Page 74 of 10 Days to Ruin

I can hear the hum of the microwave as she cooks herself a delicious, nutritious Instant Noodles dinner. “Funny enough, I’m getting more and more sure. It’s foolproof. Men hate two things: being inconvenienced and Carly Rae Jepsen. All you have to do is blast your music, complain the whole time, and then strand him up there. Just like that,boom,engagement over.”

“Let’s hope so,” I mumble.

“There’s always the alternative.”

I pause. “Which is…?”

“Complete one-eighty. You beg him to manhandle you over a fallen log. You drop to your knees and plead until he snaps and drags you into the bushes to feast on your?—”

I hang up.

By dawn, my duffel bag looks like a Claire’s boutique exploded inside it. I’ve got:

A selfie stick with built-up ring light

A portable speaker shaped like a daisy (preloaded with theBarbiesoundtrack)

Seven shades of lip gloss, all named after cocktails

A “survival kit” containing glitter hand sanitizer and edible body glitter

Stilettos spray-painted gold for maximum “hiking chic”

I stare at my reflection—hot pink athleisure set, rhinestone-studded visor, bronzer out the wazoo. The girl in the mirror looks like she’s cosplaying a Bratz doll gone feral.

“You’ve got this,” I tell the nervous woman in the glass. “Be unbearable. Beunlovable.”

As soon as I say it, my phone buzzes.

SASHA OZEROV:Outside.

Looking down, I see his SUV idling like a panther at the curb. My stomach flips.

But when I get downstairs and yank open the door, ready to deploy my absolute worst, Sasha’s already got one hand braced on the headrest, his scarred neck craned to check oncoming traffic. His faded Henley rides up, revealing a sliver of abs—pale, ridged, there one second, gone the next.

He turns to look at me.

And for a millisecond, I’m back in that alley behind Zoya’s, watching grief fracture his granite composure.

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