I don't remember walking out of his room.

One second, he's telling me to "get out" like I'm the villain in his tragic little opera, and the next, I'm standing in the elevator, fists clenched, teeth grinding, heartbeat screaming louder than my thoughts.

Julian waits by the doors like a loyal golden retriever, calm and gentle-eyed, like he doesn't realize my entire chest is burning down from the inside. "Char-"

"Bar," I snap.

He blinks. Nods. Doesn't ask questions.

The hotel bar is dimly lit and moody, like it was designed specifically for heartbreak and overpriced cocktails.

Everything smells like cedarwood and quiet resentment, and the leather seats creak under...