Iris POV:

I stood in the dim light of the New York subway station, my oversized sweater pulled tight around me as the chilly morning air seeped into my bones. 

The station smelled like damp concrete and stale coffee, the distant sound of a train echoing through the tunnels like a ghost of the city's sleepless nights.

Despite the early hour, my nerves were in full rebellion, tingling with an unshakable sense of anticipation. 

Every sound—every footstep, every rustling newspaper, every unintelligible announcement over the intercom—was magnified, making my already racing heart pound harder.

This was a mistake.

Quinn arched a perfectly sculpted brow as she watched me shift uncomfortably from foot to foot.

"Are you sure you're okay? It’s like you’re meeting a terrorist, not your friends," she mused, her lips quirking into an amused smirk.

I scowled. "I’m fine," I lied, my foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the cracked concrete floor.

She didn’t look convinced.

I glanced at the massive analog clock hanging on the wall, its hands creeping forward at a torturous pace. 

Every tick felt like a taunt, stretching the wait into an eternity. 

I exhaled sharply, my breath visible in the cold air, my fingers twitching at my sides.

My mind wouldn’t shut up.

What if Liam lied?

What if they also hurt me?

What if—

A pair of warm arms suddenly wrapped around me from behind.

I froze.

A wave of heat rushed through me, crashing into the ice-cold pit of anxiety in my stomach. 

My breath hitched as I stiffened, my mind short-circuiting from the sudden contact.

Caleb.

His hold was firm but not suffocating, his chin brushing lightly against my ear as he exhaled.

"It's okay, Iris. Calm down," he murmured, his voice low and steady as he stroked my hair like I was some kind of anxious animal.

My stomach twisted violently, my entire body recoiling at the unexpected touch. 

My skin burned, but not in the good way. More like a ‘someone just dumped a boiling pot of water on me’ kind of way.

I cleared my throat—loudly—and launched myself out of his embrace like a startled cat.

Caleb frowned, looking slightly wounded, like I had just smacked a cupcake out of his hand.

Before I could mumble an awkward apology or die from secondhand embarrassment, the sound of approaching footsteps cut through the tension.

My stomach dropped.

I turned, my pulse jumping, only to see—

Aiden.

He looked unreasonably good for someone who had probably just rolled out of bed, his dark hair slightly messy, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

His gaze, calm yet piercing, landed on me. 

For a split second, my stomach flipped—until a wide, all-too-knowing grin stretched across his face, dissolving the ice-cold knot of anxiety sitting in my chest.

Oh, no.

Before I could so much as blink, I was off the ground—scooped up into a bear hug so tight it knocked the air right out of me. My feet dangling.

"I missed you!" he murmured warmly, his voice rumbling in my ear.

Oh.

My fingers twitched, caught between shoving him away and... something else.

"Really?" I asked, my eagerness evident in my tone as I pulled back slightly to look at him.

His grin widened. "Of course! Can't I miss my yell partner? You know it was comforting not getting yelled at alone."

I blinked. The nostalgia sucker-punched me.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to ground myself. "Yeah..." I whispered, the feeling hitting me hard.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed him.

His hold loosened slightly, and before I could get my bearings, he grabbed my bag as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I'll take this."

"Hey—"

Before I could say something, Quinn’s enthusiastic voice shattered the moment like a rock through a window.

"Hey!" she called out, loud and chirpy.

Aiden turned his attention to her and Caleb, flashing them an easy, charming smile. 

And then—he flicked a knowing smirk in Caleb’s direction.

Caleb, to his credit, ignored him. But I saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

Suspicious. Very suspicious.

Aiden then looked back at me, raising an eyebrow, clearly expecting some kind of reaction.

Does he think every boy wants to be my lover?

I just shook my head.

To my surprise, he looked... relieved.

Instead of grinning like a devil and wiggling his eyebrows.

The cool morning air wrapped around us as we exited the subway station, the scent of the city waking up filling my lungs— freshly brewed coffee, faint car exhaust, and the distant aroma of street food vendors setting up.

