"Reed, open this goddamn door right the fuck now." Jason was standing outside his penthouse door, but Reed had absolutely zero plans on letting him inside. Sitting in a leather armchair in his office, he was sipping his third glass of scotch. "I know you're here, Reed. Open the fucking door because we need to talk."

He already knew what Jason wanted to talk about, and there was no damn way he could even fathom that conversation. Hell, he couldn't even fathom what he'd just learned. Talking about public relations and how to spin the story—that was just going to have to be Jason's job without him.

A second later, his phone rang and Jason's face popped onto the screen. Reed hit the dismiss option and downed the rest of the scotch in his glass. Persistent fucker.

Reed scrolled back through his text messages, looking at the half a dozen he’d received from Teagan today trying to reach him. She’d left voicemails too, but he couldn’t listen to them. He couldn’t talk to her after everything he’d just learned he’d done to her. Hell, he didn’t even know how to look at her. Guilt swarmed his stomach, and he wanted to disappear, wishing he’d never forced his way back into Teagan’s life in the first place.

God, she deserved so much better than him. All this time, she’d known what he’d done to her, and yet, she’d forgiven him and been willing to look past it all. He couldn’t let her do that.

His phone rang again, and this time, he saw his friend Alistair's name.

"Hey, man," Reed answered the call.

"Down for a drink tonight, man?" Alistair asked, clearly already at the bar based on the loud music in the background. "The whole gang is down at Siegfried's. It's been forever since we've partied with your ass!"

Reed glanced at the copy of Hills Secrets Magazine in his left hand. The cover story staring back at him—Teagan, him, their entire life written in black and white for the world to see. Sure, not everything in it was true, but enough was to tell him their sources were credible.

"I’m already a few glasses in, but yeah. I’m coming. See you in twenty." He threw the magazine down on the hall table and pulled up the Lyft rideshare app on his phone. Ordering a car, he instructed it to meet him around back.

Within a few minutes, his ride had arrived, and Reed headed straight down to the back alley, bypassing Jason altogether. Minutes later, he was in the back seat of a black Range Rover, headed downtown.

Another call came through, and he glanced down at his phone. Teagan's smile lit up his screen, and the familiar guilt rolled in his stomach. He briefly considered declining the call, but after everything he'd already done to her, he couldn't do that, too.

"Hey," he answered.

"Hey, Reed. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I have something I need to talk to you about.” Teagan's voice was melodic as usual, but there was a hesitance to it that he hadn't heard before. Though he was beginning to wonder if it had always been there, and he just hadn't been paying attention.

There was so much he'd missed, so many signs he'd ignored—and for what? To pursue his own happiness at her expense? All this time, he hadn’t known how badly he’d been hurting her—had hurt her in the past—and she’d said nothing. She’d just forgiven him and protected his feelings.

Fuck, she deserved so much better.

“Are we still on for dinner tonight?” she asked.

Reed shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. "Something came up. I'll have to reschedule."

"Um, okay," she responded slowly. "It’s kind of urgent, though. I was hoping we could talk."

"Later. I’m sorry." With that, he hung up the phone.

Tears stung at his eyes as he stared out the window at the streets of Los Angeles speeding by, but he refused to let them spill over. He felt like such an asshole for ending their conversation like that, but he couldn’t bear to hear what she had to say. He couldn’t hear her tell him how he’d almost killed her, how it was his fault that her career and life had come to a screeching halt.

He couldn’t hear her confirm what he’d read in that fucking tabloid.

All he'd done was stop by the grocery store to grab a bottle of wine on his way home from the set. Just a simple bottle of wine to pour over dinner with Teagan. He'd already picked up steaks and potatoes and was planning on cooking her a nice meal to enjoy in front of his fireplace.

Checking out, he'd ignored the tabloids lined up in each check out aisle. Nine times out of ten, he didn't even glance at them. He was so used to seeing his face splashed across the covers that it didn't even faze him anymore—but it wasn't his face that gave him pause. It was Teagan’s. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned up and kissed him on a back lot where they had been sure no one could see them.

