Chapter 13 Sunlight was strewn across the bed by the time my eyes opened. It was far later than I was meant to wake up, but the light was warm, painting the bed in soft gold and heating the white linen sheets. For a few seconds, I didn't move. I just lay there, tangled in warmth and the scent of Matt's cologne that had seemed to cling to my skin, a pleasant ache between my thighs drawing my mind back to last night. His mouth, his hands, the way he'd held me after, like I was something precious - not a distraction this time, not a mistake. Please still be here. There was no heat against my back, no even breathing to settle the nerves creeping up my neck. I didn't want to find out, didn't want the crash if he'd left. But I couldn't hear anything besides the low hum of the AC. I already knew before my hand reached through the empty sheets. I rolled over, the blankets slipping off my shoulder as I lifted myself onto my elbow, chest tightening as I stared at the empty space beside me. No note. No sound of the shower. No hint of movement in the villa at all. I sat up fully, dread blooming like I'd swallowed down ice. I pulled on the robe hanging over the wicker lounger and cracked the bedroom door. Silence. No voices, no clatter of Margot making coffee, no eggs sizzling in a pan, no little footsteps, no shrieking over T-Rex Time Jam. I padded barefoot down the hall, quickening, heart thudding louder with every step. Margot's door was open, empty. The two single beds in Zach's room were made. The sheets were stripped in Matt's, folded and waiting at the foot of the bed. There was no luggage, no shoes by the door, no food in the fridge. A half-empty pot of coffee sat in the machine, still hot on the hot plate. They left. No message, no goodbye, just gone. My breath hitched once, twice, shaking, wrong. This couldn't be right. He wouldn't-he couldn't just vanish, not after last night, not after how he'd touched me like he meant every second of it, not after how he'd held me in the comedown like he didn't want to let go. My hands shook as I moved back to my room, staring at my clothes strewn about the place, my jaw wobbling. I packed quickly, grabbing out the first casual clothes I could find-a pair of jean shorts and a plain white shirt-and pulled them on, moving on autopilot as I tried to convince myself they were just down at the beach or waiting in the main building. I didn't even know when my flight was. I dragged my suitcase down the path, the wheels making a racket against each slat of the wooden walkway, the air too bright, too hot, too cheery for the hollowness that seemed to swallow everything inside of me like a black hole. A voice stopped me dead in my tracks. "Oh, wow," he said, and I spun on a dime, realizing too late that I hadn't even bothered to look in a mirror after Matt had thoroughly ruined my makeup last night. Ryan stared at me, grinning like he'd just witnessed a comedy sketch of someone slipping and falling down ten flights of stairs, his short-sleeved shirt unbuttoned and blowing in the breeze. His hair was damp, a drink already in his hand, his sunglasses perched on his nose like he didn't have a care in the world. "Didn't think I'd see you this morning." "Ryan," I swallowed, taking a single step back. No, no, fuck, you've lost the edge, Sienna. "Do you-have you seen Matt?" I cringed at myself. I sounded broken. His smile faltered, just slightly, before he blinked at me behind his shades. His head tilted to the side, his grin stretching into something sharp. "You mean your boyfriend?" he asked, drawing the word out like it was a joke. "He's not, uh, he's not in the villa," I said, willing my voice to sound stronger than I felt. "Sorry, I just-I just woke up. Do you know where he is?" He snorted. "Right now? No. But I saw him loading up one of the vans earlier. Him, the kid, the-shit, what's her name? Magpie?" He spoke like he was living on cloud fucking nine, his drink sloshing over his hand before it was even noon. Did he sleep? "They were all packed and gone before sunrise. Saw 'em drive off while I was on a piss break." My stomach dropped through the center of the Earth. Matt had left. Genuinely, fully, really left. He wasn't down at the beach, he wasn't waiting in the main building. He was gone. Ryan watched me, pulling his sunglasses down and off his face with a look that was nothing but smug. "Guess it wasn't that serious, huh?" I didn't answer. I couldn't, I wouldn't - I didn't trust what might come out of my mouth. "Oh, come on," he laughed, taking a step toward me. "Don't look so heartbroken. You know he's a piece of shit, Si. You didn't think he'd actually stick around, did you?" I clenched my teeth and yanked the handle of my suitcase back up, taking a deep breath and trying to convince myself that