Aiden led the way toward his car.

Quinn, however, had frozen mid-step.

Her jaw actually dropped.

"Freaking hell," she whispered, eyes wide as she grabbed my sleeve. "You didn’t tell me they’re rich!"

I frowned. "What? How do you know that?"

Since he came alone without anyone and dressed in very simple clothes.

She tilted her head toward the car. "He literally drives a Jaguar Land Rover."

Oh.

I turned to stare at the sleek black vehicle, my brain struggling to process it.

From my point of view, this looked less like a luxury car and more like a mathematical diagram—the kind my mother used to force me to solve geometry problems with. 

You know the ones. Those rough, rectangular car sketches.

I resisted the urge to squint at it.

Quinn nudged me, clearly expecting some dramatic reaction.

I cleared my throat, shifting awkwardly. "Quinn, there are so many things I haven’t told you. So, from time to time, I’ll... keep you updated."

Translation: I will come up with lies as needed.

Aiden, either oblivious or just entertained, unlocked the car and unceremoniously tossed my bag into the backseat like it was his own.

"Trust me," he said as we settled in, his voice warm. "Everyone is eagerly waiting for you at home."

I nodded, offering him a tight-lipped smile in return.

That was the problem.

And as for Caleb? Despite my initial protests, he had insisted on accompanying us to the station, which left me feeling a tiny bit guilty.

Trust me. Saying no to him was difficult. Even if I did, he would persist until I caved. 

He had this weaponized patience, this ability to act like my refusal was merely a side quest he needed to complete before getting his way.

But not today.

Today, I had stood my ground. He had finally relented and left for Newark. 

But, just in case, I shoved some money into his hands before he could start scheming ways to use this moment against me in the future.

I mean men never forget a favor.

"You know Hudson is so desperate to see you," Aiden suddenly said, his voice filled with amusement as he glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "He literally made a feast."

My lips twitched into a genuine smile at the mention of Hudson.

That was the thing about him. 

No matter how much my anxiety tried to suffocate me, Hudson always had a way of pulling me back— even when he wasn’t physically here.

Because cooking was his way of showing affection just like mine.

And if he cooked an entire feast, that meant...

I swallowed hard. That meant he really missed me, also.

Quinn let out a dramatic gasp. "A feast?"

Aiden chuckled. "Yeah. The man went all out. You’d think the Pope was visiting."

Quinn clutched her chest like she had been spiritually moved. "Okay, I take back everything I said about rich men being shallow."

Aiden raised an eyebrow. "Don't judge so quickly."

"Doesn’t matter. Food is my love language."

Aiden and Quinn continued their ridiculously easy banter, their words flowing back and forth like they had known each other forever.

I watched them, half-amazed, half-dazed.

It was... strange. How easily people could connect. 

But no matter how hard I tried to lose myself in their conversation, that cold, crawling anxiety never truly left me.

After what felt like an eternity, the car unfortunately slowed to a stop.

I blinked.

Oh.

A mansion. A big-big-big, unfairly elegant, holy-jesus-who-even-lives-like-this mansion.

The sprawling grounds stretched out before me, perfectly manicured and unbelievably pristine, like it had been plucked straight out of a fantasy novel. 

The elegant façade stood tall and intimidating, whispering in a voice only I could hear—

"You do not belong here, peasant."

I could hear Quinn’s delighted squeal as she took in the billion dollar sight, her excitement practically vibrating off her.

"Freaking hell," she whispered, her eyes darting from the intricate carvings on the massive double doors to the perfectly manicured hedges lining the grand entrance. 

"Are you secretly a lost princess? Is this where you reveal you’ve been in hiding from your royal family all this time?"

I shot her a cold look. "Yes, Quinn. And you? You’re my long-lost lady-in-waiting. Now bow before me."

She smirked, nudging my shoulder. "I knew it."

But my moment of dry humor was short-lived.

Because then—I saw him.

Ares.

Standing at the front entrance, his broad frame casting an imposing shadow, arms crossed over his chest. His face unreadable.

My stomach plummeted.

