coffee with the boss

The hotel bar was your average hotel bar, the kind of place where the clink of ice in a glass and the hushed piano in the corner did most of the talking. Paris after RAW carried a haze. The adrenaline of the show bleeding into the whiskey, the soft murmur of French voices around them, the late-night energy that never really died down. Jey sat slouched against the leather seat, one elbow propped on the table, the other hand curling around a heavy glass. Across from him, Jimmy was already red-eyed, the grin on his face loose, easy.

“To RAW,” Jimmy toasted, lifting his glass. His words slurred but his mood was bulletproof. “Your boy finally made the switch.”

Jey lifted his own glass, clinked it, smirk tugging at his lips. “Bout time, Uce. You was startin’ to look stale over there on SmackDown.”

They laughed, drank, let the burn hit. For a while it was easy, just catching up on the small talk they never got to finish between flights, rehearsals, locker rooms. But eventually Jimmy leaned back, tilted his head, eyes glinting mischief through the liquor fog.

“So, uh,” Jimmy dragged the words, “how’d it feel when she came out, huh?”

Jey didn’t have to ask who he meant. He felt it right away, the way her name wasn’t even spoken but sat between them like an elephant. He shifted in his seat. “It was… somethin’.” He sipped slow. “Brought back memories. Not as bad as I thought, though.”

Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, y’all were toxic for each other.”

Jey cracked a smile at that, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. We were. But she’s the only one I’d trade places with, you feel me? Like… if it had to be anybody, it’d be her.”

Jimmy let out a low whistle. “That deep, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jey’s voice dropped quieter but still loud enough for his older twin to hear him. “We was together, what, three years? Feels longer. We damn near lived in each other’s skin. Every city, every tour bus, every fight, every make-up… all of it.” He rubbed at his beard, gaze distant. “It wasn’t just sex, either. She used to take care of me in ways I ain’t even know I needed.”

Jimmy leaned forward, smirk crooked. “You sure she never pegged you?”

Jey barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Hell nah. But she’d take care of me, massage me, listen to me yap, scratch my beard, give me head until I couldn’t even breathe. Ride me until I couldn’t take no more. She had that kind of grip, Uce. Couldn’t nobody else touch it.” His words trailed, riddled with memory.

Jimmy made a face, half teasing, half impressed. “Man, you soundin’ whipped.”

“Maybe I was.” Jey shrugged, the liquor loosening his tongue, the smoke from someone’s cigar curling through the bar. “She broke me down, built me back up, all in the same night. And when it was good? It was fire. Best I ever had. But when it was bad?” He shook his head slow, eyes dark. “Whole damn world felt like it was ending.”

Jimmy nodded, more serious now, swirling the last of his drink. “So what happened, for real? I mean, yeah, I heard y’all was fightin’, but… you don’t talk about it.”

Jey sat back, eyes unfocused as if watching the past play on the ceiling. “We burned out. Too much heat, not enough air. We was fightin’ over little things, jealous over everything. She couldn’t stand the way I shut down, and I couldn’t stand the way she pushed. One night, after a show, it got loud. We said things we couldn’t take back.” He exhaled slowly. “I walked. She ain’t follow.”

For a moment, the piano in the corner filled the silence.

Jimmy finally sighed. “Guess it makes sense, man. Some loves just… too big for this world.”

“Yeah.” Jey said, his tone almost lost under the clinking glasses, the French laughter and language at the bar. “But I still think ‘bout her. More than I should.”

Jimmy squinted at him, then burst into laughter again, slapping the table. “Man, you sure you ain’t still in love? The way you talkin’, you sound like you wanna write her a poem.”

Jey cracked a grin, shaking his head. “Nah. That door closed. Just… can’t forget what was behind it.”

The drinks kept flowing after that, lighter conversation threading back in, Jimmy making jokes about Paris girls, about the way their accents made him forget his name. But Jey kept drifting, every laugh from his brother pulling him back for a moment, then letting him slip again into memory: the scratch of Rhea’s nails on his beard, the feeling of her on top of him, the way she’d smirk like she owned him because, truth was, she did.

