Page 73 of Cruel Dreams

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else I can say.

“I’m ready to go back.”

Desperately, I grab her arm, but she’s already gone, a sheet of ice covering her eyes, and she won’t look at me. “I love you—”

She jerks away. “Don’t.”

I drop my hand.

The minute Banks told me about Stella, I knew this would happen. I tried to avoid it, hiding at the penthouse, sitting on this file. Because I knew.

Clayton Black destroyed her life, destroyed her family, and in her mind, I’m no better than the Blacks.

The only thing I can do now is let her be. Maybe one day she’ll forgive me.

Until then, all I can do is wait.

Wait for a day that will never come.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Stella

Idon’t know what to do. We ride the bus and the train back to the Crowne. I don’t talk to Zane, don’t touch him, don’t look at him. It’s not right to dump my pain on him, but I have nowhere else to put it.

Alone, I ride the elevator up to our floor. Zane didn’t get on, saying he had to talk to the manager. I can’t blame him for wanting to get away from me, but I’m disappointed he gave up so quickly.

Denton isn’t around, and without Mel and Max, Quinn is the only occupant on the entire floor. She’s sitting in Max’s suite watching the news.

“Finish packing. We’re leaving.”

Quinn whips her gaze to mine, alarmed by my furious tone. I never let myself get mad. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to explain until we’re gone.”

“Did you and Zane have a fight?”

“No.”

It wasn’t a fight, not really.

I hurry into the room Quinn and I have been sharing and start throwing more clothes into the half-full suitcase I used to go to DC with Max. I don’t want to keep anything Mel charged on Zane’s credit card, but once again, I have no choice. I fling in pants, tops, lingerie, anything that will fit. I’ll leave behind the fake IDs Mel and Quinn had made for me.

I’m not Kendra Lovelace. I’m not Stella Mayfair. I’m not Jenna Christianson. I don’t know who the hell I am.

Quinn watches me fly around the room, tossing clothes into my suitcase without paying attention to what I’m packing. I want to be gone before Zane comes upstairs, but she’s moving slower than a turtle.

“Can’t you tell me what’s happening?”

“No. Not now.Hurry up.”

Quinn, who loves clothes more than anything else except me, wants to pack everything and fifteen minutes have passed by the time we’ve cleaned out the room. I probably have clothes in Zane’s room too, but I’m not going in there to look.

I burst through the door, pulling my suitcase behind me, just as Zane steps out of the elevator. Our eyes meet, and his gaze jerks to my suitcase. He hunches his shoulders in defeat.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Quinn demands.

I clip past Zane and punch the Down arrow.

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