JACOB’S POV

I’ve rehearsed this moment a hundred times in my head.

Every version of it ends badly.

But tonight…

there’s no script left to hide behind.

No excuses, no distractions, no pretending that the truth isn’t clawing its way up my chest.

Vienna sits across from me in my apartment’s living room, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the glow from the small lamp turning her hair gold. She looks calm—too calm—like she already knows what I’m about to say. Maybe she does. She’s always been sharper than people give her credit for.

“Jacob,” she murmurs, eyes not quite meeting mine, “you asked me to come over at...