By the time Jimmy stumbled up from the booth, muttering about needing to crash before he puked, Jey was still sitting there with his whiskey glass, half-empty, gaze unfocused. Jimmy clapped him on the shoulder, staggered toward the elevators, gone before Jey could even answer his slurred goodnight.

The bar had thinned out, just a few stragglers left nursing their nightcaps. Jey leaned back into the booth, the leather creaking under his weight, and pulled his phone from his pocket. His thumb hesitated for a second before swiping right, past his messages, past his apps, to the hidden folder. He held the screen up, the blue glow catching his face, and Face ID unlocked without hesitation.

Hundreds of photos and videos. Every memory he swore he deleted but never could. He scrolled slow at first, smiling when the funny ones popped up, Rhea mid-bite of a burger, her tongue out at the camera, both of them laughing so hard the picture blurred.

Another of her curled on his couch back home, tangled up with his dogs like she belonged there, which she did.

His grin softened at the serious ones, her sitting in the car, chin resting in her hand, staring at him like she could see all the way through him.

Her flicking off the camera, middle finger raised but the corners of her mouth betraying a smirk.

Then it got hot. His chest tightened as he kept swiping, and the images shifted: mornings in bed, half-awake, her lips pressed to his neck while his eyes were still closed, him kissing across her chest just to make her groan awake. The grainy snapshots of them lost under sheets, skin on skin, so familiar it made his throat dry.

The folder always got him, every damn time. One swipe and she was on her knees, eyeliner smudged, hair wild, looking up at him like he was the only man alive with his dick in her mouth. Another swipe and him eating her pussy, his knees burning on the hotel carpet, tongue desperate, her hand clutching his mullet like she was keeping him anchored. Another one of her riding him, sweat beading on both of them, his hands locked on her hips like he’d never let go. Another one of her bent over, the tattoo she had got for him on her back glowing in the lamplight (a beautiful palm mini palm tree) with his handprint painted red across her ass.

His thumb froze.

There it was. That one video.

Jey’s pulse ticked faster as he tapped it, lowering the volume down to a whisper just in case anyone walked by. The screen lit up, shaky at first before steadying. He remembered propping the phone on the nightstand in that hotel in Houston. He remembered how much she wanted him to keep it rolling.

The sound was muffled but he knew every word and every moan. Her voice breathless, whispering how much she loved him. And his voice back, rough, strained, telling her she was his, punctuated by the slap of skin and the creak of the mattress.

Onscreen, he was moving like a man possessed, thrusting like his life depended on it. Her head tilted back, eyes soft even when her mouth dropped open in a moan. She reached up, dragging her nails down his back, whispering it again “I love you” and he felt it just as sharp now as he had then.

Then her voice caught, sounding desperate. “You’re gonna make me cum, Josh.”

Jey sighed in the booth, thumb hovering over pause but never pressing it. His chest ached in a way the whiskey couldn’t numb. Memories. That’s all they were now. Untouchable, burned into his phone, burned into him.

He killed the screen, locked his phone, slid it back into his pocket. No point torturing himself further. With a grunt he waved the bartender over, slapped his card down, and paid his bill. The tip was generous because Paris had treated him alright tonight.

The hallway outside the bar was empty, the carpet slightly scuffing under his shoes as he walked, the buzz in his body massive now, pulling at his balance. He found the elevators, pressed the button, leaned back against the cool wall and waited. When the doors slid open, he stumbled in, pressed seven, and let his eyes shut for just a second.

The ding came too quick. He stepped out with his vision tilting. Room number, room number… he squinted down the hall, counting doors, trying not to veer too far off course. That’s when he felt it, the bump of another body against his.

He looked up.

Thin tank top. Sleep shorts that barely covered anything. Hair messy from bed. An ice bucket balanced against her hip.

