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I could be as soulless as him. Fight him dirty, do everything I can to ruin him.
But really, what can I do? This isn’t Victorian times. And he’s an honest to God billionaire, something that makes me sick to my stomach.
I don’t know who he is at all, that’s the thing. I don’t know who I fell in love with. A construct, yes, but there must have been parts of the real him there.
Thing is, I don’t know how that changes anything. It doesn’t. Not one thing. The man is a scoundrel, a liar. A player.
Magnus or Edward or whatever his damn name is could have been completely open and honest about every part he showed me and he’d still be the man who shattered my heart, the man who came into my life with the express purpose of scamming me.
It seems cruel, that’s what it seems. A cruel thing to do. He makes all those love songs that bleed sadness a walk in the park.
How can I both hate and love him and not know who he is all at the same time?
Suze is at work and I haunt her place.
I’ve missed about twelve calls from Magnus. And ten identical texts telling me to call him.
With a sigh, I make my way out of Suzanna’s West Village apartment and to the Fourteenth Street and Eighth Ave subway to grab the L. I take the train to my Bushwick stop and breathe in the familiar air. It’s still threatening to rain, but it’s warmer today as I hurry to my store. I have the key in the lock for the apartment entrance when I freeze.
Every single sense in me is on high alert.
I grip the key tight, my fingers turning white. But I’ve done enough running away. Slowly, I turn and look up.
Magnus.
“Is it Edward? Or do you prefer Mr. Sinclair? Perhaps Asshole Supreme?”
He’s as devastatingly gorgeous as ever, and I study him, looking for the truth, but he just looks like Magnus. The jeans and cashmere sweater are beautiful, and look like they cost a fortune. But maybe that’s just me looking for the arrogant, evil billionaire lurking in the fantasy I fell for.
“I hate Edward. Magnus is what everyone calls me. I’m guessing Asshole Supreme is used behind my back.”
I’m not going to laugh. It’s not funny. Because he’s destroying what’s left of my heart with that rich low voice, that current of complexity that was always there.
“I’m the same person, more or less,” he adds, like he can read my mind.
“Go away.”
“Yeah, I figured that would be next. I can’t. Zoey, we need to talk.”
“You stole from me.”
“That was Amelia. And I wasn’t planning to steal. I’m planning to make sure you have more than enough. But you know there’s no way you’d be able to hold out.”
I nod slowly. My throat is tight and aching from the effort it takes not to fall apart. He doesn’t get that. “I can try and make life difficult. I could take all this to court—”
“I’d win.”
The sad regret in his voice riles me. “I’m aware. But I’m betting you never took it that far to where I’d try and fight you in court because I might be able to tie all this up for a long time.”
“Zoey, what if shit is just that, shit. It’s not happening. It didn’t. And I know you.”
“You think I’m a pushover?”
“The opposite, actually, but you’re a good person.”
“Fuck you, Edward.”
He stares at me because I’m not a big swearer. But I really don’t care right now. I hate him. I love him.
