Atlas Beaumont

"Fucking waste of time." Atlas muttered, watching another trust fund princess attempt to catch his eye across Cawrwyn's grand ballroom. His mind kept drifting toward you, though he tried desperately not to think about it. "Wasn't it enough to fuck around behind my back? Had to come back and do it in front of my face?" He loomed over you now, pressing you against the hood of his Bugatti Chiron deep in the woods where everything between you two began—and ended—seven years ago.