I give myself exactly thirty minutes to fall apart.

That's all I can afford.

I sit on my bathroom floor—the same cracked linoleum I've stared at a thousand times—and let the panic have me. My hands shake so badly I can barely grip my phone. My breathing comes in shallow gasps that make my vision swim.

Cedar. I can still smell cedar on my skin, no matter how many times I've showered.

The hot water couldn't wash away what I did. What we did.

Twenty-eight minutes left.

I force myself to stand, to look at my reflection. The girl staring back at me is a stranger—copper-streaked hair a tangled mess, green eyes too wide, freckles standing out stark against skin gone pale. I look wrecked. I look like someone who just destroyed her entire life in one reckless night.

Because I did.

Twenty-six minutes.

I brush my teeth until my gums bleed, trying to erase the taste of whiskey and bad decisions. It doesn't work. Nothing works. I can still feel Cade's hands on my skin, still hear the rough sound of my name in his voice, still remember the way he looked at me like I was something precious right before he pulled away like I'd burned him.

This was a mistake.

Yeah. Yeah, it fucking was.

Twenty-two minutes.

I pull on clean clothes—jeans, a soft gray sweater, boots—like armor. Like I can dress myself into being someone who didn't just betray her boyfriend with his brother. Someone who didn't let two years of suppressed want detonate into the worst decision of her carefully controlled life.

The lavender soap I use smells wrong now. Too innocent. Too clean for what I am.

Fifteen minutes.

I practice in the mirror.

"Evan, I can't do this anymore."

Too vague.

"Evan, I need to end this."

Too cold.

"Evan, you deserve better than me."

Too fucking true.

My reflection blurs. I blink hard, refusing the tears. I don't get to cry. I don't get to feel sorry for myself when I'm about to shatter a good man's heart because I couldn't keep my hands off his brother.

Ten minutes.

The knock comes early.

Of course it does. Evan's always early, always reliable, always exactly what he should be. Everything Cade isn't.

Everything I apparently want anyway.

I open the door and there he is—warm brown eyes, easy smile, button-down shirt perfectly pressed. He smells like expensive cologne and mint, familiar and safe. He's holding coffee from the place I like, because of course he is. Because Evan pays attention. Because Evan tries.

"Hey, beautiful." His smile falters when he sees my face. "Sloane? What's wrong?"

I can't do this at the door.

"Come in."

He follows me inside, setting the coffee on my kitchen counter. My apartment is small—one bedroom, barely decorated because I've never quite felt like I belonged anywhere. Evan's been trying to get me to move in with him for six months. His place is nicer, bigger, everything I should want.

I've been stalling.

Now I know why.

"You're scaring me." Evan reaches for my hand. His touch is warm, gentle. It makes me want to vomit. "What happened?"

I pull away. I have to.

"I can't—" My voice cracks. I force it steady. "We need to break up."

Silence.

Evan just stares at me like I've spoken a foreign language. Like the words don't compute.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?" His voice rises, confusion sharpening to hurt. "Sloane, what the hell are you talking about? We just—we were fine yesterday. We were making plans for tonight. What changed?"

Everything. Nothing. Me.

"I just—I can't."

"That's not an answer." He steps closer and I step back. Something flashes in his eyes. "Did something happen at the lake house? Did Cade—"

"No." The lie tastes like ash. "This isn't about him."

"Then what? Help me understand, because I'm completely lost here."

I wrap my arms around myself, holding everything in. If I let one truth slip, they'll all come tumbling out.

"I just don't think we're right for each other."

"Bullshit." Evan's jaw tightens. I've never heard him curse, not like this. "We've been together two years, Sloane. Two years. You don't just wake up one day and decide we're not right for each other. Something happened."

"Evan—"

"Is there someone else?"

Yes. No. It was one night. It was the worst thing I've ever done.

"No."

"Then why?" He reaches for me again and I flinch. Actually flinch. His hand drops. "Jesus Christ, what did I do?"

"Nothing. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why are you ending this?"

Because I betrayed you. Because I let your brother touch me in ways you never have. Because I came apart in his hands and I can still feel it, and I'm a fucking monster who doesn't deserve your kindness.

"Because it's not fair to you."

"Let me decide what's fair to me."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that!" His voice cracks. "Stop apologizing and tell me what's really going on!"

I can't. I can't tell him. The truth would destroy him, destroy everything. Better to let him think I'm cruel, that I'm cold, that I'm the one who's broken.

