The Heiress's Revenge: Get Ready to be Ruined, Superstar

"Just act normal," I told my reflection in the rearview mirror.

I adjusted the collar of the blue dress. Julian loved this dress. I had bought his favorite bourbon. I had signed a stupid, hopeful card.

"I trust you," I practiced out loud to the empty car. "I miss you."

"I brought you a gift," I tried next.

None of it sounded right. I hummed along to the radio at a red light. I hated myself for how light the melody made me feel. My body desperately wanted to believe everything was fine. If I just smiled, if I just handed him the bourbon, the terrible weight in my chest would vanish.

"We're fine," I whispered.

I almost turned the car around. Three separate times, my hand hovered over the turn signal. I forced myself to keep driving.

I pulled into the hotel driveway. The valet jogged over and opened my door.

"Back again, Ms. Cross?" he asked, flashing a bright grin.

I froze with one foot on the pavement. "What?"

"I recognized you from your license plate." He took my keys. "Hope you and Mr. Cross have a great stay."

"I'm not." My voice sounded hollow. "We're not married."

"Oh." His smile dropped. "My mistake, sorry."

He walked away to park the sedan. An ugly pit opened in my stomach. *Back again.* How many times had Julian brought someone here?

I crossed the lobby to the front desk.

"Checking in," I told the clerk. "Under Julian Cross."

"Confirmation number?" he asked.

I read the digits from the old email on my phone.

He typed for a few seconds. He didn't look up. "Fourteen-oh-eight. Elevators are just past the lounge."

He slid a plastic keycard across the marble counter.

I stared at the black ink on the paper sleeve. *1408.*

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" the clerk asked.

"No." I took the card.

My hand closed around the plastic. The edges dug into my palm. I should have turned around right there. Some small, clear-eyed part of me knew it. My feet carried me toward the elevator bank anyway. The gift bag handle bit into my fingers. My pulse roared in my own ears.

The elevator chimed on the fourteenth floor.

I stepped out. The hallway was completely empty. The plush carpet swallowed the sound of my footsteps.

"Just a coincidence," I muttered.

I walked past 1402. Then 1404. My breathing turned shallow and quick without my permission. My chest tightened with every step.

I stopped in front of 1408.

I slid the card into the slot. The lock flashed green.

I pushed the heavy door open.

"Julian, I—"

The words died in my throat. I stood there, unmoving, taking it in.

A sweating ice bucket sat on the desk. Two glasses flanked an open bottle of champagne. The heavy duvet lay entirely on the floor.

Scarlett Vance sat on the edge of the mattress. She wore Julian's white dress shirt. One bare leg crossed over the other. She looked utterly unbothered, as if a stranger had walked into the wrong room by mistake.

Julian stood by the window in his undershirt, the city lights behind him. He was holding one of the champagne glasses.

When he saw me, the glass tilted. A thin spill of liquid ran over his knuckles and dripped onto the carpet.

The paper gift bag slipped from my fingers.

The bottle of bourbon hit the carpet with a muffled thud. The sound echoed in the dead silence.

My spine locked straight. My fingernails dug into my palms. My eyes burned, hot and fast,but I refused to let a single tear fall in front of either of them.

Scarlett tilted her head. One perfectly groomed eyebrow arched in genuine confusion.

"I'm sorry," she drawled. "Is this room service?"

The casual cruelty hit me low in the stomach. She didn't even recognize the woman whose boyfriend she was sleeping with.

"I'm his girlfriend." I held her gaze.

Julian slammed his glass onto the desk. The crystal cracked loudly against the wood.

"Wren." He took a step forward. "This isn't—"

"Don't," I snapped.

My voice came out steady. It shook at the edges, but I held the center firm.

"Let me explain." He reached a hand out.

"Explain what?" I asked. "The champagne? Or the shirt?"

"You weren't supposed to be here," Julian muttered.

"Clearly." I gestured to the messy bed. "Did Sarah set this up for you too?"

His jaw tightened. "Stop it."

"You lied to my face," I said. "You looked at me in our kitchen and told me I was being weird."

He stopped trying to lie. In the space of a single breath, his face shifted. The panic vanished. A nasty, defensive sneer replaced it. He looked relieved to finally have a reason to say it out loud.

"We agreed to wait, remember?" Julian shouted.

"Excuse me?"

"Your rule, not mine," he spat. "You think I was just supposed to sit there indefinitely while you decided you were ready?"

"You are blaming me for this?"

"I am stating a fact!" He pointed an accusing finger at me. "You refuse to give me the bare minimum, and you want to stand there and judge me for finding it somewhere else?"

The words hit exactly where they were aimed. My throat closed around a jagged lump of pure grief. My chin started to tremble.

I clamped my teeth together. I forced myself to hold still through sheer will.

"You have been lying for weeks," I fired back.

"I protected you!"

"That is not about sex, Julian. That is about you looking me in the eye and swearing to me nothing was happening."

Scarlett exhaled a bored stream of air, lazily swirling the champagne in her flute.

"Oh, spare us the melodrama," she drawled, not even bothering to adjust Julian's shirt over her exposed shoulder. "It's a wrap-party hookup, sweetie. Call a therapist and bill it to production."

I looked at her. Really looked at her.

I cataloged the immaculate porcelain skin, the bored sneer, the complete absence of shame. And just like that, the volcanic heat behind my ribs turned to dry ice. The hurt didn't kill me—it calcified.

I didn't yell. Screaming was for women who still had something left to lose.

Instead, I unclasped my handbag and pulled out my phone.

*Click.* The rumpled bed and two stars.

*Click.* The two champagne glasses—one marked with a distinct smudge of lipstick.

*Click.* Scarlett’s dress and Julian’s jacket tangled together on the armchair, her earrings discarded next to his watch.

"Wren, look at me. You're having an episode. Let me take you home." Julian tried to stop me. But I dodged him.

"Wren." He lunged forward, his voice dropping into a desperate plead now. "Come on. Don't do anything stupid."

I lowered the phone and slid it back into my bag.

"You just gave me everything I need," I said.

My voice was quiet, even, and colder than I had ever heard it come out of my own mouth.

I turned my back on them. I walked out of the room. My spine remained perfectly straight, my shoes steady on the carpet.

I didn't let myself shake until the elevator doors slid shut between me and that room.

The metal walls boxed me in. A violent tremor seized my hands. I looked up at my own reflection in the brushed steel panel. Pale skin. Dry eyes. A jaw locked so tight my teeth ached. I didn't recognize the woman staring back at me.

The elevator chimed at the ground floor.

The doors opened. By the time I reached the lobby, the shaking in my hands stopped completely.

I strode past the front desk. I handed my ticket to the valet.

I climbed into my car and shut the door.

Before starting the engine, I pulled my phone out one last time. I opened a blank note app. I needed to leave a message for myself, a promise to hold myself accountable later.

My thumbs flew across the digital keyboard.

*I am going to make sure everyone knows exactly who you are.*

I hit save. I tossed the device onto the passenger seat. I put the car in drive and pulled out of the hotel lot without a single backward glance.