Clearly, someone had.

Against his better judgment, he'd picked it up and turned to the coordinating article inside. An even larger picture of Teagan laughing and holding his hand stared back at him. He looked so happy in the photo, serene almost—an entirely different side of him than he'd ever seen on display before. For a minute, he'd almost been pleased with the spread. He wanted the world to know the beautiful brunette on his arm was his.

But then he'd read the article.

He'd read how the reporter had uncovered their past—college sweethearts turned sour at the wedding chapel. They put together the timeline of the movie he'd first starred in, stating that was why he'd left her. A lie, for sure, but he couldn't fault them that the timing was shitty at best.

The invasion of privacy was irritating, but it was the next part of the article that sent him reeling. Sources revealed that Teagan's career-ending injury occurred on her drive home from the chapel. She'd been so distraught, she hadn't seen the oncoming car until it was too late. There was a photo of her in a hospital bed, and she looked more dead than alive. How they even got the photo, he didn't know—but there was no mistaking the dates in the corner.

Their wedding date.

At first, he'd thought it was another lie. A fabricated scandal to sell more copies. But when Jason started blowing up his phone, Reed realized there must be truth to it. Jason wouldn't bother him over tabloid theatrics unless it were real.

This was real.

He'd made the worst decision of his life, and she'd almost lost hers in the process.

Reed’s jaw tensed, shallow breaths forcing in and out. He wasn't sure he could handle this. He wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself for what he'd done to her. There was certainly no way in hell she'd forgive him.

So why had she started dating him again?

He swallowed hard when they turned into the parking lot of the bar his friend was at. The only answer seemed to be that she was as angelic as the article described her to be, as wonderful as he had always known her to be. She'd forgiven him for almost taking her life, for leaving her at the altar, for everything he'd ever done to her.

And that was the problem. He didn't deserve that.

He didn't deserve her.

Reed thanked the driver and climbed out of the car. The moment he turned around, flash bulbs went off in his face. He squinted his eyes, trying to see past the dots and haziness now fogging his vision as more cameras clicked.

A reporter got right up in his face. "Reed Scott! Is it true you killed your ex-fiancée?"

"Did you leave the love of your life at the altar?" Another reporter shouted.

"Scott, are you a runaway groom?"

"Why didn't you visit your ex-fiancée at the hospital after she was injured on your wedding day?"

Reed gritted his teeth and stared down the asshole who'd asked the last question. "Get the hell out of my way."

The throng of reporters only pushed closer, and Reed began to back up, trying to figure how to get away from the crowd.

"Tell us, Reed—why did you abandon the woman you claimed to love on your wedding day?" the same reporter asked again.

Reed tried to slip around him, but he blocked his way.

"Did you destroy her career?"

He gritted his teeth, ducking his face from the camera lens and trying once again to push through the crowd of shouting paparazzi. Reed was trapped between the brick wall of the bar and the crowd of cameras when he heard the reporter call out one more time.

"Is it your fault she almost died? Did you even care?"

Reed stopped in his tracks, and before he could even register what was happening, he was on top of the reporter. Whether it was the booze already in his system or the fury at the reporter’s accusation, he’d reaching his boiling point. He slammed the camera into the concrete, shattering it, and then his fists were flying. Reed pummeled the reporter repeatedly while the crowd desperately tried to pull him off.

Someone finally managed to yank him off, but the police were already running up to the crowd.

"He tried to fucking kill me!" the reporter on the ground yelled. “Arrest him!”

The police officer turned to a panting Reed and pulled out his cuffs. "Turn around, sir."

Reed said nothing. Being arrested wasn't anything new, given his previous reputation. He turned around and put his hands behind him as the officer grabbed him roughly and locked his wrists together.

The entire time he was being read his rights, all he could think about was one thing—Teagan was better off without him, and now the whole world knew that.