Page 58 of Bid For Me

I drop my phone onto the couch, its screen going dark, and lean back with a long, slow exhale. My conversation with Aiden replays in my head, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. He always manages to pull at the loose threads of my composure, unravelling me in ways I wish he couldn’t.

Seb. Aiden. Shoes. Contracts. It’s like my life is a swirling mess of chaos, and I’m stuck in the middle, spinning, and trying to hold on to anything solid.

I glance at the boxes stacked around me, their pristine packaging gleaming under the soft glow of my living room lights. For a brief moment, I consider Candy’s suggestion. Maybe I should give them all away. It’s not like I need them, and it’s not like they mean anything – at least not in the way Seb probably intended.

My gaze drifts to the one pair I left out, the black stilettos glinting with sharp-edged beauty. The ones I’ve worn countless times, the ones I already own.What were you thinking, Seb?

My heart clenches, and I hate how easily he gets under my skin. Hate how I want to understand him, to believe that his gestures come from a place of sincerity, not obligation. But I can’t ignore the fact that he still doesn’t see me – not fully, not yet.

I press my fingertips to my temples, trying to massage away the headache building there. Candy’s right – he’s trying. In his own clumsy, misguided way, he’s trying. But is it enough?

The intercom buzzes again, and my stomach lurches.

Not Seb. Please not Seb.

I hesitate, frozen for a moment, then force myself to my feet. I step over the discarded shoeboxes and press the intercom button.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Candy’s voice comes through, warm and familiar. Relief washes over me, and I quickly buzz her in.

A few minutes later, she’s standing in my living room, a bright splash of energy against the muted tension that’s hung over me all day. Her gaze sweeps over the shoeboxes, and she lets out a low whistle.

“Well, damn,” she says, grinning. “He really went all out, didn’t he?”

I snort, barely resisting the urge to glance heavenward, flopping onto the sofa. “If by ‘all out,’ you mean sending me duplicates of shoes I already own, then sure.”

Candy smirks, plopping down beside me and nudging my shoulder with hers. “Still, it’s kind of sweet. In a clueless, rich-boy kind of way.”

“It’s infuriating,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “He doesn’t get it, Candy. He thinks he can throw money at me and call it affection. Like I’m supposed to be impressed by how much he spends instead of how much he sees me.”

Her expression softens, and she reaches over to squeeze my hand. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it any other way, Elle. Maybe this is his version of trying to show he cares.”

I glance at her, my frustration warring with the tiny flicker of hope her words spark. “Do you really think he cares?”

Am I overreacting to this? Still sensitive from earlier? Would Candy’s view be the same if I told her about the proposal and what happened after?

I really should tell her, but the words die on my tongue. I can’t. Admitting why I’m so bothered would hurt too much.

Candy tilts her head, considering. “I think he’s trying. And I think you should let him. But,” she adds, her tone firm, “only if it’s whatyouwant. Don’t let him, or anyone else, dictate how you live your life. Not Seb, not Aiden, not your godfathers with their closets full of shoes.”

I laugh despite myself, and she grins.

“Speaking of shoes,” she says, eyeing the boxes. “Want me to help you sort through these?”

I nod, grateful for the distraction. Together, we start unpacking the boxes, Candy chattering away as she examines each pair and tries them all on. Her presence is grounding, a reminder that not everything in my life has to feel so heavy.

As we work, I can’t help but glance at the ring still tucked in my pocket, its weight a constant reminder of the conversation I need to have with Seb. But for now, I let it rest. For now, I focus on Candy and the ridiculous mess of shoes around us, letting the tension ease from my shoulders bit by bit.

Tomorrow, I’ll deal with Seb. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what I want, what I’m willing to fight for.

But tonight, I’ll let myself breathe.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Elle

I waketo the sound of someone knocking on my door, which is weird because, unless it’s one of my neighbors, whoever is out there shouldn’t have access to the building.

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