Rhea.

The sight hit him harder than the whiskey.

Her tank top was so thin it was damn near see-through under the hallway lights, clinging to her chest in a way that made it impossible not to notice the press of her piercings. He had always loved those.

His throat tightened at the memory of the first time he saw them: bright silver bars he’d helped her pick out on a date at Spencer’s, her laughing while he pretended to be serious about which ones would look best. He remembered the night she came home with the custom pair, the ones with “Josh” etched on them, the ‘O’ replaced by her nipple. She’d stood in the doorway, smirking, tugging her shirt down to show him. His name, right there on her body, branded in a way no tattoo could match. He’d nearly lost his mind.

Caught in the flood of memory, Jey didn’t realize he was staring too long until she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Hey,” Rhea said, voice low but sharp. “You okay? You drunk or something?”

Jey swallowed, nodded once. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He turned, tried to keep walking, but his balance betrayed him. His shoulder clipped the wall, his foot dragged, and he almost went down.

“Josh.” Her voice softened. She caught his arm before he could protest. “Hold on. Come on. Lemme just take you to my room.”

He wanted to argue, to say he wasn’t that far gone, but the truth hit him when his head swam and his stomach lurched. He let her guide him down the hall.

Her room door opened, light spilling into the hallway. He stepped inside and froze. One bed. A couch. Her bag, half-open on the floor, clothes spilling out, a brand-new Prada bag resting on the chair with her labubus keychain dangling from the strap.

It sucker-punched him, seeing it. He remembered buying her her very first labubus, the way she’d giggled and named it Joshy because it reminded her of him.

He also remembered the day he surprised her with her first Prada bag, watching her eyes go wide like she couldn’t believe he’d done it. She had thrown it down on the couch, grabbed him by the shirt, and fucked him right there in the middle of their living room, swearing she’d pay him back for spoiling her.

“Sit,” Rhea said, pulling him from the reminiscing. She nudged him toward the couch. Jey dropped down, his head sinking back against the cushion. She set the ice bucket on the coffee table, the clink echoing in the quiet room.

She grabbed a pillow, fluffed it quick, and propped it behind him. Then she crossed the room toward the hallway closet. Jey’s gaze followed, unashamed. The tank top rode up as she reached for the shelf, exposing the pale line of her stomach, the dip of her waist. He had kissed every inch of that skin.

She pulled out a blanket, turned, and caught him staring. She didn’t say anything, just walked back and draped it over his lap. “Here,” she said, softer now.

Jey adjusted it, his fingers brushing hers briefly, the contact sparking through him like it always did.

“What time’s your flight tomorrow?” she asked.

“Nine,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Okay. Mine’s not until eleven, so I’ll set an alarm for six. That’ll give you time to sober up, shower, get yourself together.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Still showin’ up hours early to the damn airport, huh?”

Rhea smiled faintly, the corner of her lip tugging up. “Old habits.”

Jey leaned back into the couch, blanket tucked under his arm, and looked at her for a long second. She was standing there, bare-faced, tank top loose, hair messy from bed, and she was still the most dangerous woman he’d ever known.

“Goodnight, Josh,” she said quietly, turning toward the bedroom.

The sound of his name from her mouth sat heavy in his chest. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and let the blanket pull him down into the couch, his last sight of her the sway of her hips disappearing into the shadows of the room.

–

Jey’s eyes opened to darkness and the unfamiliar weight of silence. The ceiling above him wasn’t his. The gold trim of the curtains wasn’t his. The blanket draped over his body smelled faintly like her perfume. He blinked until the blur settled, throat dry, head pounding from the whiskey still in his blood.

He sat up slow, rubbed his face, cursed under his breath. His phone lit when he grabbed it from the coffee table. 4:13 A.M.

“Damn,” he muttered, his mouth cotton-dry.

He set the phone down, pulled the blanket back and realized he was hard. Rock hard. He groaned low, shaking his head like it would help. “Not tonight,” he whispered to himself, but his body wasn’t listening.