If Ares is here… then Ace…

I swallowed hard, my palms suddenly clammy.

No. No, no, no. 

Liam said he’d be out of town. He shouldn’t be here.

Before I could spiral any further, a sudden arm draped itself over my shoulders, yanking me into motion.

"Come on!" Aiden, oblivious to my existential crisis, grinned as he practically dragged me inside.

Inside, the grand hall was as breathtaking as ever. 

The high ceilings stretched endlessly above us, adorned with intricate chandeliers that bathed the room in a warm golden glow. 

Plush rugs softened the pristine marble floors, and the scent of expensive cologne, polished wood, and something faintly citrusy filled the air.

The guys were sprawled across the luxurious sofas and armchairs, their postures relaxed, almost lazy.

Hudson, lying back with one arm draped over the back of the couch, spotted me first.

And then—one by one—their gazes turned toward me.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Iris!"

Warmth engulfed me as I was immediately pulled into a series of hugs, one after the other. 

Strong arms, familiar scents, friendly pats on the back. 

Each embrace brought a mix of emotions—comforting and suffocating at the same time.

Susan, however, remained reserved. A simple nod, a polite smile.

"Where's Felix and Liam?" I inquired, scanning the room.

"They’re in the gym," Alex answered, his hand settling on my shoulder for a brief moment—like he was either reassuring me or checking if I had shrunk since the last time we saw each other.

Honestly, with the way my nerves were eating at me, I wouldn’t be surprised if I had.

But then…

His use of "they" made me frown.

A creeping unease curled in my stomach.

Liam never works out after 6 a.m.

"And… where’s… Ace?" I asked, my voice cautious. Forced.

My heart pounded.

Please tell me he’s not here. Please.

I saw it. The shared glances. The unspoken understanding passing between them.

A flicker of hesitation.

A pause that lasted just a second too long.

"He must be in his room," Leo said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, his attention still lazily focused on his steaming cup of coffee.

I froze.

"Who’s Ace?" Quinn’s voice cut through the tension, her head tilting curiously.

I forced my lips into a thin line. "Ace is their friend."

The words felt foreign in my mouth. Like I had to choke them out, swallow the panic rising in my throat.

I ordered him to die last time I saw him.

I am dead.

And if he’s here—

I don’t know if I’ll make it out in one piece.

"Why don’t you go and freshen up?" Susan’s voice dragged me out of my spiraling thoughts. 

Her words were soft—too soft, like she already knew I was two seconds away from losing my damn mind.

Grabbing my bag, I fled, moving faster than a criminal in a high-speed chase. 

My shoes slapped against the marble floor as I made my grand escape, my only goal: get to a room and call Liam, fast.

But of course—of course—the universe decided I wasn’t going to get away that easily.

“Whoa! Wait, you don’t even know which room you’re staying in!” Aiden’s voice called after me, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, halting me mid-stride.

“Let. Me. Go.” My voice was low, dangerous. I didn’t even care if I looked like a rabid raccoon about to attack.

Aiden just raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “Yeah, no. You look like you're about to either pass out or commit arson, and frankly, I don't want to deal with either.”

Before I could bite him (which was now a very strong possibility), Quinn, ever the observer, tilted her head.

“Why are you running like a mouse caught stealing cheese?” she mused, her tone laced with amusement.

Aiden’s grip loosened slightly, but I could see it in his eyes—he knew exactly why I was furious now. 

Instead of dignifying me with a response, he just turned and started walking. “Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

Once inside, I slammed the door behind me, twisting the lock so hard it nearly broke. 

The click of security should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. The silence that followed felt like a noose tightening around my neck.

My breath came out in harsh, uneven puffs. My skin prickled with heat.

He’s here.

That one thought was a parasite, eating away at my sanity.

I dug my phone out of my hoodie pocket, my fingers trembling as I quickly dialed Liam’s number.

Please pick up. You better pick up! 

But it rang. And rang.

And then—

Voicemail.

I stared at the screen in disbelief. My heartbeat was a violent thrum in my ears.

