Page 8 of Twins for Three Bad Boys

His face changes.

“Well,” he says slowly, “maybe that firing didn’t come out of nowhere.”

My breath catches.

“What did you just say?”

He shrugs. “I’m just saying. Things don’t happen for no reason.”

My vision blurs as rage and humiliation crash together in my chest.

“You think I deserved it?” I whisper.

Max scoffs. “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” I snap. “You’re standing there, cheating on me, and you still think you get to judge me like I’m the problem.”

His eyes flash. “June⁠—”

“No.” I shake my head hard. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me small and then act surprised when I finally⁠—”

He steps forward, too fast, and my body reacts before my brain does. I step back hard, my shoulder hitting the wall.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Max’s face is close now, eyes narrowed. “You’re not leaving.”

I stare at him, chest heaving.

The air tastes metallic.

Something in me, old and tired, recognizes danger.

“Don’t touch me.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No,” I whisper. “I’m being done.”

He just stands there, breathing hard, deciding which version of himself to use: the charming one, the angry one, or the one that makes me feel guilty enough to crawl back.

Max exhales, furious now. “So that’s it? You’re throwing everything away?”

I stare at him. “You already did.”

He laughs, ugly. “Good luck surviving without me.”

My stomach twists.

Because the worst part is, he thinks that’s true. He thinks I’ll come back because I have no choice. He looks at me like I’ll crawl back. Like I always have.

My throat tightens. Tears sting, hot and furious.

I lift my chin.

“Watch me,” I say.

I walk past him without looking back. Past the bed, past the doorway, past the apartment that’s held me while I disappeared piece by piece. By the time I hit the hall, my lungs are burning like I’ve been underwater too long.