For all of his lying, Ambrose would be a hard one to get over. Looking at Liam’s little golden head of hair and big blue eyes kept making her wonder what her children with Ambrose would have been like. She’d been so close to that. A future. A family. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was something. And it would have been hers.

Now she had no boyfriend, no play partner, no Dom, no Master. Though she’d only ever worn a generic play collar, somehow her neck felt empty and cold. She’d been owned and loved, she’d tasted that bond, and now her world had gone suddenly gray.

She couldn’t imagine there was anything more painful in the world than losing your Master.

Maybe it hadn’t been official, but it might as well have been. It meant something. He meant something.

That she’d felt it so strongly, been so in love, only made the betrayal hurt more. Last night, she’d driven home through blurry tears and had to pull over twice until she calmed down. He’d been calling and texting all night and day, and she’d finally turned her phone off, unable to handle seeing his name without bursting into fresh tears.

But enough was enough. He kept trying to explain himself, but he didn’t understand that was only making it worse. He was proving exactly what she’d said—he was just like every other rich, selfish asshole. Ambrose wanted what he wanted, and he’d do anything to get it.

And she’d taken him for a Dom. Instead, he was just a spoiled liar.

“So . . .” Jimmy’s voice pulled her attention. His brow creased as he tilted his head in confusion. “You broke up with him because he’s rich?”

“Because he lied about being rich.”

His expression remained bewildered.

“Being rich is enough though. Rich people are entitled, selfish, and inconsiderate,” she spouted off as if she’d said it a hundred times before. Maybe she had, but this time the sweeping generalization embarrassed her as it came from her mouth. Was Ambrose really all of those things? As a second thought, she looked at Jimmy and asked, “You’re not rich, are you?”

“No.” He laughed. “I’m a plumber.”

Jimmy the Plumber. A divorcé with a pickup truck, a trailer home, and a six-year-old kid he shared custody of. But somehow a perfect match for her mom. She always went for humble and ordinary. Everly had assumed she’d do the same, but somehow she’d ended up with the enemy. She snorted at herself. Sleeping with the enemy.

“Listen, honey.” Her mom’s voice softened. “I know our family and the girls at school were mean to you when you were a kid, but you gotta forgive them and get over that shit.” Her gaze shot to Liam, who was happily tasting each kind of cookie. “Uh, stuff.”

“I’m over it,” she replied, suddenly grumpy.

“Clearly not, if it made you break up with a perfectly good guy.”

“Ugh.” She threw her hands in the air. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not just that he’s rich. It’s that he lied. For months! That’s acceptable to you? He said he loved me with this hanging over his head. He was okay with that. Doesn’t that say something about him as a person?”

“Did he say sorry?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes. But . . .”

“Sounds like he wasn’t okay with it, then.”

He hadn’t just apologized—he’d groveled and begged for forgiveness. But if she gave in, what did that make her? A doormat. Gullible. She was a sub but certainly not a sucker.

“Let me tell you something about guys,” Jimmy added. “We’re kinda stupid.”

She snorted.

“Seriously. When guys fall in love, it short-circuits their brains. They become drooling Neanderthals and do some really stupid things they regret later. It doesn’t surprise me that a guy could fall for a girl and let a lie get away from him like this. He was probably scared to tell you. Afraid of this exact scenario.”

That was what Ambrose had told her. For a long moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She’d thought he’d fallen for her as much as she had for him, but after yesterday, she wasn’t sure anymore. It seemed more like she’d been a conquest. She was just another thing for him to conquer and make his. But could Jimmy be right that this was all one big accident? A messy, jumbled-up clusterfuck, but maybe not the end of the world?

Frustrated, she snapped, “Why are you people defending him? You’re supposed to be on my side.”

Her mom gave her a sympathetic smile. “I am, sweetheart. Why do you think I made so much dessert?”

*   *   *

A few weeks later, her body felt old and used, and not just because she’d picked up more hours at work to keep herself busy. Every morning, she woke up happy, in love with Ambrose. Then she remembered what happened. It was like having her heart ripped away, again and again.

She was exhausted.

Between working her ass off and planning the big sit-in, her eyes were constantly drooping and her feet always ached. But at least she felt something. It was better than the hollowness that came when she was alone in her apartment.

“You okay, Ev?” Chloe asked, pulling her from her pity party.

She must have looked as bad as she felt. But she threw Chloe a shaky smile anyway. “Fine.” She pretended she’d been scanning the crowd. “I can’t believe how many people are here.”

Her best guess was around fifty people had come to the sit-in. Far more than Everly had thought—more than anyone at Community Cares had been prepared for. They were running out of hot chocolate.

City Council was planning to shut down the soup kitchen because so many neighborhood businesses had complained about it. Community Cares had been staging the sit-in for the last two weeks. She’d poured herself into the project, trying to feel passionate about something instead of like a zombie, but it wasn’t working yet.

She’d visited each business and asked them to reconsider their complaints. Surely, a soup kitchen next door wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t like crime had gone up. But they’d said having poor people milling around outside was making their patrons uncomfortable, even though no one was panhandling or anything.

“I guess more people care than we thought,” Chloe said, looking over the crowd.

Everly’s phone vibrated in her pocket. The only reason she checked the caller was to be sure it wasn’t her boss. As usual, it was Ambrose. She rejected the call, ignoring the big lump in her throat, then focused on her task.

Chloe and Max frowned at her sympathetically. Ugh. The pitying looks were getting tiresome. She needed to invest in better makeup if this was going to continue.

“It was him again, huh?” Max asked.

She didn’t bother to answer.

Chloe and Max sighed at each other, then Chloe took a step closer. “You need to talk to him.”

“Shut up.” She avoided eye contact and pretended there was something interesting going on at the hot chocolate stand.

“You haven’t been yourself,” Max said. “We’re worried about you.”

Ignoring them, she tried to smile at other protesters, but they mostly looked afraid of her.

“You might feel better if you just talked to him,” Chloe added. “At least get some closure.”

With a big sigh, she turned to them. “I will talk to him. Eventually. I just needed a little space and time. When I’m ready, we’ll talk and maybe even stay friends.” Fat chance. “Now will you quit bugging me about it?”

Through suspicious looks, they nodded.

“Thank you.” She didn’t cry anymore. The well of tears had dried up. Now she fought the numb haze that was her life.

It was hard. Nothing felt right, tasted good, seemed funny anymore. It was like everything good had left when Ambrose had. Well, when she’d left him. How could she go on like this?

It wasn’t a lie that she planned to talk to him. She was working up the strength and the right words. Friendship was out of the question—it hurt too much just looking at his picture when it popped up on his contact info when he called.