I underestimated the Palmer women’s curse. I genuinely thought I could kick it. I really thought there was a way to slink out of its hold once and for all.


    Turns out, all that hope was just the curse hard at work.


    It was the curse, lulling me into a false sense offort before pulling the rug out from underneath me.


    Idiot—there’s no such thing as curses.


    It’s you—you’re the problem.


    I blink back tears as I stow away thest of my sweats. I’ve left behind all the gifts that Oleg gave me over thest few months. The ring sits on top of the pile, glinting at me usingly.


    There’s no way I can justify taking it with me. Even if it means starving on the streets, I would rather do that than prove Oleg right by taking anything he’s given me.


    As I walk through the apartment for thest time, my bag slung across one shoulder, I feel the weight of my mistakes hang over me.


    There is no Palmer woman curse. There are just Palmer women and the bad decisions they make.


    I’ve made enough to bury me. Like trusting Drew. Like not telling Oleg about everything straight away. Like signing that stupid contract in the first ce.


    Probably my worst mistake of all, though, was falling for the man who warned me explicitly not to do that.


    What the hell was I thinking, hoping for something more from Oleg? Of course he doesn’t love me. He can’t!


    Of course he didn’t actually want a family with me. He’s incapable!


    Thest few weeks were just a beautiful dream.


    And now, I’ve been forced awake.


    I’m standing on the curb, avoiding the concierge’s pitying eyes, when my Uber pulls up. Pushing back tears, I stare down at the text message on my screen.


    Myst lifeline.


    MARA: Of course you can crash with me. For as long as you need. No questions asked.


    If I could, I’d cry at how good of a friend she is. A better friend than I deserve, honestly.


    But there aren’t many more tears left for me to shed.<hr>


    I feel like I’ve started over in my life more times than a person should have to.


    Some might call it freeing.


    I call it depressing.


    I’ve been pouring over ne tickets and job listings for the past twenty-four hours. Every time I blink, I see wanted ads and airline prices.


    My head is spinning with indecision. Should I go to Vegas and spend a few days with Sydney? It would be great to see her.


    But that would put me right in Drew’s crosshairs. And thanks to the shitshow he’s made of my life, I’m less inclined than ever to be civil if we were to cross paths.


    Not to him.


    Not to Paul.


    Not to all the men in this world who think they can manipte and lie and cheat to get what they want.


    The ironic part is that I don’t include Oleg in that list. He may be as beastly as they say he is, but he’s cut from a different cloth than Paul and Drew.


    My mistake was treating him like them. I should have been honest with him from the beginning.


    My fault. My fault. My fault.


    “Are you still looking at the wanted ads?” Mara asks as she walks into the apartment, her cheeks bright pink from the wind.


    “I found something I’m suited for,” I tell her with false cheer, pointing to myptop screen. “‘Busty blonde with poor judgement wanted as mannequin for storefront window.’ Perfect for me, wouldn’t you say?”


    Mara sighs. “You’re being hard on yourself.”


    “No, I’m not. I’m being fair. I am a busty blonde with poor judgement.”


    “Okay, this calls for some serious reinforcements,” Mara deres, moving to the fridge.


    “If you’re looking for ice cream, I finished it all around 11:00 A.M. this morning.”


    Raising her eyebrows, Mara closes the freezer door. “You could have sent me a text. I would have stopped at the grocery store.”


    I just shake my head in embarrassment. “You’re already doing enough for me without wasting your money on ice cream to satisfy my depression.”


    “First of all, spending money on ice cream is never wasted. And second of all—” She plops onto the bean bag next to the coffee table. “—you need to get out of this funk and get proactive with your life.”


    I point to myptop. “What do you think I’m trying to do here?”


    She throws a skeptical look at the wanted ads on my screen. “Found anything good?” I open my mouth but she cuts me off at the pass. “And no more mannequin cracks, either.”


    I snort. “Damn it. I had a couple more lined up. They were good, too.”