When he looked up, he saw her.

Rhea was sprawled across the bed, the moonlight from the balcony cutting across her back. The sheets had slipped down low, tangled around her waist, leaving her shoulders bare. Her hair spilled across the pillow, catching in silver streaks under the glow. And through the glass doors behind her, the Eiffel Tower lit the skyline, blinking against the night. Paris had always been beautiful, but right then it didn’t hold a candle to her.

Something in him snapped.

Jey pushed the blanket off, stood, and steadied himself before he made his way toward the bed. Each step felt weighty than the last, but his chest pulled him forward, like there was no other choice. He eased onto the edge of the mattress, slow enough not to wake her. The sheets dipped under his weight.

He just wanted to kiss her. Touch her. Just one more time.

Rhea stirred slightly, a sound leaving her throat, but she didn’t wake. Her breathing evened out again, deep and steady, soft snores breaking the silence.

Jey leaned down, close enough that his nose brushed her hair. He inhaled, and the scent hit him, salted caramel. His favorite. She’d been wearing it since the first time he kissed her, since the first time she pressed her head into his chest and told him she wasn’t going anywhere. He couldn’t believe she still hadn’t changed it.

He felt his heart thumping against his ribs. He closed his eyes, breathed it in again, and pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. Just a soft kiss. Just enough to taste her skin, to feel her.

Memories rushed in, unstoppable. How she used to laugh when he kissed her neck too much, swatting him away only to pull him back seconds later. How she’d whisper his name against the dark. How her body would arch into him, demanding more, always more.

His hand drifted down, hovering near her hip. That’s when he noticed, her shorts were gone. The tank top clung to her, riding up just enough to expose the thin strap of her underwear. His fingers flexed, itching to trace over her, to remind himself what it felt like to have her trembling under his touch.

Jey swallowed hard, kissed her neck again, lingering longer this time. His lips dragged against her skin slowly. He missed this. Missed her. Missed everything they used to be when it was just them, no noise, no cameras, no world.

Her body shifted faintly, a small sigh leaving her lips, but she stayed asleep. Jey froze, listening, waiting, his pulse pounding in his ears. When her breathing steadied again, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, fighting with himself, wanting and knowing he shouldn’t.

But God, he missed her.

Jey kissed her neck again, lips dragging against the curve, and his hand slid lower, under the waistband of her underwear. The heat of her pussy made his breath catch. He rubbed gently at first, testing, but when her hips shifted in her sleep, he pressed deeper, circling with just enough pressure to pull a sound from her throat.

It wasn’t words.. just a low, breathy noise, half sigh, half moan. It undid him.

He kissed harder, mouth moving against her skin, tongue brushing where her pulse throbbed. His fingers slipped further, teasing, dipping just enough to feel her clench around him when he slid a finger inside.

Her body jerked awake at the sudden thrust. She gasped, turning against the pillow, and her eyes fluttered open.

“Jey—” her voice was confused, “what are you doing?”

He froze for half a second, eyes searching hers in the darkness. His lips brushed her ear when he whispered, “I missed you.”

Rhea’s brows furrowed, her chest rising and falling against the sheets. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Jey murmured, his finger still moving inside her, curling slowly and intentionally. He pressed another kiss to her jaw, his beard scraping her skin. “Just let me have you… one more time.”

Her hand shot down to catch his wrist but instead of pulling him away, she hesitated. Her grip tightened, and she shifted her hips, meeting the rhythm he set. A groan left her lips despite herself, head tipping back against the pillow.

Jey’s lips parted against her throat, teeth grazing lightly before he sucked at her skin, desperate to leave a mark. His finger thrust deeper, his thumb brushing where she was most sensitive. “See?” he whispered, rough with yearning. “Your body remembers me, babe.”