"That lying, traitorous do–"

I didn't finish the sentence. Instead, I did what any reasonable person would do when they realized they had been utterly betrayed.

I threw my bag across the room.

It smacked against the wall before landing with a pathetic flop on the bed.

It wasn't enough. 

"Die, die, die!" I hissed under my breath, gritting my teeth so hard I was surprised they didn’t shatter.

I pressed my hands to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. My chest felt like it was burning from the inside, my lungs barely expanding as I tried to force air in.

It’s okay. It’s okay, Iris.

I repeated the words like a prayer, but the panic coiled tighter and tighter.

The silence was suffocating.

And then—

A knock.

The sharp rap against the door made me jump, my breath hitching in my throat.

I scrambled, my movements jerky as I straightened my hoodie and ran a hand through my hair. 

Then, just for good measure, I smacked my cheeks—hard.

Act normal. Act normal.

I opened the door.

And there, standing in a black undershirt, looking like he had just casually strolled out of an action movie, was Felix.

For a second, my brain short-circuited.

And then—

“IRIS!”

Before I could even blink, Felix launched himself at me like an overgrown fluffy dog on steroids and lifted me off the damn ground like I weighed nothing.

And not just a lift— a swirl.

I just hung there, deadpan, arms limply at my sides, wondering what life choices brought me here.

He finally set me down, grinning like a maniac. “Miss me?”

I raised an eyebrow, shrugging as my lips curled up in a small smile.

He seemed to catch something in my expression though. His grin faltered. 

Then— hug number two.

But this one was different. It was tighter. 

Not the “HEY PAL” type, but the “I know you’re not okay, and but I am here” kind.

I stood there in his arms, patting his back like a 90-year-old war veteran.

There, there, boy. Life is suffering.

He pulled back just slightly, his brows knitting together.

“Did you meet Ace?” he asked softly, his voice gentle but curious.

I flinched.

Not dramatically. Just a slight twitch. But it was enough. 

My fist curled on instinct, nails digging into my palm until my knuckles went pale.

“No,” I said, tight and sharp. “And I don’t even want to.” 

Ever. Again.

Felix tilted his head slightly, frown deepening a bit, then he just nodded in response.

“Well,” he said with a soft sigh, “freshen up. Breakfast must be ready by now.”

Then, with one last squeeze on my shoulder, he walked off.

And as if summoned by the gods of chaos, Quinn appeared, leaning lazily against her doorframe like a nosy cat with a fresh bowl of gossip.

She whistled low, her eyes glinting. 

“Who was the lava?” Her voice was playful, teasing. 

“Felix,” I said flatly. 

Quinn raised an eyebrow. “You hate Ace or something? I mean... you sound like you do.”

I looked at her directly. No blinking. No sugarcoating.

“Yeah,” I said. “I despise him.”

And I meant it. With every molecule in my being.

“Oh... okay...” She trailed off, blinking like she hadn't expected such a direct answer. 

Then, because Quinn had the attention span of a fruit fly and the filter of a toddler, she said, “But everyone here is, like, sculpted. You know, like Calvin Klein. Except Hudson. He looks like a traditional one. Like the ones from those perfume ads with fog and horses and mysterious stares.”

I squinted at her. “Who’s Calvin Klein?”

She groaned, tossing her head back. “Oh my god, Iris. You can’t just say things like that. He’s a fashion designer! Calvin. Klein. Underwear. Men. Ads. God-tier abs, thighs and butt.”

I stared blankly.

She flailed her hands. “Forget it. But can I just get their numb—”

“Quinn,” I cut in, dragging my tone like I was 67 years old and had seen too much.

“Okay, okay,” she huffed, waving her hand dramatically. “I will stay on my best behavior. No flirting. No numbers. No unsolicited commentary on my favorite male parts.”

Then, just as she turned to leave, she paused and looked back, “Okay but like... why are there so many bodyguards and actual weapons everywhere? This looks like a luxury cartel. Are they in... mafia or something?”

My heart leapt. Just a little. But my face stayed neutral.