Better he hates me than knows what I did.

"I don't love you." The words are knives. "Not the way you deserve. I'm sorry, but I don't."

Evan goes very still. The hurt in his eyes is unbearable.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I know you, Sloane. I know when you're lying." He moves closer, desperation bleeding through his usual composure. "Whatever this is, we can work through it. Just talk to me. Please."

"There's nothing to work through. I don't want this anymore."

"I don't believe you."

"Evan—"

"No." His hands come up to frame my face, gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "No, I'm not letting you do this. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to build a life with you. Whatever's going on, whatever you're afraid of, we can handle it together."

I close my eyes against the tenderness in his touch. This would be so much easier if he were angry, if he yelled, if he gave me a reason to hate him.

But that's not who Evan is.

"I'm not afraid. I just don't want to be with you anymore."

I pull away from his hands and walk to the door, opening it. The universal signal: get out.

Evan doesn't move.

"Did my brother do something to you?"

My heart stops.

"What?"

"Cade." His voice goes hard. "Did he say something? Do something? Because I swear to God—"

"This has nothing to do with Cade."

"You spent the weekend at the same house. You come back and immediately break up with me. You really expect me to believe that's a coincidence?"

"Yes."

"Sloane—"

"Please just go."

He stares at me for a long moment, and I watch something shift in his expression. The hurt crystallizes into something else. Something calculating.

"This isn't over."

"Yes, it is."

"No." Evan moves toward the door but stops close enough that I can smell his cologne. "I don't know what happened, but I'm going to find out. And when I do, we're going to fix this."

"There's nothing to fix."

"We'll see."

He leaves. The door closes with a quiet click that feels louder than a slam.

I lock it and slide down to sit on the floor for the second time today.

Thirty minutes are up.

Time to face the scorched earth.

---

I make it exactly forty-eight hours before she comes for me.

I'm closing up the veterinary clinic—my shift ran late because Mrs. Patterson's cat needed emergency surgery—when I see the Mercedes in the parking lot. Black, sleek, expensive. I know that car.

Everyone in this town knows that car.

Eleanor Mercer steps out like she owns the pavement she's standing on. Maybe she does. The Mercers own half this town—real estate, businesses, the kind of old money that makes people bow and scrape.

She's wearing a cream suit that probably costs more than my rent, her dark hair perfectly styled, diamonds at her throat. She looks like every country club luncheon and charity gala rolled into one terrifying package.

I've met her exactly three times in two years of dating Evan. She was polite. Distant. The kind of polite that makes it clear you're being tolerated, not welcomed.

Now she's standing between me and my car, and there's nothing polite about her expression.

"Ms. Hartley."

Not Sloane. Never Sloane.

"Mrs. Mercer." I keep my voice steady, my shoulders back. I learned a long time ago not to show fear to predators. "Can I help you with something?"

"I think you know why I'm here."

"I really don't."

Her smile is sharp enough to draw blood. "Evan told me about your... conversation."

Of course he did.

"That's between Evan and me."

"Is it?" She takes a step closer. I hold my ground. "My son is devastated. He can't eat, can't sleep, can't focus on his work. All because you decided to end a perfectly good relationship for no apparent reason."

"With respect, my relationship with Evan is none of your business."

"Everything that affects my family is my business." Her eyes are the same warm brown as Evan's, but there's nothing warm about them now. "I want to know what happened."

"Nothing happened. Sometimes relationships just don't work out."

"Don't insult my intelligence." Her voice drops, goes cold. "Evan said you came back from the lake house different. Changed. He thinks his brother did something."

My pulse kicks up. "Cade didn't—"

"So it is about Cade."

Fuck.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." She studies me like I'm something unpleasant she found on her shoe. "I warned Evan about you from the beginning. A girl with your background, your... situation. No family, no connections, working a blue-collar job. I knew you'd cause problems eventually."

The contempt in her voice is a physical thing. It crawls over my skin, settles in my chest.

"I'm sorry Evan is hurt. That was never my intention."

"Your intentions are irrelevant. The result is the same." She opens her purse, pulls out a checkbook. Actually pulls out a fucking checkbook. "How much?"

I stare at her. "Excuse me?"

"How much will it take for you to leave town? To stay away from both my sons and let this family move on?"

The air goes out of my lungs.

She thinks I'm—she's trying to pay me off. Like I'm some gold-digger, some problem that can be solved with money.

"I'm not taking your money."

