Page 26 of Porcelain Lies

Outside, the bright Los Angeles sun assaults my eyes. I dig through my purse for sunglasses, finding instead the crumpled note he left. My chest tightens as fragments of the night flash through my mind — his hands in my hair, the taste of expensive vodka on his lips, the way he-

No.

Stop it.

I force myself to open the Uber app, my trembling fingers making three attempts before I successfully type in my address. The screen shows a five-minute wait.

“Get it together,” I whisper, leaning against the cool stone of the hotel’s exterior wall. But my body remembers everything my mind wants to forget — the heat of his skin, the weight of him above me, the perfect rhythm we found together.

A black Toyota pulls up. “Stella?”

“Yes.” My voice comes out hoarse. Probably from all the screaming and moaning I’d done last night.

Cut it out, girl!

I slide into the backseat, the leather cool against my bare legs. The driver starts chatting about the weather, but his words wash over me like static.

I press my forehead against the window, watching the familiar streets of Los Angeles blur past. Each block brings me closer to my normal life, to the reality I tried to escape last night. The mounting pressure in my chest grows heavier as we approach my neighborhood.

When my building comes into view, its familiar red brick facade hits me in a crushing reality check. Gianni and that woman, my shattered engagement. And now this… this reckless night with a stranger whose name I never even learned.

God, what was I thinking?

Boyana’s voice pipes up.“You were thinking it was the best sex of your life, that’s what.”

I push open our apartment door, breathing in the familiar scent of Hannah’s coffee and whatever she’s baking. Thank God I kept my name on the lease instead of moving in with Gianni like he wanted. The thought of being homeless on top of everything else…

My evening clutch lands with a soft thud on the granite counter. Inside, the hotel keycard still sits next to my lipstick — evidence of my impulsive night.

“Is that you, Stell?” my best friend’s voice drifts from the kitchen, accompanied by the warm aroma of cinnamon. “I’m testing a new muffin recipe. Perfect timing for breakfast.”

My stomach churns at the mention of food. I’m not sure I can handle Hannah’s well-meaning interrogation right now. But the comfort of her presence, of this safe space we’ve created together, washes over me like a warm blanket.

“Hey, roomie. Where have you been?” Hannah pokes her head around the corner, flour dusting her bright red curls. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my wrinkled blouse and smudged makeup. “Wait. Are you just getting home? In last night’s clothes?”

I sink into our ancient leather couch, the familiar creak of springs offering little comfort. Hannah abandons her baking, wiping flour-covered hands on her apron as she settles beside me. She doesn’t need to say anything for me to know that I’m about to be interrogated.

Geez, where do I even begin?

“Gianni has another girlfriend.” The words taste bitter on my tongue. “I spoke to her yesterday at the charity event last night.”

Hannah’s green eyes go wide. “What… that absolute piece of—”

“It gets worse.” I pull my knees to my chest, making myself smaller. “She knew about me. About everything. Our engagement, the house we were looking at. She just… didn’t care. Said I needed to back off and let them be happy.”

“Back off?” Hannah’s voice rises sharply. “You’re his fiancée!”

“Was.” I twist the now-empty ring finger.

Hannah stares at me for a moment. “Wow, Stell. This is… I mean… this sucks ass!”

I silently nod. She’s not wrong.

“Maybe you should think about this practically,” Hannah says, her voice gentle. “I mean, you’re entitled to half of everything as his fiancée. The house deposit, joint accounts—”

“No.” I spring up from the couch, my hands clenching into fists. “I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything from him.”

“But Stell—”

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