“You cheated,” I stated plainly. It was simple for me. He had cheated, and that was the end. A heavy sigh left his chest. I still refused to open my eyes, too afraid of tears slipping free. I may have been weak with this heat stroke situation, but it had nothing on how weak I was for him. “I didn’t cheat. I’m an actor and I was in breach of contract if I didn’t agree to that publicity stunt. I love you, Bexley. You, and only you.” “And your job,” I added harshly, hating that it slipped free, but what he’d done hurt so much. Even if what he said was true—and my gut said it was—the fact that he
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