“They’re all businessmen,” I said quickly, too quickly, though the explanation was only half-truthful.

She frowned, clearly unsatisfied with my response. “okay…”

“You’re stupid. If I had friends like them, I’d live here every single freaking day.” she declared with a dismissive wave of her hand before retreating into her room.

I stood there for a second, staring at the hallway like it personally offended me.

God... give me strength. 

Because I swear, if I accidentally come face-to-face with Ace....

I might just slap him.

Or throw a chair.

Or cry.

Or all three.

In that exact order.

Ace POV:

Fucking hell.

I blinked. Hard.

What the actual fuck was this house turning into?

The noise was impossible to ignore—people’s chatter, yells, and bursts of laughter echoed through the halls, grating on my nerves like nails dragged across glass. 

It felt like the walls were closing in, mocking me with their cheer.

I came out of the bathroom, cladded in sweatpants, a towel hanging around my shoulder.

The sharp scent of jasmine clung to my skin—leftover from the steaming shower—and mixed with the cooler air outside, it sent a shiver crawling down my spine. 

My hand ran through my wet hair as I ruffled it, water flicking off in little cold specks across my neck and shoulders.

I made my way to the living room, my bare feet padding softly against the cool, polished floor.

Every step felt like a countdown.

To what, I didn’t know. 

But something inside me coiled tight—instinct or dread, it was hard to tell. Maybe both.

The noise grew louder as I approached, voices blending together in an irritating symphony.

As I entered, my eyes immediately caught sight of an unfamiliar tomboyish girl slouched on the couch, her posture relaxed, like she owned the place. 

Disrespectfully casual. Like she had no clue where she was standing. Or who she was around.

"So, you all live together even though you have separate houses? I mean don’t you all get angry or irritated?" she asked, her voice casual.

"No, we used to live together under one roof before we had all these luxuries. Old habits die hard," Leo explained, his tone almost nostalgic.

I barely registered his words as I made a beeline to the table. 

My throat was dry—like I’d swallowed sandpaper—but it wasn’t just thirst that gnawed at me.

It was this… itch. This intangible annoyance sitting just under my skin.

Like something was off and I hadn’t figured it out yet.

And I hate not knowing.

I grabbed a glass from the bar counter and filled it to the brim. 

The coldness of the water was the only mercy I had. I downed it in a single motion, jaw clenching.

And then—

“God, you look like a pornstar.”

…What?

I turned slowly. Deliberately.

Did this idiot just say that to me?

For a second, I thought I misheard her. But then the laughter erupted—unfiltered, loud, stupid laughter. 

Like I was the punchline in a sitcom no one gave me the script for.

My expression must’ve been priceless– (it wasn't) because the entire room erupted into laughter, the sound clawing at my already frayed nerves.

"Ace Salvatore. Our leader," Hudson chuckled, his tone light, clearly enjoying the moment.

My fists curled at my sides. I was about three seconds away from snapping the neck of the next person who laughed again.

I didn’t do well with humiliation—even the soft kind wrapped in inside jokes.

"Oh, sorry and nice to meet you. I am Quinn," she introduced herself with a giggle.

She isn’t someone who my friends interact with so who is she related to here?

Does Felix’s taste in women include tomboyish girls also?

I hummed, too preoccupied to offer anything more. 

The thought of tolerating more laughter or pointless introductions had me mentally weighing the consequences of snapping her neck in front of witnesses.

Instead, I walked away. Smart choice, for now.

My feet moved on their own, leading me into the kitchen, away from the commotion. 

But as soon as I stepped inside, I froze.

My body halted like I’d hit a wall.

My heart almost stopped.

My pupils dilated.

No.

No, no, no.

The same familiar back I saw years ago—small, delicate, and firm—turned towards me.

I knew that back like I knew the scent of blood. Like I knew how to twist a knife into bone without hesitation.

The way her shoulders sloped. The tension she carried in them even when she laughed. The way her braid always fell slightly off-center.

Tsk. I chuckled bitterly under my breath, rolling my eyes as I went towards the counter.

