"...and done!"

I hit save, exhaling deeply as I finally finish editing the article for the tenth time. I wanted it to be perfect.

The pictures Ed sent me are gold. Both Jimmy and Harry are featured, and I feel like I've nailed what our professor was looking for—while still giving it my own touch.

I send it off to Jimmy and Harry, waiting for their feedback.

Minutes later, my phone buzzes.

Jimmy: AWESOME! Thanks, El!

I grin, satisfaction washing over me.

Before I can put my phone down, it rings.

Harry.

I smirk, answering dramatically, "I'm sorry, Miss Ella Cameron is unavailable right now. She is busy avoiding needy bartenders. Please leave a message after the tone—"

"Can't you ever be serious?" His voice is amused, but I can tell he's grinning.

"Nope. Life's too short to take it seriously, Harry. Did you get the email?"

"I did. I think it's great." His enthusiasm is genuine, and I feel a flicker of pride.

"Glad you like it! I was wondering if I could post a few pictures and an excerpt on Twitter—help get you some exposure."

"Sure, thanks! The more, the better."

After some casual chatting, I tell him I need to get ready for uni, and we agree to catch up soon. Before I go, I upload Harry's photos and part of the interview.

The response is instantaneous.

Within an hour, Harry's Twitter is blowing up.

***

The professor is pleased with the article, and my group meets up to finalize everything before printing.

Antony's UEFA piece? Surprisingly good. Even I'm impressed—and I don't even like sports that much.

We're huddled around the editor's table, photos and papers spread out, when she speaks.

Brenda Thomas.

Also known as Snow Queen.

"So... you know Jimmy and Harry?"

I glance up, dry as hell. "Yeah, you could say that."

She picks up a photo of Harry, running her freshly manicured nails over it. I hate that she's touching it.

"I'm pretty sure he's winning Manhunt 2025."

My brow furrows. "What do you mean? He's competing?"

Brenda smirks. "You didn't know? Guess you don't know him that well, huh?"

I really want to slap her.

"Apparently not."

She leans in, voice dripping with amusement. "If he wins, he gets a contract with Gucci. It's huge. But honestly... it's already in the bag."

I frown. "How so?"

Brenda shrugs. "Manhunt is sponsored by Harrison Enterprises. Liam Harrison runs it. Huge businessman, humanitarian, donates to Ethiopia, Somalia, all that."

My stomach twists.

I volunteered in one of those projects once.

"How's the winner chosen?" Sandy asks, flipping through photos of shirtless men.

Brenda taps one. "A panel votes. Seven people—so there's no tie."

I glance at the picture. A panel of judges. Seven people.

And then—

My stomach drops.

One of them is her.

"Who is this?" I point at the blonde sitting at the far right, decked out in designer clothes and a blindingly bright smile.

Brenda smirks. "Charlie Harrison. Liam Harrison's wife."

My entire body freezes.

I feel sick.

I don't say another word.

But the image is burned into my mind.

***

I'm not in the mood to be at work.

My head is reeling.

Everything I thought about Harry? Blown to pieces.

"Hey, what's with the long face?"

Ed's standing next to me, watching as I wipe down a table.

"Nothing, stupid," I lie, forcing a smile.

"Oh, come on. I hook up once and suddenly you're giving me the silent treatment?"

I roll my eyes. "Ed, I don't care about that. I was glad you finally got some."

He relaxes. "Then what is it?"

The music is too loud to explain, so I deflect. "I'm on my period."

Ed pauses.

And then, in true Ed fashion, he counts on his fingers.

"No, you're not. It's ten days early."

I stare at him. "The fact that you keep track of my cycle is deeply disturbing."

"I'm a great friend."

"You're something."

I glance toward the bar.

Harry is sitting at the far left.

Ed follows my gaze, his eyes narrowing. "No. No, no, no."

"It's not what you think."

"I bet it's not," he deadpans.

"I just found something out about him. And it's... disappointing."

Ed watches me closely. "Something related to Charlie Harrison?"

I blink. "How do you know—"

He lifts his camera. "I pay attention."

I manage to avoid Harry all night.

Until I don't.

"Are you avoiding me?"

His voice is low, quiet—his fingers barely brushing my elbow.

I turn, forcing a neutral expression. "No. Just busy. How are you?"

His eyes search mine. "I'm fine. You?"

"Fine."

His jaw tenses. "You're lying."

I shift away. "I have work to do, Harry."

"Ella."

