Bill got up from his station and ran to the door, but I shook my head. “I can handle this, Bill.”

I didn’t have time to call an Uber. I had to escape by foot, at least until I got rid of Hunter.

“Sailor.” Hunter spun me by my injured shoulder. His touch felt like fire. It burned through me, and I nearly yelped. He was still shirtless.

“Don’t touch me!” I clawed at his skin desperately, managing to leave bloody scratches on his forearm.

He ignored them. “It’s not what it looks like.” He raised his hands in defense.

I heard commotion around us, but nothing registered other than the white-hot anger coursing through my body.

“You’d say that, wouldn’t you, considering I hold your future in my hands.” I started taking the stairs down, but Hunter yanked me back up, bringing me to his chest and enveloping me in a fierce hug. I tried to kick his nuts. He grabbed my knee, pushing it aside, knotting my leg around him. He cupped my face, shielding me from sight, and whispered into my ear, “Don’t look up, baby.”

I looked up disobediently, feeling an ugly, taunting smile mar my face. I wanted to hurt him back. What I saw was close to a dozen photographers—paparazzi, no doubt—taking photos of us. The flashes felt like lashes, each catcall and muffled laugh a beating to my soul.

Click. Click. Click.

Me, heartbroken and distraught.

Click. Click. Click.

Him, half-naked and guilty.

I nearly collapsed with the adrenaline buzzing through me, but Hunter dragged me back into the club and shut the door. The photographers followed him to the threshold, but didn’t get inside.

“Let go of me,” I roared as Hunter hoisted me up by my midriff, my back pressed against his hard chest, and pulled me to the back hallway, kicking and screaming, where they couldn’t see us. I wondered where Lana was, how much pleasure she took from this.

Infinite amounts.

Hunter pinned me to the wall, breathing in my face. His breath smelled like a woman, of a cloying, sweet perfume and hints of watermelon lip gloss. His lips had some glitter residue. My body shook with so much anger, betrayal, and despair, the first thing I did when he released me was slap his cheek with all the force I still had in me. His face flew in the other direction, and he closed his eyes, drawing a calming breath, his nostrils flaring.

“Aingeal dian.”

“Call me that name one more time, and I’ll gouge your eye out with one of my arrows.”

“We’ve been set up. Somebody called the photographers. Somebody wanted them to see me like this. You like that.”

“And of course, you, forever the easy prey where a pretty woman is concerned, rose to the occasion of being seduced,” I exclaimed theatrically, my uncontrolled rage turning into bitter sarcasm. “Poor Hunter Fitzpatrick. So close to his family’s fortune, yet so, so far.”

“I didn’t…” he started, but I pushed him away. He couldn’t deny what I’d just seen with my own eyes.

“Save me the excuses and leave.”

Junsu came running through the corridor, thunder in his eyes.

“Get away from her!” he barked like a rabid dog, shaking his fist in the air. He possessed a vitality I hadn’t seen in him for months. “I kick your ass!”

Hunter lifted his hands, looking between the two of us, his deep breaths contracting his abs into a tight six pack.

“Sailor,” Hunter murmured under his breath. “I have some things I need to tell you, and we need to have this conversation alone.”

“This is the last time I’m going to repeat myself.” I lifted my finger to Hunter. “We’re done forever. Don’t talk to me. Don’t approach me. I’ll talk to your dad about the fine print regarding our…arrangement.” I kept it vague, as if I hadn’t told Junsu all the details. “I’ll send my dad and Sam to pick up my stuff from the apartment.”

With that, I bolted back toward the door, pushing through it with the speed of a bullet. Some of the photographers were still loitering around, smoking and looking at their phones. As soon as I burst out, they picked their cameras up and started chasing me.

I caught sight of Lana standing in the corner of the parking lot, fully dressed in a chic off-shoulder pink sweater, skinny jeans, and riding boots, giving an interview to a sports reporter, addressing the rumors about her and her new beau, Hunter Fitzpatrick.

“It’s still the early days.” She laughed throatily, making a show of flipping her hair. “And as you can see, unfortunately, there’s a lot of interest from unwanted female admirers.”

The reporters burst out laughing, nodding enthusiastically.

Me. I was the admirer. The stalker. The weird idiot who had a public meltdown when she found them. The need to throttle Lana made my fingertips burn.

All because of one mistake. One accident. One tragedy that had linked Lana and me together forever.

I knew Hunter was being escorted out of the club by security under Junsu’s supervision, and that my trainer would understand why I couldn’t stay, so I started running. I put one foot in front of the other until I hit a good pace. My mother was a runner. I’d inherited my lithe, athletic legs from her. Running relatively long distances, even without practice, wasn’t a problem.

It was when the wind hit my face that I realized I was crying. The heat of my tears against my ice-cold cheeks made my face feel numb. My tears flew behind me as I sliced through the air, running faster, toward downtown. I’d make a phone call after I dodged the photographers. First, I had to lose them.