Of course she wasn’t here. 

I must’ve finally cracked. 

Maybe all the isolation, all the pain, all the goddamn longing I buried so deep had boiled over and I was hallucinating.

She wouldn’t be here. I mean, not willingly.

My friends had made it very clear when I once suggested—drunk and half-serious—kidnapping Iris and taking her to an island to live with me.

Of course they shut me down.

Of course they called me psycho.

I was just joking.

Mostly.

But really—

“Thank you.”

I froze.

That voice.

The air left my lungs like I’d been sucker-punched in the ribs.

Soft. Kind. Feminine. Her voice.

It slipped into my ears and straight into my bloodstream like venom—familiar, sweet, dangerous.

Gulping harshly, I turned my head to the side, my palms sweaty and clammy. What the fuck.

No.

No way.

I turned my head slowly.

And there she was.

In the flesh.

Laughing gently at something Susan said. 

Smiling like she didn’t just rip every organ out of my body and hand them back one by one the night she left.

Her presence hit me like a freight train going a hundred miles an hour, no brakes, no warning.

The air in the room grew impossibly thick—like molasses—and I found myself unable to move.

Paralyzed by the sight of her.

Her eyes were focused on Susan, a gentle smile playing on her lips like nothing had happened. 

Like I hadn’t left scars. Like she hadn’t turned me into a man I could no longer recognize.

She’s here.

Right here.

In this house.

And I’m not ready.

I’m not ready to see what I broke.

What I ruined.

But even worse?

Even worse than guilt?

I felt that old hunger clawing its way back through the cracks.

The kind of hunger only she ever stirred in me.

And that?

That’s what terrified me the most.

Slowly, almost reflexively, I approached her, my eyes never leaving her figure.

I wasn’t breathing. Not properly.

Each step felt heavier than the last, like I was dragging chains behind me. 

I could see Susan stopped talking and looked at me.

But she didn’t, she just looked outside, like I wasn’t staring at her. Like I was invisible.

That part—that part hurt more than I expected.

Her face was tired, she looked thinner, her eyelashes and hair grown a bit long.

I noticed all of it in a heartbeat. 

Her cheeks had hollowed out a little. Her lips were chapped. There was no makeup on her face. 

That used to be one of my favorite things about her—that she never needed any to look like sin carved into a human body. 

But now she looked more like grief carved into one.

My beautiful Mini… what the hell have you done to yourself?

What have I done to you?

"Gosh, put on a shirt today. We have guests," Susan’s scolding tone broke the moment, and I watched as Iris stiffened, her throat visibly tightening.

And there it was. 

The flinch. That tiny shift in her spine, the way her fingers clenched the hem of her hoodie like someone had yanked a chain inside her.

The room felt too small, the silence between us deafening.

I could hear my own pulse pounding in my ears, like a war drum. 

My skin prickled, hot with embarrassment, regret, fury—none of it outwardly visible. 

I turned my back on her like a coward, like she hadn’t just turned mine to stone with a glance she didn’t even spare.

Blinking rapidly, I quickly moved away and turned my back to her, breathing deeply as I stared outside the window.

I was going to lose it.

Glancing down at the hot steaming tea on the counter, a wicked smile curved into the edge of my lips.

It wasn’t from happiness.

No. It was from that twisted, broken little part of me that only found calm in pain. 

When my thoughts spiraled out of control, when emotion dared to reach my face, I had to reroute it somewhere.

I wrapped my palm around the very hot cup, I let it burn my palm as I squeezed my fingers around it.

The searing heat bit into my skin. But I didn’t flinch. I welcomed it—like an old friend. 

My knuckles turned red, the steam curled against my wrist, and still I didn’t let go. 

Pain was control. 

Pain was focus.

The warmth did nothing to calm my nerves, an adrenaline rush and an itchy feeling in my chest.

I wanted to kill. I wanted to punch a wall. I wanted to slam someone’s head into the marble counter, but all I did was smile and let porcelain cook my fucking hand.

"I'll inform everyone and set the table," Susan said, her voice echoing through the quiet kitchen before she left, leaving just the two of us.