Her breath stuttered, and for a heartbeat she looked at him like she wanted to shove him off. But then her thighs parted a little more, her chest arching up into him. “You shouldn’t,” she muttered, though it came out shaky, like a warning she didn’t believe herself.

Jey kissed her again, trailing up to her ear, his words pressing against her skin. “You know I’m the only one who can do this to you. The only one who knows you like this.” He curled his finger again, coaxing another gasp from her. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Rhea’s hand loosened on his wrist. Her nails dug into his forearm instead, urging him on. Her legs shifted, pressing against his thigh, moving in rhythm with him now.

Jey’s heart pounded, his cock aching against the sheets, but he held the pace, savoring the way she was unraveling. Every sound she made, the catch of her breath, the soft moan she tried to swallow, carved into him.

“Josh,” she whispered finally, voice breaking on his name.

He closed his eyes at the sound, forehead pressing against hers. “Yeah, baby. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

Jey slid another finger inside, stretching her, his pace doubling as he pressed kisses against her jaw. “Turn on the light,” he whispered. “I wanna see you.”

Her hand fumbled clumsily along the nightstand, searching in the dark until her fingers found the lamp switch. The light spilled across the bed, painting her skin in gold. Jey looked down at her, chest tight, eyes hungry.

“There’s my baby,” he said, smiling at the sound of her breath increasing. He doubled his efforts, fingers working her harder, thumb circling with precision. Rhea scooted up into her pillow, back arching, the sheet twisting around her legs as she fought not to cry out too loud.

“Can you still squirt for me?” he asked, his tone daring, commanding.

She bit her lip and nodded.

“Do it,” Jey growled, his forehead pressed against hers, eyes locked.

Her body gave way under his touch, shuddering as her release spilled over his hand. The sheets dampened, the sound of it wet in the quiet room, her moan breaking through the Paris night. Jey’s lips parted, a low groan leaving him, satisfaction in his chest. He slowed only when her body convulsed and trembled against him, letting her ride it out until her hips sagged into the bed.

Once her high subsided, Rhea shoved his hand away, breath ragged, and rolled from under him. She sat up on the edge of the bed, fixing her underwear back into place, her hair falling in messy strands around her face.

“You need to leave,” she said, scared.

Jey pushed up on his elbows, staring at her, chest rising and falling heavy. “No. Don’t do this.”

“We can’t, Josh.” She stood, pulling her tank top down, trying to gather herself, backing away from the man she once would kill for. “We are not good for each other. You know that.”

Jey swung his legs off the bed, stood, and crossed the room in two strides. “Baby, it’s always been you.” His true intentions showing something deeper than lust. “I love you. I ain’t never come close to loving anybody else.”

Rhea’s mouth open and closed, but her eyes wavered.

“You have my fucking soul, Rhea.” Jey’s voice rose, his hand gesturing toward his ankle. “I still got ‘Demi’ tatted on me. Right here. You know I never covered it. And I know you still got ‘Josh’ inked in that little palm tree on your backside.”

She looked away.

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t look away. Say it to my face.”

“Jey…” she whispered, but her eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

“Say it to my face, Demi.” His hand caught her chin, firm but gentle, pulling her to look at him.

She couldn’t reach his eyes.

Jey closed the distance and kissed her, deep and desperate, pouring every ounce of memory and ache into her mouth. She fought for half a second before melting into him, the taste too familiar to deny. His hands slid over her back, pulling her flush against his chest.

He walked her backward, lips never leaving hers, until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. She fell with a soft gasp, and he followed, pulling the blanket over them, cocooning her in that same fortress of heat she had always loved.

“Look me in my eyes,” Jey said, his forehead pressed to hers, eyes burning into her. “Look me in my eyes and tell me we can’t be together.”

Rhea’s lips trembled. She opened her mouth, but no words came.

“Say it,” he demanded.

She still couldn’t.

Jey’s hands moved fast, sliding down, pushing her underwear aside. His cock freed in the same motion, aching to be swallowed by her. He didn’t wait, didn’t hesitate. He thrust into her in one deep, claiming stroke.

