Chapter 2

It was past eleven when we got home.

I walked into the bedroom and started sorting through my things.

Ashton emerged from the shower and noticed my vanity was conspicuously empty.

He frowned. "Rowan. I'm in Paris next month. Make me a list of whatever you want me to bring back."

I didn't miss a beat. "Don't bother. I don't need anything."

I'd be gone in a matter of days. Why waste breath.

He tossed his towel hard onto the bed and gave me an icy look.

"So because I brought you the wrong pastries, you're going to give me the silent treatment for the rest of the night. Is that it?"

I opened my mouth to say I wasn't angry.

He cut me off with a short, derisive laugh.

"You know I hate women who play games. Rowan, you're crossing a line."

He walked into the study and slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

Seven years of this. Seven years of him starting cold wars. Seven years of me knocking on the door, begging to make up.

This time, I really didn't care.

He stayed in that study all night. No knock ever came.