Page 88 of American Beauty

Ice crawls through my veins. “What? It has to be.”

She turns the screen toward me. “It’s not even a U.S. number… it’s Australian.”

I stare at the screen, my mind racing to make sense of what I’m seeing. “I didn’t change your number.”

“Well, someone did.”

A thick, stunned silence settles between us.

Magnolia’s hand tightens around the phone as she looks back up at me, her voice cracking. “I couldn’t reach you because my number was blocked. And even if I hadn’t blocked you, you still wouldn’t have been able to reach me—because whoever did this changed my number in your phone.”

The full weight of it crashes down on me like a landslide—violent, unstoppable.

Someone did this, plotted this, wanted us torn apart.

“This isn’t a tech glitch. Someone made sure we lost each other. Someone who had access to your life and your phone.”

The pieces lock into place with brutal clarity, and anger crawls under my skin, hot and sharp. “Yeah. They did.”

Her eyes widen with something that looks a lot like realization. “Someone leaked your emails to Celeste. Stands to reason they had access to your texts as well.”

“I got rid of my personal assistant. The texts would’ve happened long after she was gone.” Was I wrong about her? Was she telling the truth when she denied leaking the emails?

A sharp bitterness rises in my throat. “My texts sync to my work computer. If someone got into it, they could’ve sent the breakup text.”

Magnolia shakes her head, her brows knitting together. “To change my contact number, they would’ve needed access to your actual phone. Once they swapped the number, they controlled everything. They could send messages that looked like they came from me—and send you ones I never even wrote.”

She’s right. And the worst part? My carelessness made it easy for them.

I’m not a guy who’s glued to his phone. I leave it lying around—on my desk, Courtney’s desk, the conference room, the break room. Hell, just last week, it went missing for a whole day before we found it.

Self-loathing simmers just beneath my skin. I made it too easy. I was too trusting, too distracted. And now all I can do is sit here and face the wreckage of what I allowed happen.

“It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to grab it while it was unlocked and swap your number.”

The reality of it crashes down, the guilt running deep.

“I never checked your number. Never thought to. Hell, favorite—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “I haven’t memorized your number, so I wouldn’t have noticed when someone changed it even if I had looked.”

“I never memorized yours either. There was no need because your contact was saved in my phone. People don’t do that these days, so don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Maybe not but the guilt gnaws at me. I trusted all the wrong people. And now we’re left standing in the wreckage, sifting through the pieces of everything we lost.

“Who in your life would’ve done this to us?”

“Two people come to mind—Celeste and Tyson. But apparently Courtney played a role as well. I’m not sure what that means.”

For a long moment, all she does is stare at her hands, like the words she needs are hiding somewhere in the lines of her palms.

“Alex.” Her voice cracks when she says my name. “I didn’t let you go.”

My heart fractures all over again. “I didn’t let you go either.”

We’ve been pacing the floor, pushing each other’s boundaries, testing old wounds. Now, side by side on the sofa, there’s nowhere left to run.

Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves.

We just sit there, caught in the weight of everything we’ve lost—months of heartache, anger, confusion—all because of someone’s twisted interference.

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