Charlotte bolts upright in bed, gasping and clutching the sheets around her naked body.

I have to lean against the wall because—oh, my God, the room is spinning. This is a nightmare. I fell asleep in the elevator, or down at the spa and this is just the worst nightmare of my entire life.

It has to be.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I try again. “What are you doing here?” As though I need an explanation. I can’t understand this. Because having sex with only one woman in a single afternoon isn’t enough for him, I guess. His side of the bed looks messed up and the shower is running.

“What’s it look like?” Charlotte challenges, glaring at me like she has the right to be annoyed that I’m here.

I tremble for a moment before coming back to my senses. Well, I won’t let her make me feel like the bitch here. “It looks like you slept with Brock on your wedding day, you slut.” I’ve never, ever in my entire life, said something like that to someone. Not to their face, at any rate, but she truly deserves it.

The bathroom door opens before she has the chance to reply, and I turn my rage towards Brock.

He steps into the room wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else.

Rage and heartbreak. How could he do this? All the things he said. And he had to go and sleep with her now, after having sex with me this morning.

God, I was so stupid.

We stare at each other in shock. I suppose if I’m honest it’s not like he lied to me, is it? He told me he was still in love with his ex and wanted to make her jealous. He told me this was a business arrangement, and I wanted it that way. And maybe it has worked out perfectly for him. I made her jealous. She came to him and now, they are together. Maybe I have no right to suffer through the chest-crushing heartache at the sight of his face, but here I am. Suffering nonetheless.

“What the fuck?” he says.

“You pig! How could you do something like this? How could either of you?” I yell. I don’t stick around to wait for his pathetic excuses, since I have no desire to hear any of them. I wish I could forget all of this, forget I ever met him. Forget the way he touched me and kissed me and stared into my eyes…

“Wait, Dani!”

He’s probably following me, but I don’t care. I can’t stop. I don’t ever want to see him again. If I look into those eyes, I might want to believe the lies he’ll inevitably spew and I can’t leave myself open to him. Not anymore. Not when he’d go so far as to have sex with her. Her! The same day as me, hours before her wedding. I never really knew him. He must be as cunning and manipulative as she is. No wonder he wants her. They’re perfect for each other. The thought bounces through my head as I run through the suite and back through the door, out into the hallway.

I can still hear him as I throw myself into the elevator, calling my name. Let him. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? He got his real, big true love back. I was just the cleaner that he paid to do a job. My eyes fill with tears of self-pity. I dash them away.

No, I should take responsibility for my pain. It’s not his fault I was stupid enough to give my heart to someone who never lied about who they were truly in love with. By the time the doors glide open to reveal the lobby, I’m half-blinded by tears and choked by sobs. I don’t even know where I’m going or how I’ll get there. I left everything upstairs. I just want to go back home to my little apartment and my little job. At least there, I knew where I stood. I was the cleaner. I cleaned their shit and they paid me money. They didn’t pretend to want me and hurt me. I’ve never felt this lost in my life.

“Dani?” Mark takes me by the shoulders when I bump into him. Literally. I can hardly see a thing and don’t care very much, anyway.

At least, I bumped into someone familiar.

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I can’t talk about it,” I babble, shaking my head. I have to get away from him too. He belongs to the same class of people. People who use their money and everyone around them to get whatever they want. Anyway, the last thing I want is to talk about Brock with his best friend. I don’t want to talk to anybody about what just happened.

It’s all too shameful.

He seems to understand this. At least, the slight smile he gives me says he does. “You need a drink, I think.”

I don’t have the chance to disagree before he’s slinging an arm around me and guiding me out the door. “Where are we going?”

“Anywhere but here. I’m tired of this place, anyway,” he announces. “Some situations call for a drink at a dive bar, don’t you think?”

Truer words were never spoken.