Chapter 90

I showered quickly—shaved, too, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was habit. Or maybe it was the quiet, bitter hope I couldn’t shake, that somehow, beneath the stranger he’d become, my Levi was still in there somewhere.
I dressed in my favorite jeans and a red top that hugged my figure without calling attention. A little nude lipstick, a touch of mascara. I left my curls loose—the way he used to like them.
In the mirror, I paused. Took a steadying breath.
“You’re okay,” I whispered.
Big eyes. Full lips. High cheekbones. I looked like myself—just older. Just… tired. A little more wary. A little more worn.
I spritzed on the perfume I used to wear back when I worked at his firm. The bottle was nearly empty now, and I only saved it for special occasions. It was expensive, and I couldn’t afford it anymore—not with this new life, this new version of me. But tonight… I hoped it would stir something in him. A flicker of memory. A shift in his gaze.
Maybe it would help.
Maybe it wouldn’t.
At this point, I didn’t even know which outcome terrified me more.
Before I left, I hesitated by my nightstand. My fingers hovered over the drawer, and then I pulled it open. There they were—the antidepressants. I hadn’t needed them much lately—not since Levi came back.
But that was a dangerous thing, wasn’t it?
Letting him become the reason I stayed balanced. Letting his presence replace my medication. Letting him be my cure.
Still, I took one.
Just in case.
Thank God for my car’s GPS.
When I arrived at the M&B Penthouse, I was stunned. The building loomed like a monument—glass and steel, glowing under the city lights. Inside, marble floors gleamed beneath chandeliers the size of planets. Velvet armchairs cradled the air like clouds. Even the scent—clean linen and citrus—whispered money.
I stepped inside, my heels barely making a sound on the polished floor.
And then I saw him.
Levi.
Sitting alone on a sleek couch, one ankle resting on his knee, his arm thrown casually over the back. His expression was unreadable, but something in his posture screamed impatience.
“You’re late,” he said as I approached.
I opened my mouth to reply, but he cut me off.
“I called you an hour ago. You said you’d be here in thirty minutes. It’s almost eight now. You’ve kept me waiting. This isn’t how you start a new job. You’re risking getting fired.”
The words hit harder than they should have, sharp and cold, like a slap to the face.
I swallowed the sting and forced myself to stay calm. “I’m sorry. I left the moment you called. There was traffic. I didn’t mean to delay.”
He didn’t even blink. Just looked at me like I was a stranger he had to tolerate.
For a heartbeat, I just stood there, unsure of where I belonged anymore.
“On your way immediately, and you’re only just getting here now? That’s hard to believe. Who’s going to buy that?”
God. Was this what my life was going to look like now? Him nitpicking everything I did, questioning every breath I took? What a jerk.
But then I reminded myself—I had already been through hell. Nothing could be worse than that.
So I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin.
“I’m here now,” I said evenly. “Shall we?”
“My truck is slow. I wasn’t late because I wanted to be.”
He stared at me for a long beat. His expression unreadable, face hard. Then, without a word, he gestured stiffly to the seat beside him.
“Your truck will be changed,” he muttered. “Let’s leave this place. I don’t want to be seen all over the papers.”
His eyes darted across the room like a man being watched. I followed his gaze subtly and caught two waitresses standing by the counter, whispering, clearly recognizing him.
“Oh,” I said softly, just as I processed what he meant. The next second, he stood and turned sharply, walking away without another glance.
Wait—was I supposed to follow him?
I hadn’t even sat down for five minutes. No food, no breath, no warning—and now we were leaving?
I hesitated, just for a second. But apparently, that was a second too long.
He came back. His hand wrapped around my arm, firm, unyielding. He yanked me to my feet like I was a defiant child.
“You were supposed to follow me!” he barked.
Heads turned. Eyes locked on us. His voice had risen just enough to cut through the room’s ambient noise. Great. I was the reason he was having a meltdown in public.
Grinding my teeth, I followed him, biting back every sarcastic remark I wanted to throw. If he hated attention so much, then why bring me here? Why drag me into a high-end hotel like some tabloid stunt?
“If you didn’t want stares and attention,” I snapped, “why bring me here out of all places in New York?”
He didn’t look at me as he walked, but I saw his jaw clench.
“And what would you have thought,” he said coldly, “if I’d invited you to a corner diner or a bar? I’m a stranger to you, aren’t I?”
His hand finally dropped from my arm just as we pushed through the doors into the cold evening air. The chill hit me like a slap, but his words hit harder.
Stranger?