Page 61 of Red Flagged
Kimi snorted. “Just your cuticles?”
Marco chimed in with, “Mine are already halfway drunk.”
Ivy grinned, gesturing to Aurélie. “This one hasn’t blinked in a full twenty seconds, but she looks hot as hell doing it.”
That earned a few soft laughs.
Aurélie gave a polite smile that she’d been trained to wear. The kind that didn’t touch her eyes. She stood beside me, close enough that I could feel her heat, but it didn’t reach me. Not really. The soft buzz of the lift, the faint scrape of metal cables above us. It all felt too loud, too steady for the chaos in my chest. Then someone said something about the press. Or public statements. Or the “united front” we’d shown tonight.
Her voice slid in, emotionless. “Loyalty makes for good PR.”
It was a soft murmur, but the whole elevator heard it. Ivy winced. Kimi went still. Marco glanced at her, brows raised.
I reached for her hand. Just instinct, desperation, that primal, aching need to feel her, to make sure she wasstill there.Just enough to signal something, anything—I’m here. I’m sorry. Please—but she pulled her hand away like she hadn’t even noticed.
Or maybe she had. Maybe that was the point.
My chest went tight. It wasn’t obvious, just a casual shift as she grabbed the handle of her purse with both hands in front of her,
I leaned closer, just a breath away. “I arranged a car,” I murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear. “Just us. After dinner.”
Aurélie didn’t turn. “Of course you did,” she responded softly. It was a bullshit, clipped response. Neutral enough that no one else would clock it.
Except I did. I heard the chill beneath it. The resignation laced with a careful distance she’d never used on me before.
Not even when she hated me.
God. She used to bite when she was angry. Snap. Push back. Kiss harder.
This was just… quiet.
Ivy made some joke about hoping Victor Reinhardt didn’t show upsoakedagain, and everyone laughed. Marco said something about making a bingo card of GPDA drama.
But all I could hear was the sound of her voice inside my head.Of course you did.
Suddenly, it all clicked.Of course I did.Just like I’d done everything else tonight—alone. Without telling her or thinking about how it would be received. She’d been blindsided by something that should have been talked about in private first.
Okay. I could fix this. It would be fine. I just needed a moment to explain it all.
I turned to look at her again. She was staring straight ahead, hands still clasping her purse, expression controlled and perfect.
Too perfect.
I leaned toward her anyway, because I didn’t fucking care if our friends heard. They were all smart enough to realize that suddenly Aurélie and I were most definitelynot okay. “Or we can forget that altogether and we can just drive there,” I murmured. “Only if you want. We don’t have to talk, just—just be in the car. Just us.”
She pursed her lips. “That’s fine.” Nothing else. That was it. No warmth or any indication of emotion. Just a neutral agreement spoken as if we were strangers confirming a ride share.
The doors slid open. Light spilled in. She stepped out first, not bothering to wait for me. Maybe that’s what I deserved. Maybe shewasbetter off without me. Maybe this was what caring looked like now: staying still, giving her distance, not dragging her back into the mess I’d made.
Except Ireallydidn’t want to. Every part of me screamed to go after her, to fix it, to fix it and take all the goddamn blame. To dosomething.
So I let her go, and I fucking hated myself for it. Instead, I just slowly stepped over the threshold, following our friends. I was a coward. I’d already taken enough from her tonight. This GPDA meeting washermoment to make a difference. I feared if I touched her again, I might break what was left.
My heart thumped in time with the only thought swirling in my mind.She’s better off without me. And the next thought hit even harder.I’m too selfish to ever let her be.
And somewhere beneath that shame, something colder twisted. A deep-seated terror that I couldn’t stop this pattern. If I kept loving her like this—too hard, too much—that the only thing left to protect her from wasme.
Of course you did.
