Once I'd gathered my bearings, my emotions, my sanity, I left.

I marched straight down the hall and out of the building, my chin dipped low. The staff at L.A. Love Wedding Planners was far from respectful or discreet, so I had no doubt a few of them eavesdropped. And they'd seen Axel leave, detecting his bad mood.

I wouldn't linger for them to poke at me and ask questions.

At home, I screamed into a pillow. I then threw that pillow across the small room, gaining a slither of satisfaction when it squished against the wall.

When I fell onto my bed, I screamed again, into the mattress this time.

No way would I breathe a word of this to anyone, not even Chi. How could I? They'd tell me to do it, of course; they'd squirm and squeal in excitement at the notion of me marrying Axel.

Marrying Axel Levine, one of the richest men in the country, if not the world? Incredible.

But would Axel want to marry me?

"No," I grunted as I padded to the fridge, extracting my trusty bottle of rosé. Always the same brand; a French label that cost more than I could afford, but it had the smoothest, most refreshing taste.

A taste I needed now, to erase the acidity from my mouth.

Axel wouldn't marry me, that was a fact. But how else would he deal with Brent threatening to sue us? He'd find a way around it. Stick his lawyers on him, threaten to counter-sue for all the crap Brent had put us through, hire a hitman—

That last idea made me spit out the mouthful of wine I'd just tried to swallow.

Would he get that violent? I didn't know. Because after all this...I still didn't know Axel. Not well enough to figure out what he planned to do.

There was no way he'd consent to this. Throw his entire life and fortune away to save my job? Me, the woman who kept toying with his heart and his cock and left him yearning? And this after he caught me arguing with Olivia, after he caught me in a lie? Impossible.

I took another swig of wine, sensing the soothing, silky liquid coursing down my throat and numbing me.

As I was about to take one more gulp, a knock came from my door.

I'd been slumped on my couch, bundled in blankets, staring at the blank screen of my TV, hoping Axel would change my mind, prove me wrong. Was that him? Had he already decided to accept the solution?

I didn't want to answer the door. Whoever was behind it wouldn't be here to bear good news.

Still, I stood up slowly, wondering if I'd imagined the knock. A few sips into my wine, it was entirely possible I was hallucinating.

I'd been hoping for Axel, after all; maybe I'd materialized his presence. Maybe I'd ordered food, too, and didn't remember while I was busy staring into space.

Or maybe he was there, but not to accept the solution. Maybe he'd come to decline it, in person, and remind me yet again of how stupid I'd been.

I tentatively put my hand on the door handle, squeezing my eyes shut, taking a breath.

I should have looked through the peephole, but in my gut, in my soul, I knew it was Axel. He was standing on the other side of the door, hands in his pockets, tapping his foot to the ground as he waited for me to reply.

I wrenched the door open, and my jaw dropped.

It wasn't Axel.

"Hey, gorgeous," said Olivia, pushing into my apartment without invitation. She wore a trench coat and leggings, with high-heeled boots, and her hair in a messy bun atop her head.

Something about her was...off, and I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Um, I didn't say you could come in," I said, twisting to watch her amble into my narrow living room, removing her coat. Her off-the-shoulder sweater was see-through, exposing a neon purple bra underneath.

This bitch.

She swung around, a wide smile over her glossy lips. "I didn't think you'd mind."

I kept hold of the door, gesturing to the hallway beyond. "What the fuck do you want, Olivia?"

She was the last person I wanted to see, especially after daydreaming about Axel being the one at my doorstep. Of all people to show up unannounced...how I wished I'd checked through the peephole after all. I could have pretended not to be home and avoided this awkward encounter.

"Damn," she raised her palms, "why so aggressive?" She took a few steps forward, and I nearly backed out into the corridor to avoid being too close to her. "I came to check on you."

"Check on me? Why?" I grimaced. "For what?"

Her smile faded and her eyes creased. She wore minimal makeup, for once, but of course her skin glowed as if dabbed in precious oils, and she smelled like she'd fallen into a vat of cotton candy fragrance. "Estelle said you left your meeting with her in a hurry today."

"And why would Estelle tell you that?" I rested one hand on my hip, glowering at her.

