409 Friends Are Overrated

(Jayden)

The three-hour flight goes by in a blur. I suspect I slept through most of it, lost in a drunken haze, but I can’t be sure. My head is pounding, a steady, merciless throb that matches the ache in my chest.

The alcohol dulled the fire, but it’s like trying to put out a forest blaze with a glass of water. It’s only made the edges of my grief sharper, more cutting.

The jet touches down in London, and I force myself upright, stumbling slightly as I exit. My vision swims, and I grab my briefcase just to have something solid to hold onto.

The fight with Lance replays in my mind, every punch, every accusation. And Winona’s face—her eyes wide with shock, then hurt. The memory crushes me like a boulder, heavy and unrelenting.

Viktor is waiting. Of course he is. He’s leaning against a sleek black SUV, arms crossed, his expression as impassive as ever. His eyes narrow as he watches me stagger down the steps of the jet.

He pushes off from the car with that same unshakeable authority he a