    “Don’t care. I want to hear a legit n from you.”


    “My ns haven’t been very sessfultely.” I grimace, aware that I sound like a spoiled child. “Maybe instead of Vegas, I should move somewherepletely new. A real fresh start.”


    “Move? Where would you even go, boo?”


    “Anywhere else,” I sigh. “There’s nothing for me here anymore, Mara. The whole of Palm Beach will have been my boudoir shoot by now. No one worth their salt is gonna hire me. And if they do, I probably wouldn’t want to work for them anyway. Las Vegas is full of ex-boyfriends and bad memories. I just… I don’t know what to do.”


    “Don’t give up!” Mara insists. “That’s what you should do. You’re acting like it’s all over for you.”


    “I don’t mean to be dramatic,” I say dramatically. “But it is.”


    “Because you broke up with your boyfriend?” Mara balks.


    To her credit, it’s the first time she’s really brought him up. She’d been true to her word about not prying.


    “Come on, Sut; that’s not you.”


    “I broke up with my fiancé,” I correct. “And also, he broke up with me.”


    “Surely there are some nuances to that story.”


    “None that matter.” I shrug. “It’s just us Palmer women. Can’t keep a good man. Can’t avoid the bad ones.” I drop my face into my palms. “I should have known better than to get involved with Drew.”


    “Drew?!” Mara cries. “Your breakup has something to do with Drew?”


    It’s not exactly the truth, but it’s the closest I cane to it without getting my ass sued, so I nod.


    “It was stupid, I know, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. At the time, I was worried about Sydney. So, when he said he was back to working for Paul and he would keep an eye on Sydney for me?—”


    “Oh, God.” Mara cringes. “He used her to get close to you. Then he fucked up your rtionship with Oleg. That’s ssic.”


    “In a nutshell.”


    Mara smacks her forehead with the palm of her hand. “I don’t mean to make you feel worse, but you should have known better.”


    I nod into my hands. “I know!”


    “Fuck,” Mara mutters, sidling over to my and wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry, hon.”


    “Don’t be. I’m the one who made the mess in the first ce. Like always.” Mara is so quiet that I look up. She’s chewing on her bottom lip, her eyes far away. “… Mar?”


    She nces at me nervously. “I, uh… I have something I should probably tell you. I spoke to Oleg a couple of weeks ago.”


    A flurry of nerves force me upright. “About?”


    “Well… you. You and Drew.”


    “What on earth for?”


    She sighs. “I take it he didn’t tell you anything. Listen, I’m sorry if you feel I went behind your back, but I was genuinely concerned and I didn’t want to worry you.”


    “You are worrying me. Why did you go to Oleg?”


    “Because I found a bug on your car, Sutton. And I was pretty sure that Drew was responsible for it.”


    My jaw drops. “Exin.”


    “I took the car in for a detail and my mechanic found it. He told me that he had it checked out and there was no doubt what it was. Someone was keeping tabs on you and the only person I could think of was the douchebag extraordinaire.”


    I lean back against the sofa. “I don’t get it… Why didn’t Oleg tell me this?”


    “Maybe because he didn’t want to worry you, either,” Mara suggests. “Or because he didn’t think it was Drew.”


    “But if it wasn’t Drew, who could it have been?”


    We exchange a look. “One thing’s for sure: There’s some shady shit going on here.”


    I groan. “Of course there is. Because nothing with my life is ever simple.”


    “I’m sorry, Sutton. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to Oleg at all.”


    “No. I understand why you did. I’m not mad at you, Mar—I’m mad at Drew. He’s the only one psychotic enough to do something like this.”


    “Maybe you could talk to Oleg,” Mara suggests. “Make him see that Drew is just a low-life scam artist who’s manipting the situation.”


    I shake my head, Oleg’s livid face still fresh in my mind’s eye. “You didn’t see him. He was so angry. I’ve never seen him like that before.”


    “Which only means that he cares about you,” she rebuts. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so mad. Or so hurt.”