"We had a meeting, her and I." She twirled a loose curl around her finger, licking her lower lip. "She mentioned she'd been talking to you earlier and said something about you being summoned into your office. She was worried," she pouted, "and couldn't check on you herself, so she sent me."

"Bullshit." I sensed my nostrils flaring. "Estelle wouldn't be that worried about me."

"Fine." Olivia rolled her eyes. "I was worried. I know how much working in that place stresses you."

"And again, bullshit." I tapped a finger to the door. "You don't give a shit about what stresses me, and you don't know the first thing about my job."

"Vivi," she shook her head, tutting, "seriously, babe, why are you so violent today?"

I snickered at her. "I'm not your babe. It's been a rough day, and I'm tired, and I'm not in the mood for you and your..." I gestured at her. "Your antics."

"Antics?" She placed a hand to her heart, blinking at me, all fake innocence and caring. "I'm genuinely here to see if you're okay, and that's it."

"Why bother?" My heart rate was out of control, and in a matter of seconds, I'd lash out on her, I knew. And lashing out meant touching her. And touching her meant— "You already fucked up so much, Olivia. You shouldn't be here."

I almost spat out that what she'd fucked up, specifically, was my relationship with Axel. But that would trigger her, and she'd use that information against me later. We already had one asshole on the loose, telling Brent about private matters between Axel and I; we didn't need Olivia on the case, too.

Olivia spun away and spotted the wine I'd left on the coffee table. "Or," she said, observing the label with a smirk. "Ah, nice, this is a good one. Or," she took a quick sip and puckered her lips, "maybe I fixed things for you?"

"Fixed things?" I closed the door, if anything to keep this argument to ourselves, and not have the entire neighborhood listening in. The walls were thin enough as it was. "You didn't fix shit, Olivia. I was on track, I was over you, and you waltzed in, and—"

"—seduced you all over again?" She grinned at me as she approached, her steps languorous, feline-like. "As I did all those years ago. Twirled around you, preyed on you, convinced you to like me back, hm?"

"You're messed up," I said, moving by her as quickly as possible to avoid her touching me. "And I need you to leave."

I rushed to the kitchen, wrapping my hands around the counter, steadying myself. Why had she come? Why did she continue to torture me?

Her voice haunted me, following me into the tiny cocoon I was desperate to create for myself in my kitchen. It was sealed off from the living room, and I'd hoped, prayed, she would get the hint. Of course, she didn't.

"I want you back, Vivienne."

If her intention was to draw me out of hiding, she'd succeeded. And she'd used my full name; shocking, coming from her.

"Excuse me?" I peered through the kitchen doorway, seeing her settling on the sofa, as if I'd offered her a seat. As if she were allowed to be here, invading my apartment, invading my life.

"I need you back," she said, her voice softer, her eyes gleaming.

I snorted. "You are so full of shit. You never needed me, Olivia. What the fuck are you on?"

She winced, biting her lip. "I mean it. I know I prioritized my brand, my career over you, but I...I understand how I fucked up now. Seeing you thriving, pursuing your dream job, and being so successful at it...I want to be with you again."

My jaw couldn't possibly collapse any lower. My fists tightened at my side, and I worried my heart had stopped beating.

These words, coming from her sexy mouth, were all I'd wanted to hear for months after our breakup. That she was sorry, that she regretted being too driven, too selfish. That she was ready to make things work, to dedicate more time to me.

But it was much too late for her apologies—if this was, indeed, an apology. For her to actually say the words, "I'm sorry," would be a miracle.

"I'm sorry," she said, so quietly I thought I'd made it up.

Had she read my mind?

"Fuck off," I shot out, flicking my wrist at her. "You're not being serious."

"I am." She sat up straight, flashing her most solemn face. A face I hadn't seen her wear since the night she'd been honored at a huge banquet to celebrate her brand's success. Her real face.

Damn, she did mean it.

"Right," I scoffed, "because you're at the top now, so it's all good, yeah? You can squirm back into my life and lather me in gifts so I'll forgive you?" Fire burned in my throat, waiting to unleash all over her. "Is that why you're working with Estelle? Because you knew I was the wedding planner, and this was your way of weaseling back into my life?"

