“Dulcie’s back, by the way,” he says casually. “She’s hosting a gala this weekend and wants you there.”
I blink slowly. Dulcie wants me there? After everything I just heard?
“She said she misses you,” he adds, like poison laced with sugar. “You two have been distant lately, haven’t you? She just wants things to go back to normal.”
Normal?
I nearly laugh. He’s testing me. Manipulating the narrative already—trying to gaslight me into thinking Dulcie and I just drifted apart… not that she stabbed me in the back.
I nod. What else can I do? Say no? He’ll twist it into some emotional guilt trap.
“Sure,” I whisper.
His eyes light up like he’s just won again. He steps closer, tries to kiss me—but I turn my face at the last second, his lips brushing my cheek.
“I’m exhausted,” I say, flat.
He studies me for a second, something calculating flickering behind his perfect smile. But he doesn’t push. Just hums, then pulls me into his arms.
“You’ll see,” he murmurs, stroking my hair. “This is all for us.”
I lie there, stiff in his arms, staring at the ceiling. His breath evens out as he drifts off.
And I swear to God—I will never forget this moment.
You used me, Reagan.
You played me.