Page 19 of The Valentine Agenda

Of stupidity.

Her phone buzzed again. Sophie, probably with more threats of arson. But when Hannah looked at the screen, her heart stopped.

@JamesPark tagged you in a photo

For one terrible moment, her finger hovered over the notification. Then she deliberately pressed and held, watching the options appear.

Block @JamesPark?Yes.

It wasn't enough. She opened her settings and deleted the entire app. Each tap felt like building a wall, brick by brick, between herself and her own foolishness.

The makeup wipes were in the bathroom. Hannah grabbed them with more force than necessary, dragging one roughly across her face. The careful eyeshadow she'd spent so long blending disappeared in a smear of beige and disappointment. Another wipe for her lipstick—the colour she'd hoped would make her look sophisticated enough for Nero's. For him.

"Stop it," she commanded her reflection. "Stop thinking about him."

But his presence lingered everywhere—in the cheerfully patterned dress she'd chosen in the hope that he would like it on her, in the way she'd positioned her furniture so it would look more "put together" if he ever came up after their date.

God, she'd really convinced herself he might come up after their date.

The laugh that escaped her throat sounded dangerously close to a sob. Hannah yanked the dress off, not caring if she tore it. Let it rip. Let it be ruined. It was just another prop in a performance she'd been stupid enough to believe was real.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Mrs. Chen:Dear one, are you home safe?

Hannah stared at the message, remembering Mrs. Chen's cryptic warnings. All those gentle hints that Hannah had ignored, too caught up in her fantasy of being noticed by James Park to see what was right in front of her.

Yes, she typed back.I'm fine.

The response was immediate:Tea helps warm the spirit.

Hannah set down her phone without answering.

In her tiny bathroom, she scrubbed her face until her skin was raw, erasing every trace of the woman who'd left this apartment full of hope hours ago. The woman who'd spent months straightening lobby artwork and watering plants, all for the chance to exchange two words with a man who'd never even bothered to learn her name until he had a use for her.

"From now on," she told her reflection, "James Park doesn't exist."

Her reflection stared back, makeup-free and harsh under the fluorescent lights. She looked younger. More vulnerable. More like herself.

That was good. That was what she needed. To remember who she was before she'd started crafting her life around glimpses of James Park in elevators and lobbies. Before she'd turned herself into the kind of woman who waited two hours at Nero's, watching the door, making excuses for a man who'd already forgotten she existed.

Hannah changed into her oldest, most comfortable pajamas. They were faded and worn soft with washing, as far from her carefully chosen dinner outfit as she could get.

A text lit up her phone screen:Seriously, Han. I can be there in twenty minutes with wine and no judgment.

Hannah stared at Sophie's message for a long moment. Then she picked up her phone and typed:Not tonight. I need to be alone I think.

The response was immediate:I love you. Call me anytime. Even at 3 AM. Especially at 3 AM.

Hannah curled up on her armchair, wrapping herself in the blanket her grandmother had made. Outside, snow continued to fall, covering the city in clean white silence. Tomorrow, she'd start over. She'd be just Hannah again—the teacher who helped her elderly neighbors, who organized community events, who didn't spend her mornings hoping to catch glimpses of men who would never see her.

But tonight... tonight she would let herself feel every sharp edge of this lesson.

After all, some things had to break completely before they could be rebuilt.

CHAPTER NINE

James

James was brushing snow from his expensive shoes in the lobby when the voices drifted from the common room.

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