He pauses. "An agency reached out after seeing the article. That's because of you. Thank you."

I smile, but it's empty.

And then—

"So now what?" My voice is sweetly sarcastic. "Should we fuck now? As a thank you?"

His entire body locks up.

"What the fuck?"

"You heard me."

His hand grabs my arm—firm, not rough, but demanding. "What was that?"

I meet his gaze, steel in my voice.

"Let go of my arm, Harry. You know exactly what I mean."

He stares, anger and confusion blazing behind his eyes.

"Both of you. Outside. Now."

Jimmy's voice cuts through the tension.

He pushes my shoulder gently, leading me toward the back exit. Harry follows behind us.

"Deal with this now before one of you gets fired and the other gets a reputation," Jimmy mutters.

"Too late for that," I scoff.

Jimmy gives me a look. "Ella, you have ten minutes. Consider this your break."

The door slams behind him, leaving me alone with an angry Harry.

He crosses his arms. "Care to elaborate what the fuck that was back there?"

I stare at him. "Why do you even care what I think?"

"I just do."

I exhale sharply, voice flat. "Let's just say I know why you're angry."

His jaw tightens. "And I'm angry because...?"

"Because I know about your special friend. And how special she really is."

His face darkens. "You don't know shit."

I lean in, voice low. "And so what if I do?"

And that's when I see it.

He's not ashamed. Not guilty.

And that's what makes it so much worse.

The cold night air bites at my skin as I sit on the worn bench, dragging my nails against the rough edge.

"What's it to you?" he pushes.

I let out a slow, steady breath. "I'm just disappointed."

He repeats the word, like he's tasting it. "Disappointed?"

"Yeah." I shake my head. "Because I actually thought you weren't like that. But I guess it's your life."

He's silent for a beat.

And then—his voice shifts.

Softer. Measured.

"Ella..." He takes a step closer. "I like you. I trust you. You call me on my shit since the moment I met you. I don't really have people who do that, apart from Jimmy. But what I do in my bed—doesn't concern you."

I let out a sharp laugh. "I don't give a shit what you do in your bed."

He raises an eyebrow. "If you have a thing for me—"

I cut him off immediately.

"Woah, woah, stop right there, mister." I throw a hand up, eyes narrowing. "You can't be serious right now."

He just watches me.

I scoff. "You've known me for, what? Two minutes? And you're making assumptions that—"

"You've known me for one and you do," he fires back.

We stare at each other.

The silence crackles.

And then, finally, I snap.

"Are you or are you not sleeping with Charlie Harrison, Harry?" My voice cuts through the air.

His expression doesn't change.

But he does look down.

And that tells me everything I need to know.

"Is she or is she not in the committee voting for Manhunt 2025, where you just happen to be a contestant?"

He doesn't answer.

He doesn't need to.

I shake my head. "So there's no assumption there."

He exhales sharply. "Ella—"

"And as for your other comment," I cut him off, voice laced with sarcasm. "No, I don't have a thing for you. Sorry for not dropping on my knees, sticking your dick in my mouth, but I'm not looking for anything right now. So—I guess that answers your question."

His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk. "And why aren't you?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What, not on my knees?"

"No, silly." He rolls his eyes. "Not looking for anything right now. You're clearly gorgeous, witty, and sexy as fuck. So?"

My cheeks heat up, but I refuse to break eye contact.

"I guess I'm taking some time off," I admit, voice light.

And suddenly—I start laughing.

I don't even know why, but it hits me all at once.

The sheer ridiculousness of this entire situation.

Harry watches me, amused. "Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're funny when you're angry."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Let's go back inside." He gestures for my hand.

I cross my arms. "Not until you admit that I don't have a thing for you."

His lips curve. "I know you don't. But I also know that bastard you dated before did a number on you."

I hesitate.

"No comment."

He huffs out a quiet laugh, then pulls me in for a hug.

And despite everything—I let him.

I don't justify it. I don't like what he's doing. But I decide, right then and there, to look past it.

He inhales, like he's memorizing my scent. "Sorry to disappoint you, Ella."

I sigh against his chest. "I'm sorry, too."

And then—I step back.

The moment breaks.

I open the door, holding it for him. I think about heading to the back, grabbing a drink, moving on with my night.

But then—he suddenly turns to me his eyes sad.

"I'm sorry Ella," I thought we did that part already.

And that's when I see her.

Standing at the bar.

Charlie. Fucking. Harrison.

Oh. Fuck.