I didn't care. That I hadn't let myself believe, even for a minute, that it wasn't an act. That maybe the look in his eyes when he'd said you're beautiful wasn't something more than heat and convenience and a pretty dress. "Guess you served your purpose," Ryan added with a shrug, popping his sunglasses back on and taking a sip of his drink. He raised it toward me as he took a step back, then another, and another. "Hope it was worth it." I turned before he could shoot anything else my way, forcing my feet to move toward the main building. I still had Matt's credit card. I fished it out of my bag along with my phone, scrolling through my emails until I found the reservation booking for my flights, biting back the burn that was threatening to rise behind my eyes. Four in the afternoon - just enough time for me to make it back to the Cancun airport if I left in the next thirty minutes. I didn't want to be here a second longer than I needed to be. My bag rattled as I headed for the curb. Out by the driveway of private hire cars, a cluster of the women I'd seen in passing for years huddled in a half-circle, their orange dresses long gone and replaced instead with casual clothes, harsh whispers leaking from the group. "...know, did you hear them last night?" "Oh, my God, I couldn't sleep. Full-on screaming match." "They were down at the beach, I think. Ryan was drunk off his ass." "I swear, they won't last a month." I didn't slow down. It wasn't my problem anymore. Maybe none of this ever was. A driver opened the door to one of the sleek black SUV's I'd arrived in, dark sunglasses reflecting my face back at me, showing me just how much of a fucking wreck I was. "You take card, right?" I asked. He nodded. I jumped in. I sat in the back seat, arms in my lap, eyes on the palm-lined road bleeding by outside the window. Tulum disappeared behind us, the gorgeous, sun-drenched, postcard fantasy charade dissolving, and all I could feel was empty. The driver didn't speak. The only sound was the soft classical music through the speakers and the thrum of tires over uneven pavement, and the occasional thud of the faux white orchid hanging from the review mirror hitting the glass. I hadn't cried. Not yet at least. It was there, building, threatening me with every breath, but I was too angry to let it happen. Too tired, too stupid. I said I wouldn't sleep with him again. I had said it, out loud, with conviction - over and over, had thought it more times than I could count on my fingers and toes combined twice over. And still, somehow, I'd let myself fall into him, let his mouth end up on mine, let his body overwhelm me, let his fingers and his tongue and his cock in places I'd swore I wouldn't, let him look at me like I was need, not a want, not a game, not an act. He'd broken my heart. I'd wanted to believe that it was real because I wanted him. And now he was gone, vanished, not a word, not a goodbye, not a text, not even a fucking thanks for being something warm to put my dick in scribbled on a note. Just gone. My phone vibrated in my lap. I swallowed, not wanting to turn it over, something that felt a lot like disgust crawling up my throat. Because I knew what it would be. It wouldn't be a so sorry, something came up or a thanks. I glanced at the screen. My suspicions were correct. StarStripe Banking: Deposit Received from M. Strathmore. I wanted to throw up. I tapped it, staring at my balance with rippling nausea. $100,242.67. I should've felt relief. The practical part of me, the teacher with an empty savings account that had two hundred forty-two dollars before I'd flown to Tulum, the woman who used to split grocery bills with a man who forgot her birthday, should have cheered. But I didn't even want to celebrate. I sat back in the leather seat, the app still open on my phone, and tried to level my breathing enough not to be sick. Because now last night didn't just feel like a mistake I'd made or a connection he wanted to run from. It felt like a transaction. He'd paid me. Not before, not when I could've at least pretended it was about the arrangement. No, he'd waited-waited until after he'd touched me like I was more than some pawn in a war with his brother, until after I'd let him in, until after I'd let myself believe him. It felt like a slap in the face. You make me feel something. You make me feel real. Human. What a fucking joke. I looked out the window again, my vision blurring, my hands clenching so tight that pain bloomed from where my nails dug into my palm. Of course it meant nothing. He was a Strathmore, and they didn't love. They won. Fuck him. Fuck Ryan. Fuck all of them, everyone that had been there this weekend, save for Zach. But most of all, fuck me for letting him in, for believing anything that came out of his mouth.