CHAPTER TWELVE

NATHAN

I pull up to The Main Event and sit in the car, gripping the steering wheel. My heart pounds as I prepare myself for the confrontation ahead.

With a deep breath, I step out, straighten my suit jacket, and stride toward the building.

The glass doors yield under my hand, and a rush of cool air greets me. The space is quiet, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the stillness of the early morning. I ignore the reception desk and make my way down the hall, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

Amelia’s office door stands ajar. I pause, my hand hovering above the wood, heart skipping. This is it. The moment of truth.

I push the door open, the hinges barely making a sound as I step inside. The room is empty—the sleek glass desk untouched, the white leather chairs neatly arranged. She’s not here yet.

“What the hell do you want?”

I flinch.

Jules is right behind me, her eyes sharp with suspicion, her posture tense.

“I’ve come to talk to Amelia.” My voice is calm. “Where is she?”

She pushes past me and stands in front of Amelia’s desk, crosses her arms, and lets the hostility roll off her in waves. “She doesn’t want to see you.” A vein bulges on her neck. “Haven’t you done enough, you prick? Why do you keep coming back?”

Her words hit hard, reminding me of the harm I’ve caused.

“I have to set the record straight.”

She scoffs and gives a bitter laugh.

“She’s not here.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. “What are you going to say? That she imagined seeing a naked woman in your bed? That she was hallucinating?”

I sink into one of the leather chairs, my shoulders sagging. “I never cheated on her.”

“That’s original.”

“It’s the truth. One of my friends had a key to my place. He was using it for hookups without telling me. I didn’t realize why she left until she told me.”

She stares at me, eyes narrowing.

“You have to trust me.”

She exhales and sits on the edge of the desk. “Okay. Let’s say I believe you about the woman in your bed. What about the text?”

I blink. “What?”

She leans back and studies me. “She got a message from you saying it was over, that you didn’t want to see her again.” Her eyes harden. “You broke her.”

I sit in stunned silence as her words settle over me. My mind races, piecing together the enormity of the betrayal, the misunderstanding that has haunted us for years.

I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees, holding my head in my hands. The weight of everything—years of heartache and confusion—is unbearable.

Her voice softens. “You didn’t send that text either?”

I lift my head. “No. I didn’t. And I never cheated on her.”

She lets out a slow whistle, eyes widening as realization dawns. “Damn. Whoever did this hates you.”

I nod. That’s apparent. “Will you tell me where she is?”

She stares at me and then sighs. “Okay. But be gentle with her. She’s been through a lot. You broke her heart, and she was scared.”

I nod, the growing urgency to see her rising inside me. “Okay.”

She rattles off an address—a place I recognize. I stand, thank her, and move toward the door.

“Hey!”

I look over my shoulder.

“Remember, don’t be too hard on her.”

“I won’t be.”

“Good luck.”