"Everyone has a price."

"Not me."

"Don't be stupid. This is a generous offer." She clicks her pen, poised to write. "Name your number."

Rage floods through me, hot and clean. It burns away the guilt, the shame, everything except fury.

"Go to hell."

Her expression doesn't change. "I'm trying to make this easy for you."

"By treating me like a prostitute you can pay to disappear?"

"By offering you a way out before things get unpleasant." She puts the checkbook away. "I've dealt with girls like you before. Girls who think they can use my sons to climb the social ladder. It never ends well."

"I never wanted anything from Evan except—"

"Except what? Love?" She actually laughs. "Please. You were with him for two years and never quite fit, did you? Never quite belonged. Because girls like you don't belong in families like ours."

Each word is a carefully aimed strike. She's good at this. Probably had years of practice cutting people down with a smile.

"I'm not having this conversation."

I move toward my car but she steps into my path.

"Stay away from my sons. Both of them. Especially Cade."

"Cade left town. I haven't—"

"And he's going to stay gone if you know what's good for you." Her voice goes quiet, dangerous. "I don't know what happened between you two at that lake house, but I know my son. I know his... appetites. His tendency toward self-destruction."

My hands clench into fists. "You don't know anything about what happened."

"I know he's finally getting his life together. Working on an oil rig in Alaska, staying away from this town and the trouble he always caused. I won't let you drag him back into his worst habits."

"I'm not trying to drag anyone anywhere."

"Good. Keep it that way." She finally steps aside. "Break Evan's heart if you must. But if you go anywhere near Cade, if you try to contact him or pull him back here, I will make your life very difficult. Do you understand?"

I understand that she's a controlling bitch who sees people as chess pieces.

I understand that Cade is in Alaska.

I understand that he left without a word, without a goodbye, without anything to suggest that night meant something.

I understand that I'm completely alone.

"Crystal clear."

"Excellent." She smooths her suit jacket. "I'm glad we could have this chat."

She walks back to her Mercedes like she just concluded a business meeting. Starts the engine. Drives away.

I stand in the parking lot until my legs stop shaking.

Alaska.

Cade is in Alaska, probably fucking relieved to put thousands of miles between us and what we did. No forwarding address, no way to contact him. Just gone.

This was a mistake.

Yeah. A mistake he's running from as fast as he can.

I get in my car and drive home on autopilot. Let myself into my apartment. Lock the door.

Sit on the bathroom floor for the third time in three days.

The Mercers have made their position clear. I'm not good enough for Evan. I'm a problem to be solved, a complication to be paid off. And Cade—Cade couldn't get away fast enough.

I'm utterly, completely alone.

That's when I notice it.

The nausea that's been lurking at the edges of my awareness for the past two days. I blamed it on stress, on the breakup, on the guilt eating me alive.

But it's persistent. Constant. Especially in the mornings.

No.

No, no, no.

I lunge for my phone, pull up my calendar app with shaking hands. Scroll back through the dates, counting.

My period was supposed to start four days ago.

I'm never late. Never.

The bathroom tilts. I grip the edge of the sink, forcing air into my lungs.

It doesn't mean anything. Stress can cause delays. Emotional trauma can mess with cycles. It's probably nothing.

Probably.

But the nausea surges again and I barely make it to the toilet before I'm sick.

I kneel on the cold tile, forehead pressed to my arm, and let the truth settle over me like a death sentence.

I might be pregnant.

With Cade Mercer's baby.

A man who called our night a mistake and fled to Alaska.

A man whose mother just threatened me.

A man I have no way to contact even if I wanted to.

Which I don't. I definitely don't. Because telling him would mean admitting what we did. It would mean destroying what's left of the Mercer family. It would mean facing Evan's devastation when he realizes I didn't just break his heart—I betrayed him in the worst possible way.

It would mean everyone knowing exactly what kind of person I am.

The kind who sleeps with her boyfriend's brother.

The kind who gets pregnant from a one-night mistake.

The kind who destroys everything she touches.

I'm still on the bathroom floor when my phone buzzes.

A text from Evan: I love you. Whatever's wrong, we can fix it. Please give me another chance.

I stare at the message until the screen goes dark.

Then I open my calendar again and count the days one more time, hoping I'm wrong.

I'm not wrong.

Four days late. Nauseous every morning. Exhausted despite sleeping ten hours a night.

Oh God.

Oh God, what if I'm actually pregnant?

What the fuck am I going to do?