubt him. Right?

By the time I got off the elevator and unlocked my apartment door, I’d successfully pushed Georgia’s taunts to the back of my mind. I couldn’t control how good she was at pushing my buttons, but I could control my reaction to her, and I’d already given her more energy than she deserved.

Forget what she said. Focus on work.

I flipped on the lights and kicked off my shoes. I had a solid hour and a half to work before I had to meet Xavier for dinner. Part of me wanted to ask for a raincheck, but seeing him always made me feel better. I needed him after this shitshow of a day.

Needed.

I’d never needed anyone, and the idea that I needed him sent a little shiver down my spine—from fear or pleasure, I wasn’t sure. I tossed my tote bag on the couch and was about to slip into something more comfortable when I paused. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I looked around.

Something was wrong.

The apartment was still. Too still.

I slowly retrieved the bottle of mace I always kept in my bag while my eyes roved over the TV, the bookshelves, and the door to my bedroom. Everything was as I’d left it that morning, so why…

My gaze snagged on the side table.

The Fish’s aquarium rested there, clean and clear.

In the aquarium, The Fish usually swam at his leisure, his orange scales beaming a hello every time I walked through the door.

Not anymore.

The Fish floated upside down in the tank, his eyes sunken, the pupils cloudy.

My mace clattered to the ground, the sound muted beneath the sudden roar of blood in my ears, but I couldn’t bring myself to pick it up.

Dead. He was dead. He was dead.

I didn’t understand the wellspring of grief that sprang from my chest or the tremble weakening my knees. I had no proper explanation for the burn in my eyes or the sudden, overwhelming sense of emptiness that invaded the apartment.

I wasn’t prepared for any of those things because The Fish wasn’t a cute, cuddly pet I’d bought for myself. He was my pet by default, abandoned by a stranger and housed here temporarily while I waited for the right time to rehome him. He’d never laid his head across my lap when I was sad or brought me a toy to play fetch with because he was a fucking fish.

But I’d lived with him for five years, and for five years, in this sterile apartment, we were all each other had.

I sank onto the couch and willed myself to cry, to expel the pressure mounting in my chest.

Once. I wanted that relief just once, but as always, I didn’t get it. And an eternity later, when the pressure became unbearable and my will to fight eroded to nothing, I simply curled up on the couch, squeezed my eyes shut against the pain, and pretended I was someone, somewhere else because that was the only thing I’d ever been able to do.

CHAPTER 34

Xavier

Something was wrong.

My and Sloane’s dinner reservation was at seven, and it was currently seven fifteen. For most people, running fifteen minutes late wasn’t the end of the world, but this was Sloane. She was never late.

She hadn’t answered any of my texts, and when I called her, it went straight to voicemail.

I checked my watch again, my worry escalating by the minute. When I’d gotten in touch with her office earlier, Jillian said she’d left two hours ago to work from home. Had she fallen asleep? Been the victim of a mugging? Gotten into a car crash and rushed to the hospital?