Rhea gasped, her head falling back into the pillow, her nails clawing at his back.

“Say it,” Jey growled against her mouth, hips slamming into hers, each thrust harder, deeper, demanding.

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a whimper, her body betraying her, hips meeting his with every drive.

“Say it,” he repeated, biting at her throat, thrusting like it was the only way to make her remember.

She still could fucking not.

The blanket wrapped around them had made the room feel smaller, hotter, as if the rest of the world had vanished. Only the sound of their bodies colliding, the ragged breaths, the muffled moans pressed against the fabric of the sheets existed now. Jey thrust harder, each snap of his hips driving rougher, his teeth clenched as he buried his face against her neck.

“Say it,” he demanded again, though his voice was breaking, more plea than command.

Rhea tried... her lips parting, a gasp spilling out, but nothing more. Her nails dug into his shoulders, dragging red lines down his back as if to anchor herself against the tide pulling her under.

Jey groaned into her skin, the sound primal, his rhythm quickening. He felt her legs trembling against his hips, felt the resistance in her thighs until finally, finally she gave in. Her knees fell open wider, granting him more access.

The shift nearly undid him.

“Fuck,” he growled, pulling her legs up, hooking them over his arms, pressing her into that angle he knew too well. The one that always let him sink so deep she swore she felt him in her stomach. The one that used to leave them staring at pregnancy tests in cramped bathrooms, half terrified, half thrilled.

Her body arched off the mattress as he drove into her, the pressure unbearable, perfect. “Josh,” she gasped, her voice somewhere between surrender and warning.

His eyes locked onto hers, wild, glassy, hungry. “Yeah, baby. That’s me. Always me.”

Her head tilted back, the blanket slipping from her shoulder, exposing skin that glowed under the lamplight. Jey used his hips to grind, letting him reach the spot that always broke her down. And when he found it, she cried out, the sound muffled by his kiss as his mouth claimed hers.

“You remember this, huh?” he spoke against her lips, pulling back only enough to see the way her face twisted in pleasure. “This the one that always got us in trouble. Got you thinkin’ you might be carryin’ me every damn month.”

Her nails clutched his mullet, yanking his head down, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. She hated how right he was. Hated how her body was betraying her, giving itself over to the same rhythm it always craved.

Jey hooked her legs tighter, pressing his chest to hers, his thrusts relentless. He kissed her again, desperate, his beard scraping her chin, their tongues clashing like they were fighting and fucking at the same time.

“Can’t nobody else touch you like this,” he panted, sweat beading at his temple, dripping down his jaw. “Nobody else ever made you this wet. Look at me, Demi. Look at me.”

Her eyes met his and she couldn’t deny it. Her body trembled beneath him, her legs tightening around his arms, pulling him deeper, begging without words.

“Say you don’t want this,” he whispered, breath hot against her mouth, his thrusts pounding into her so deep she gasped each time. “Say it and I’ll stop.”

Her answer came in the way her hips lifted to meet his, in the broken moan of his name that spilled from her lips, in the way her nails dug crescent moons into his back as if to brand him there.

Jey groaned low, almost broken, kissing her with everything he had left. His pace grew frantic, the sound of their bodies echoing inside the blanket cocoon, like a storm they couldn’t escape.

Jey’s thrusts grew frantic, his breath ragged against her lips, his forehead pressed to hers. “I’m gonna cum in you,” he groaned, every word breaking with the force of his hips driving into her.

Her eyes snapped wide, panic threading through her moans. “No—we can’t,” she gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m not on birth control anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Jey growled, almost a snarl. His hips slammed harder, pinning her against the mattress. “I want you to have my baby.”

“Josh,” she whimpered, torn between reason and the way her body was unraveling under him. “Please—don’t.”

His hand cupped her jaw, forcing her eyes back to his. His thumb stroked her cheek, his expression was pleading. “I love you, baby. I’m gonna marry you before we leave here. You hear me? Before we leave Paris, you’re mine again.”