    I bite my lip, resisting the urge to rub my skin raw. “No. It was a mistake to get involved with Oleg.”


    “But… you love him.”


    I spring backwards, the words whipping across my face, engulfing me in prickly heat.


    “Love him,” I murmur, shocked at how those two little words feel on my tongue.


    “Sut, it’s so obvious,” Mara says gently. “Yesterday, when you showed up at my doorstep, I’d never seen you look so miserable. And when you broke down?—”


    “That was a low point.”


    “It was raw. And it was real.” She sps my arm. “It’s no weakness to admit that you love him, you know.”


    I pull my hand back, gulping back tears. “It was just an emotional day, is all. I’m fine. Oleg made it clear that he never wants to hear from me again and I’m going to respect that choice.” I force a limp smile. “Don’t want to turn into Drew, now, do I?”


    “Sut…”


    I pull myself off the ground and walk over to the kitchen. “Let’s have dinner,” I say abruptly. “I made salmon and roasted veggies as a thank you for letting me crash.”


    “You don’t have to thank me.”


    “Actually, I do,” I tell Mara, gripping her arm. “You’ve been like a sister to me through all this. I can’t tell you how much that means to me.”


    We sit down at the table and Mara goes to town with the pasta.


    As for me, I sit there and pretend to eat.


    I have to fake as though every mouthful I take doesn’t taste like cardboard.


    If these are the symptoms of a broken heart, I understand why people swear off love.


    It shouldn’t hurt this bad to fall.<hr>


    I wake up the next morning to my fertility app in full bloom.


    Talk about a cruel wake-up call.


    Something about the app nags at the back of my head, but I push it away and force myself into the shower.


    After I get out and get dressed, I send Mara off to work with a hearty omelet, well aware that she’s watching me like I’m a ticking time bomb.


    “I’m okay, Mar,” I insist. “I’m not going to jump off the balcony the moment you walk out the door.”


    She frowns. “It’s troubling how fast you came up with that.”


    Snorting, I pull her te out from underneath her. “Just go to work, okay? I’m going to be fine. I have big ns for today.”


    “Which are?”


    “Going to the grocery store, cleaning out the fridge, and giving the whole apartment a good once over.”


    “You’re not my maid or my private chef. You don’t have to do any of that.”


    “Nonsense. It’s the least I can do for putting me up.”


    “We’re friends, Sut. I’d have been happy to put you up even if you hung around in your underwear, ate all my food, and finished all my toilet paper.”


    “That reminds me: I need to put toilet paper on the grocery list.”


    “You’re insane,” Mara shakes her head.


    “Very possible. Now, go to work. I don’t want to be used of making youte.”


    “I’ll text youter? Maybe we can go out for dinner or something.”


    “Sure,” I nod, distracted by the grocery list Mara has pasted on her refrigerator door. “Milk, tampons, eggs, honey, trash bags…”


    “What was that?” Mara calls from the front door.


    “Nothing. Have a good day!”


    The moment the door snaps shut, I race to the bathroom, realizing why my fertility app has been bugging me consistently since I woke up.


    My period is due.


    Was due, actually. A few days ago.


    I’dpletely forgotten in the upheaval of everything that’s happened.


    Grabbing one of the pregnancy tests I’ve had on hand since I signed the now-broken contract, I tear off the packaging, my heart jumping into my throat.


    Could it be…?


    Once I’m done peeing on the stick, I ce it on the vanity and start pacing the three feet between the mirror and the door.


    Everything feels just a little bit ustrophobic after the airy spaciousness of Oleg’s penthouse.


    But right now, theck of air in my lungs has nothing to do with theck of space.


    How long has it been?


    I count to a hundred. Then I count to another hundred for good measure.


    By the time I finally give myself permission to look at the test, my hands are covered in goosebumps.


    “Here goes nothing,” I mutter, opening my eyes, even though, deep down, I know exactly what I’m going to see.


    The sign is bright and clear.


    There’s no denying it.


    I’m pregnant.