Page 110 of Break Point
She mentioned bumping into Zoya earlier. And the pale, crumpled look on Henry’s face confirms what my stomach already knows.
The worst scenarios play out in my mind. Thinking of Henry and Zoya together is worse than any nightmare, but this is real. And I can’t wake up from it.
I’m gonna be sick.
“Bells … it’s not what it looks like,” he says, taking a few careful steps toward me.
My brows knit, and dark spots cloud my vision. My chest is heavy.
This isn’t happening.
I keep shaking my head, feeling disgusted. Betrayed. His eyes are pleading, but I don’t want to hear a single word coming out of his mouth.
I lift my hand.
“Don’t you fucking dare get anywhere near me.”
“Belén, please just listen to me,” he says, his voice sharper now. “Nothing happened. I swear?—”
“No!” I yell, ripping the sunglasses off my face and tucking them into the collar of my dress. “I don’t care if you were just painting her freaking toenails. I don’t want to hear it.”
Henry looks away and drags a rough hand through his hair. His gaze flicks to Gemma for a few beats before he finally says, “I’ve been trying to get Robbie to come out. To take him back to his room, like I promised Joe I would.”
A few excruciating seconds pass as I let the information sink in.
“What?” Gemma breathes, stepping beside me, a sour look tightening her face. “Robbie is in there? Withher?”
“Pendejo …”?1 I mutter, pressing my fingers hard into my brow as if I could scrape the frustration out. My breath leaves me in a slow, sharp burst, cheeks puffed, jaw clenched.
“Henry, you both left the cocktail party over an hour ago. Please tell me you haven’t been hanging out with her this entire time.”
“We’d only been in there a few minutes when you called me.”
I’m done.
I know I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with this stifling feeling of betrayal, so I walk toward the elevators. I have to find a way to put this bullshit aside, get some sleep, and make it to the quarterfinals.
“I’m so sorry,” Henry says, catching up to me. “Please, just?—”
“You know how much I hate her,” I cut in, slamming the up button like it owes me an apology. “You know every disgusting thing she’s ever said about me. How she’s trashed my name with sponsors just to claw her way up. Rumors. Lies. Shit I’ve had to dig myself out of.”
The elevator’s still not here. Figures.
“And you either forgot, or never really got it, but she looks so much like my mother.” My voice goes thinner. Meaner. “Same perfect blonde hair. Same icy blue eyes. Same perfect little knack for making me feel like I’ll never measure up.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “But hey, glad to know you two had such a nice little catch-up tonight. Hanging out with her in her suite. Fraternizing with the fucking enemy.” I shake my head, every word tasting worse than the last. “Hope it was worth it.”
The air around us hollows out.
“She probably invited you up just to mess with me,” I say, spiraling now and past the point of caring. “To throw me off balance. Because she hates me as much as I hate her. And you two were dumb enough to fall for it.”
“And the fact that Robbie’s still in there?” I point down the hallway. “Talking to her? It makes me sick to my stomach.”
Henry steps toward me. “I don’t give a fuck about Zoya.”
I step back with him. Match for match. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m just trying to do the right thing here.”