Her head fell back, the words colliding with the way he hit that spot inside her again and again. “Josh, I’m—” she could barely speak, “—I’m gonna… cum.”

“Do it with me,” he begged, his thrusts losing rhythm as his control slipped. “Do it with me, baby. Let me give you our baby.”

Her thighs trembled, clamping around his waist, her hips jerking to meet his. “I… I can’t hold on much longer.” The sounds spilling from her were helpless. “It’s so good…"

“Have my baby, Rhea,” Jey groaned, his mouth crashing onto hers, their teeth clashing, breath mixing hot and desperate.

Something shifted inside her, that deep angle that always undid her, and she spiraled into it. Her moans turned slurred, pleasure-drunk, her body moving on instinct more than thought.

“I wanna—” she choked out, eyes rolling back, fingers clutching his mullet.

“Say it, Rhea,” Jey demanded, his thrusts still punishing. His teeth scraped her throat. “Say it for Daddy.”

Her head tipped back, the words tearing from her chest like confession. “I wanna have your baby.”

The sound broke him. Jey roared into her neck, his hips snapping, thrusting as deep as he could go, losing himself completely in her surrender. She convulsed beneath him, body gripping his, pulling him under with her.

The cocoon of blankets muffled their cries, trapping the sound of their climax, trapping them in the only truth that ever mattered: no matter how toxic, how impossible, they couldn’t let each other go.

Jey’s chest heaved against hers, sweat dampening the sheets. He reached out blindly, fingers brushing the nightstand until he found the switch. The lamp clicked off, plunging them back into the soft glow of the moon.

He pulled the blanket tighter around them, holding her close, lips brushing her temple as he whispered, “I’ll marry you, baby. Before we leave here, you’ll be mine again. No more running. No more letting go. I’ll take care of you forever, I swear it.”

Rhea lay still, silent tears slipping down into her hairline. She didn’t answer, couldn’t. His promises pressed against her chest heavier than his body.

Jey’s breath slowed, his words turning slurred as sleep pulled at him. “You’re my forever… Demi…”

—

Within minutes, he was gone, asleep in the cocoon he’d made around her. Rhea stared up at the ceiling, tears sliding down her cheeks soundless in the dark.

The alarm on Jey’s phone blared at six sharp, vibrating against the nightstand. He groaned, reaching out from under the blanket cocoon to silence it, his body heavy, sore in all the ways he loved. He reached to pull her closer, ready to bury his face back into her hair.

But the space beside him was empty.

His eyes shot open. The bed was cold, the sheets smoothed as if she had never been there. He sat up too quickly, head pounding from the whiskey, heart pounding harder. The room was stripped of her, no open bag on the chair, no Prada purse, no clothes scattered across the floor.

Everything was gone.

On the nightstand, under the soft glow of the early Paris sunrise, sat a folded piece of paper. His name written across the front in her handwriting.

He snatched it up with trembling hands, thumb dragging across the letters before he forced himself to open it.

Josh,

We can’t do this. Not again. Last night was a mistake, no matter how much it felt like home. You and I both know we’re not good for each other. We burn too hot, and we always end up in ashes.

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. Please don’t come looking for me. When I get back to the States, I’ll take a plan B, so you don’t have to worry about last night. I promise I’ll handle it.

When we see each other at work, I beg you to be civil. Don’t make this harder than it already is. If, someday, I decide to be with someone else… I need you to try to be happy for me. Even if it kills you, even if it kills me. We owe each other at least that much.

You’ll always be a part of me. But we can’t keep tearing ourselves apart just to prove we still fit.

—Demi

Jey read the words over and over until the paper blurred. His chest felt hollow, the promises he whispered just hours ago echoing back at him like a curse. The Eiffel Tower blinked through the window, mocking in its perfection.

The letter slipped from his hand, falling to the sheets where she had been.

And that’s where it ended.