Chapter 35 Shattered Glass & Bad Decisions

Chapter 35 Shattered Glass & Bad Decisions
(AURIANNA’S POV)

For a few seconds, I just stand there, frozen, staring at the shattered vase like maybe—just maybe—if I don’t move, time will reverse itself and none of this will have happened.

It doesn’t.

The pieces glitter under the hallway light like they’re mocking me. I take a careful step back to avoid slicing my foot open—because barefoot and broken glass is a horrific combo—but the universe apparently decides I haven’t suffered enough.

My heel bumps against something solid.

The doorframe.

Zayne’s doorframe.

And then his voice, low and unmistakable, calls out my name.

“Aurianna?”

In that moment, I could’ve sworn that my soul left my body.

I turn slowly, like someone rewinding a crime scene, and there he is. Zayne Beaumont, naked and sweaty, staring right at me. Behind him are the two women he was having sex with, both still naked and looking way too pleased with themselves.

For one horrifying moment, no one says anything.

Then my brain kicks in.

“Oh—I’m sorry to interrupt whatever’s, um…” My words stumble over themselves as I gesture vaguely toward the open door, “...going on here.”

One of the women giggles.

Zayne’s expression doesn’t change.

“I—I was just walking by and, uh, accidentally knocked over the vase.” I say, forcing a laugh, but it sounds like a dying car engine. “Silly me. Wasn’t watching where I was going. My eyes were glued to my phone screen.”

Zayne’s gaze drops to my empty hands. He arches a brow. “You’re not holding a phone.”

Shit.

My stomach does a nosedive.

Think, Aurianna. THINK.

“Oh, right! Haha, yeah. Must’ve dropped it somewhere—”

“Who’s she?” the brunette interrupts, moving closer and wrapping her arms around his waist like she’s claiming territory. “Is she joining us?”

I choke on air. “What? No! Absolutely not!”

And before anyone can say another word, I grab the door and slam it shut.

The sound echoes down the hallway like a gunshot.

I don’t even breathe for a second. My brain’s screaming “Abort mission, run, disappear, fake your death, move to another country!” I spin on my heel to bolt—

And immediately step on something sharp.

Pain explodes through my foot.

“Fuck!” I hiss, stumbling backward.

There’s a bright red smear on the tile where I stepped, and the realization that I’ve literally stabbed myself in my own moment of shame makes me want to fling myself off the balcony.

I limp down the hallway, trying not to leave a crime scene trail of blood, muttering a steady stream of curses under my breath. “Of course. Of fucking course. Because apparently humiliation wasn’t enough, I had to add injury to it.”

By the time I reach my room, my foot feels like it’s pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I shut the door behind me and head straight for the bathroom, half limping, half hopping.

I grab some tissue from the counter, plop down on the toilet seat, and pull my foot up. Sure enough, there’s a medium-size shard lodged in the sole of my foot, glittering like it’s proud of itself.

“Great,” I mutter. “Perfect. Love that for me.”

I grab the shard and yank it out, tossing it to the floor. A fresh stream of blood wells up quickly.

I press a wad of tissue against it and hiss between my teeth. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

My head drops back against the wall, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Chelsea’s voice echoes in my head—her laughing, teasing voice telling me I’m living in a damn telenovela.

She’s not wrong.

At this point, I’m starting to think my life has turned into one of those chaotic soap operas where the heroine just keeps walking in on things she shouldn’t see. First the shower incident, then the… vibrator debacle, and now this? Watching my boss get his brains fucked out while I—

I groan, covering my face with my free hand. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

Why didn’t I just walk away the moment I realized what was happening? Why did I even go up there? What was I expecting—that I’d walk in and he’d be in danger? From what? Two women and too much stamina?

No. I know exactly why I went up there.

Because I couldn’t stand the thought of him with them.

The thought hits me like a gut punch, and I hate how true it feels.

“I’m losing it,” I whisper to myself. “Completely losing it.”

I swap out the blood-soaked tissue for another one, pressing down harder this time. It’s already turning red. The bleeding won’t stop, of course it won’t. Because today’s the day my dignity and my circulatory system both decide to quit on me.

The sting throbs deep, a reminder that I’ve literally bled for this humiliation.

And then I hear it. The sound of movement near the door.

I freeze, every nerve on edge.

The door creaks open a few inches, and a familiar voice follows.

“Aurianna?”

I look up, and there he is.

Zayne.

Shirtless again, his hair a little damp with sweat, a pair of black pants hanging low on his hips. His chest is still rising and falling, slow. His eyes scan me—first the tissues, then the tiny blood trail leading from the door, and finally my face.

For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks.

The air feels thick, heavy, and awkward as hell.

Of all the ways I pictured this day going, bleeding on my bathroom floor while the man I just spied on walks in half-naked wasn’t one of them.

Perfect. Just perfect.