Just us.

And yet, it felt like we were on different planets. 

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t even shift her body toward me. 

Her silence wasn’t neutral—it was pointed. It was surgical.

Iris didn’t move, didn’t say a word. 

I could hear her bustling around the kitchen, the clatter of dishes and the soft rustle of fabric as she walked away, silently.

I stared at the back of her head, wondering if she could feel my eyes on her.

If she could hear how loudly her silence screamed inside me.

But the silence that followed each movement was suffocating, wrapping around me like a vice.

Say something, my sweet Mini. 

Even if it’s hate. Even if it’s your worst. Anything’s better than this... this complete erasure.

But what is she doing here?

The question screamed in my head, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask it.

Because I already knew the answer. They brought her here. My friends. 

The ones who told me she was off-limits now. The ones who said I needed to leave her alone. The ones who promised she’d be safe.

Instead, they put her back into my cage.

Instead, I stood there, my back to her, my palm burning and squeezing around the cup.

Still clenching.

Still pretending I was calm when I was seconds from collapse.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

She wasn’t supposed to be here, and yet, I couldn’t deny the relief that washed over me, the overwhelming need to just grab her nape and pull her body against mine, too close that I could hide her inside me.

I hated myself for it.

But God, I wanted to touch her. Just to check if she was real. Just to see if she'd pull away, or hit me, or cry, or say my name.

Hell…..this is bad. Worse.

Now all I feel is a knife twisting in my gut.

I flinched as the cup broke and the steaming tea splattered down, sprinkling a bit on my stomach, like needles picking on.

The porcelain cracked under the force of my grip and shattered in my palm. 

A splash of boiling liquid bit at my skin—hissing against my abs—and I barely reacted.

Let it hurt. Let it fucking hurt.

Sighing deeply, I looked up, taking deep, very deep breaths.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s ok–.

No, it’s not. It’s not okay. 

I fucked this up so badly, even silence is a punishment now.

They all are acting normal.

So my stupid fucking useless friends are the reason she is here.

Yeah. That tracks.

If not, Aiden by now came here running like school gossip girl.

I could already imagine his fake surprise, that dramatic gasp, followed by his gleeful, shit-eating grin as he yells, "Oops, look who bumped into each other!"

"Ace, sweetie! Food's ready," Aiden's voice broke through the silence, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Good. Because if I stood here one more second, I’d burn the house down.

Literally. Not a joke. I'd take a match and watch the curtains curl.

I washed my hands under the water as I made my way to the dining hall, the lingering tension in my chest making it hard to breathe.

My skin still stung where the tea hit it, raw and red. 

Good. Let the pain stay. Better that than the madness simmering beneath my skin. 

My thoughts moved like razors—fast, sharp, too many of them.

As soon as I stepped inside, Felix threw a shirt at my face with a smirk.

I should break his nose just for curiosity.

"Put this on, pornstar," he teased.

I caught the shirt and quickly pulled it over my head, clearly not in mood to argue.

The cotton clung to my skin like a second layer of guilt. Too warm. Too tight. 

It felt like a cage. Or maybe I just couldn’t stand anything touching me that wasn’t her.

The fabric felt constricting, like it was trapping the heat that was already building inside me.

Because she was here.

Because I could smell her natural scent from across the damn room— jasmine and ruin.

I saw her sitting beside the tomboy girl. 

Of course! Iris makes friends who are weird.

Of course she’d be drawn to the loud ones, the messy ones, the ones who crash through life without checking for casualties. 

I took a seat beside Felix, but my gaze fixed on her.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t squirm. 

She just laughed at something the girl said like my presence wasn’t even worth a glance.

I knew I would look like a shameless, arrogant bastard to her right now, but is it my fault!

Is it my fault that I’m still hungry for her like a sickness I can’t cure?

Look at her! Just one glance from her, even for that I will kill anyone in this room.

Anyone. I wouldn't even hesitate. Hudson, Leo, Liam—doesn’t matter. 

