t party, Cayla began to

ones filled with curated, professional posts related to G

ct of rebellion,

t from Jeramy Santos, o

id know how to make Grafton look good. Honestly, I always thought you'd be the on

he herself, had been so wrong. She hadn't been trying to melt Grafton's heart; she'd been trying to piece together her

k a simple, p

amy. I just

won't be working for hi

guess it. It was the first time she h

nstant. *What? Why?

n five years of slow-burning despair in a text m

she typed. A bland, corporate l

ul ones. The good ones. The memories of Justen. The ones that m

king at her with that familiar, loving gaze. The warmth of the dream still lingered, a phantom limb aching for what was lost. For f

up with tears

e memory of that love was what Grafton and Cherrelle had systematically disma

et Justen had given her. A ticket stub from a concert. A cheap keychain Justen had won for her at a carnival, teasing his sixteen-ye

n in her palm. A sma

was not lo

startling her. She checked

er apartment, his eyes scanning

demanded, gesturing at th

he said

rinkets in her hand. He strode over an

isdain. "You're still holding onto this wort

thl

hung in

he keychain, the memories, the five years sh

erily calm as she met his gaze. "It'

y, and emptied its contents inside. The sound of the small items clatter

to him, her face

something

s eyes. He had expected tears, a protest, some

arge, branded shopping bag onto a box. It was from a famously expensive designer. "A little bonus for all you

left without

elp, after all. Ev

hout a second glance, she walked back to the trash chute