"Yeah, among other methods to woo you." Olivia fell against the couch cushions, tipping the bottle of rosé to her lips. And the way those lips pressed to the rim, suckling, and then her tongue sliding out to wipe the wine from the corners of her mouth...

Fuck, it was so sensual, so raw, I wanted to give in. I wanted to be turned on by her. To resume where we'd left off the other night, on the terrace.

But I couldn't do it. My body wanted her, but my heart...

"I'm not available to you," I hissed, remaining within the limits of the kitchen. If I set foot into the living room, if I gave her range to reach me...she could change my mind. She knew how, knew which buttons to press, literally.

Olivia hiccuped, her eyes growing dazed.

And then I understood what was so off about her, why she'd barged in without waiting for an invitation, why she was bolder than usual, more appealing than ever.

She was inebriated. Maybe not full-on drunk, but she'd been drinking before she got here.

She hiccuped again and set the bottle down, leaning forward, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Right, because you're fucking the bride's brother."

My heart lurched up to my throat. "Wh-what?" I gawked at her, hoping my stuttering would come off as surprise and anger, not as evidence of me getting caught.

Olivia snarled, malice flickering in her gaze. "Oh, yeah, I figured you two out. I know you, and I know guys like him, and I know your type."

I rubbed the back of my neck, shifting my weight from foot to foot to not show how my legs shook. "And that's proof enough for you to accuse me of sleeping with someone? Because they're my type?"

"No, because I saw him visiting your place a few weeks back, then leaving hours later, with that after-sex glow."

I swallowed. "That still doesn't say anything. There are other people in this building." Fuck. She was referring to that afternoon we spent in bed, frolicking and confessing feelings. "And what would you know about a man's after-sex glow? You only fuck women."

"I know all after-sex glows, because they look the same, Vivi." She smacked her palms onto the sofa cushions. "Come on, baby, I'm not stupid. I saw him."

"Wow, so you have time to sit around all afternoon and watch a man coming and going about his own business?" My knees were wobbly, so I gripped the threshold to remain upright.

"Coming," she guffawed, "exactly. Yes, I had time. That, and that little spat you two had at the bachelorette party?"

My eyebrows shot up. "I thought you'd left."

"Lingered at the doorway, sweetheart." The evil spreading into her gaze was painful to witness. And more so when she slowly got up from the sofa, somehow balanced despite the booze she'd imbibed. "It was a lover's quarrel. So stupid. So public. Tsk, tsk, Vivi."

My stomach churned. Suddenly, it all fell into place. Olivia spying, Olivia being jealous, Olivia showing up here, drunk, on the same day that I—

"It was you, wasn't it?" I crossed my arms, my hands folding into fists. My nails dug into the skin of my palms, and I clenched my jaw, stabilizing myself before I clawed at her face. "You're the one who told Brent Bowers."

"Brent Bowers? Is that your boss? Because yeah," she clicked her tongue, "I did. Absolutely. For real, Vivi! I can't have you fucking around with Levine when I'm trying to get you back! I had to be dramatic. It all had to be drastic. You understand."

"I don't understand," I spat, the words scorching out of my mouth. "You're trying to get me back by sabotaging my career in the process?"

"Psh," she waved at me dismissively, "you don't need that job. I can support us both. You don't need to work."

"But I want to work." I took one stride forward, my foot slamming onto the carpet. "Who said you could make those decisions for me?"

"Vivi, please—" She slid out from behind the coffee table and clasped her hands, pleading. "We'll work through all this stuff I did but come on...I did it to get you back! Grand gesture of love, eh? Haven't you always wanted that?"

I was no longer afraid of being turned on. Not after this.

I stormed up, grabbed her by the arm, and hefted her towards the door. She didn't resist, but then again, she'd probably had so much to drink that it took her brain longer to process what was happening.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I said, opening my door and tossing her out. "Get out of my building, and if I see you lurking again, I'm filing a restraining order."

As I watched Olivia whimper, straightening herself up, muttering something about her trench coat, I noticed another person in the hallway.

He'd been walking towards my door, hands in the pockets of his expensive, tailored slacks, a confused look in his hazel eyes. His dark ginger hair was miffed, his jacket opened.

And he glared at Olivia as if about to set her on fire.

"Axel?"

☼☼☼