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It was still somewhat strange to me, coming home to a dark and empty house every night. The palace was always full of people, although admittedly, most of them were staff.

That had to be what made it hard. Not the knowledge that I was completely alone at night, but not having someone to light my fire and get my bedroom ready for me. Not having staff on hand to get me whatever I wanted at any time of the day. Not having a cook to make me anything I fancied at a moment’s notice.

I wasn’t lonely. Definitely not. I was above needing people. I was just… accustomed to a certain lifestyle. And it was hard to get used to the one I’d chosen instead.

I didn’t need a fucking pet. That would imply that my life wasn’t fulfilling enough. It would send the wrong message.

To whom, I didn’t really know. But it would.

“Again, you’d be surprised by what you don’t mind doing when it’s your own pet.” Corey chuckled, scritching Cora’s side and making her back leg twitch. “I’ve had to clean this little one’s tush many times when she’s had an upset stomach.”

“Corey, please,” I muttered disdainfully into my drink.

“She has a very refined palate. The cheap food just does not agree with her.”

“Well then, the dog and I have something in common.”

Corey laughed, draining the last of his martini and pushing back his seat to gracefully stand. “Another, darling?” he asked as he grabbed his purse.

“Please.” I finished my gin and tonic and pushed the glass away from me, glancing down to make sure condensation hadn’t dripped onto my trousers. They were forest green palazzo pants made of high-quality linen, and I’d paired them with a tucked in, elegantly loose-fitting cream shirt that was unbuttoned to my collarbone.

That was one of the things I loved most about living here independently—the freedom to wear whatever I wanted, not just the stiff tunic-and-trouser sets in my mother’s court colours.

Once, when it had been a particularly hot day at the palace and I’d been planning to go for a walk, I’d dared to wear a tight, sleeveless turtleneck that I’d bought on a visit to this world. When my brothers had seen me, they’d laughed. And when my mother had seen me, she’d sneered at me in disgust and told me to get changed immediately, saying I looked like a degenerate.

Because of a fucking turtleneck.

As I waited for Corey to return with our drinks, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Blinking in surprise, I pulled it out. I rarely got texts. The Goliaths had a group chat that I was, unfortunately, a part of, but I’d muted it years ago. I never spoke in it.

The number wasn’t one I had saved, and when I opened my messages and saw the first few words of the new text, my stomach plummeted and my heart gave a mighty thud in my chest.

Hey. It’s Vince. I got…

I stared down at it, breathing faster. Why was he texting me?

We hadn’t spoken since the night of our match. Our next one was on Sunday this time, so Hogbody had spent today focusing on the rehearsals for the Thursday and Friday night shows, not ours yet.

My palms began to sweat as I gripped my phone too tight. Part of me was desperate to tap on that message and find out what he’d said. The other part was filled with utter dread.

I put my phone down on the table without opening the text, then picked it up again. Then glanced back to make sure Corey was still at the bar.

Swallowing thickly, I finally opened the message, my vision wavering a bit as I tried to read it as fast as possible.

Hey. It’s Vince. I got your number from the group chat. I know this is awkward as fuck, and I have no idea how you feel about what happened last week, but I guess I wanted to apologise because it feels like I did something wrong. I shouldn’t have refused to leave your dressing room. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I’m not excusing what you did in our match, because it was fucking outrageous, but I said things I know I shouldn’t have. So yeah, I’m sorry for that. Let’s just get through this next match with as little fucking interaction as possible.

Anxious sweat was prickling in my armpits as I read it. He was apologising? For the things he’d said to me in my dressing room? For what he’d called me? The way he’d spoken to me? I swallowed, staring down at my phone, feeling utterly confused as something almost like disappointment made my gut sink.

Was I supposed to respond? What the hell was I meant to say? Did he expect me to apologise too? I already had. I’d said sorry about what I’d done in our match when Holt was dressing us both down for it.

There was a slight tremor in my hands as I poised my thumbs over the keyboard, having absolutely no idea what to type, or if I even wanted to say anything back to him. But if I didn’t reply, would he think that meant he was the bigger person? That was probably the only reason he’d done it. It sounded sincere, but it was Vince. Everything was a competition with him.

I didn’t want to address the… incident. Either incident. I was too embarrassed. I still felt too raw over what had happened. But surely I had to at least acknowledge him. We would have to work together closely again this week, and I absolutely could not do anything that would cause more contention. Then Holt probably would fire me.

Tongue darting out to wet my lips, I started typing.

Agreed. Let’s just get through it. I

I stopped, hesitating, then deleted that ‘I.’ That was enough, wasn’t it? We didn’t have to discuss the rest. I’d already apologised for my part in what had happened last week.