Page 132 of American Beauty

My heart stutters in my chest, and I take a step back. “What are you doing here?”

He lifts his hands in a slow, disarming gesture. “I just want to talk. That’s all.”

“No, Tyson. You shouldn’t be here. You need to leave.”

His smile is tight. Wrong. “I’m not here to argue. I just… I miss you. I’ve been going crazy, Mags. You haven’t replied to my emails, my texts, or calls. I didn’t know what else to do.”

How about leave me alone?

“I don’t want to talk to you. This isn’t okay. You showing up hereis not okay.”

He flinches but only for a second. Then his expression hardens. “So that’s it? You’re just done? After everything?”

“Everything?” I say, a brittle sound. “You mean the lies? The manipulation? The way you wrecked my life?”

His jaw clenches. “Sebring would’ve come sooner if he loved you. It took months.”

I move around the desk, putting the wide table between us. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“You were falling for me before he showed up.”

I stare at him, stunned for half a second before my voice finds its edge. “No. I opened myself up to the person I thought you were. But that version of you was a lie.”

His jaw tics. “Something was happening between us. Don’t pretend our relationship wasn’t real.”

“My perception of you was based on lies. You manipulated me, Tyson. You made me believe in something that never existed.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“It wasexactlylike that. You lied… used me. And now you’re standing here trying to rewrite history like I didn’t learn the truth of who you are.”

He shakes his head, stepping toward me.

“Don’t come any closer.” My voice is firm despite the fear curling tight in my stomach.

“You can’t believe that I would hurt you.”

I square my shoulders, voice like ice. “I’m not sure what you will or won’t do because I don’t trust you.”

“Magnolia—”

“Leave!” My voice breaks on the word.

He takes another step forward, something in his posture shifting. The mood changes. Heavy. Off. Threat laced in silence.

He continues to ignore my warnings, something sharp clicking in my head.

He’s not backing off. And that alone is enough to set every instinct I have on high alert.

My eyes land on the decorative glass bottle sitting on the display table—sea-glass green, smooth and coastal, part of the spa project I’ve been finalizing. I grip it by the neck and slam the base against the edge of the table.

The break echoes, sharp and final. Shards fall. What’s left is jagged and ugly—the weapon I need. I lift it between us, somehow steady and unshaking, the broken glass glinting under the warm light.

“Fuck around and find out how fast I’ll cut you.”

Something flickers in his expression and his mouth presses into a tight line. “I just wanted to talk and remind you of what we had.”

“You aren’t taking no for an answer, and that’s a problem.”

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