Page 182 of Sinful Lies

I felt her heart race beneath my fingers. It matched the chaos outside—wild, uncontrollable.

My arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer.

We stood there in silence, the fireworks outside lighting up the sky in bursts of color, but the space between us felt thick, like time had come to a standstill.

Slowly, she turned to face me, and my hands dropped to her hips instinctively, pulling her closer.

She didn’t wait—her hands cupped my face, drawing me in until our lips met.

It wasn’t a kiss of love.

No.

It was hunger, fierce and unrestrained, like she needed something from me—something she couldn’t even explain. Her lips were urgent, almost desperate, as if she feared that if she didn’t let herself feel this now, it would disappear before she could grasp it.

I leaned back, my forehead dropping to rest against hers.

Her hands slowly slid from my face, fingers trailing down my neck, before they settled over my chest.

“I’ve put my resignation on your desk. Please let me go, Angelo. Don’t try to stop me.”

The moment the words hit me, it felt like acid had been poured over my skin.

My eyes landed on the envelope on my desk.

“Resignation? Why? What the fuck is going on?”

Her eyes met mine, calm, like she’d already made peace with this, and that just made my blood boil even more.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Angelo.”

“And you think I’ll just let you walk away?”

Her gaze never wavered. “If you love me, respect my choice.”

My jaw clenched.

The words hit like a fucking slap, and for a moment, I didn’t know if I was going to rage or fucking collapse.

But I didn’t move as she turned and left, the door shutting behind her like it was slamming a part of me into the dark.

Chapter

Forty-One

“After all, it’s one thing to run away when someone’s chasing you.

It's entirely another to be running all alone.”

?Jennifer E. Smith

Jade

I crammed the last of my clothes into my suitcase—the ones that didn’t feel like they weighed a thousand pounds from guilt alone. My vision blurred with tears, and my throat tightened again, like it was punishing me for even trying to breathe.

The bathroom was next. I swiped my hygiene products into a bag.

The second I had gotten home, I’d ripped off my dress, the fabric burning against my skin, the sting of betrayal—mine, his, ours—digging deeper than I could handle.

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