Give me the word, and I’ll bury them under this floor for a flicker of her attention. 

"Ace, Iris visited us surprisingly," Aiden declared, his voice trying to bridge the awkwardness.

The bastard. Always smiling like a fox. He thinks he’s clever.

I looked at him and then around others, as they smiled innocently at me.

Fake. Every single one of them.

They sat there, grinning like kids who snuck the forbidden pet into the house and now waited to see how long it’d take me to snap.

A realization dawned at me. Liam– that dickhead, son of a bitch.

Of course. He had a soft spot for her. The moral compass in our group. The bleeding heart. 

Always looking at me like I was a storm cloud that needed fixing. 

He must’ve brought her here. Or tricked her.

I hummed, sarcastically, my gaze lingering on Mini. 

She hadn't even looked in my direction, not once, not even for formality.

It burned. 

That lack of acknowledgment. It was surgical. 

She used to look at me like I hung the stars with my bare hands. Now, she stared at her plate like I didn’t exist.

Can’t she just go away quickly before I lose my control.

Because I would. I felt it rising inside me like pressure under skin. 

I wanted to shout at her. Grab her face and make her look at me. Demand attention. A tear. Anything. 

I needed her to hate me, not ignore me. 

Ignoring me? That was worse than a bullet.

I knew damn well that I would hurt her again if she stayed too close, even her scent is enough.

It coils around me like a drug I never quit. 

Just one whiff and suddenly I’m twenty steps back in my own goddamn self-destruction.

Because that's who I am.

A destroyer.

Always have been. Always will be. 

People come to me thinking they’ll survive, thinking they’re special. They’re not. They burn. 

She did, too.

And she…

She’s still the only thing I can’t seem to destroy completely.

She lingers. In my veins. In my walls. In the silence I don’t like anymore.

My jaw tightened, the muscles ticking as I forced myself to look away.

Even that cost me something. Felt like tearing duct tape off my soul.

Why can’t I just look away even for a minute from her. It’s humiliating.

Because I’m starving. That’s the truth. 

Starving for the sound of her voice when she’s not crying. 

Starving for the way her fingers used to curl around the fabric of my shirt. 

Starving for the way she used to look at me before she knew who I really was.

I could feel my friends’ eyes darting between us, their curiosity and awkwardness palpable.

They were waiting to see whether I’d go full monster or play it civil.

They were waiting for something, some sign of how this was going to play out.

But Mini didn’t give them anything. She didn’t give me anything either.

Of course not. 

She’s smart. She knows how to make it hurt without touching me.

Her focus was on Quinn, her expression carefully controlled, like she was holding back something.

Something that used to belong to me.

A soft version of her. 

A version that giggled and mumbled and tugged her sleeves down when she was shy. 

That version had teeth now. She’d sharpened them in my absence.

And yet I still wanted to feel those teeth sink into my throat if it meant I could have her look at me.

"Iris never said she has this many friends because at Newark she talks to everyone like she's going to eat their liver," Quinn remarked, chuckling, furrowing her brow in exaggerated confusion.

Her bluntness was met with chuckles around the table, the tension breaking momentarily.

Laughter. They were laughing.

At her? At me? At the fucked-up idea that someone else knew her well enough to joke like that?

"Yeah, seriously. Not even with me, her ex-boyfriend, or Caleb," Quinn added, her words like a punch to the gut.

Ex-fucking dickhead, asshole boyfriend.

My hand tightened around the fork, the metal biting into my palm. 

The prongs bent slightly under the pressure, but I didn’t stop. 

I welcomed the pain—it was the only thing keeping me grounded in that moment.

Jeremy. Caleb. Who else, huh? 

Any more names I should know? 

Should I start making a list of men I need to dismember?

I felt a wave of possessiveness surge through me, but I forced it down, locking it behind the same walls I had built up all these years.

Walls that were now cracking.

Because she was cracking them. 

With nothing but her silence. 

Her presence. 

Her fucking ghost of a gaze that wouldn’t land on me unless forced.

"Quinn," Mini’s voice cut through the noise, a warning laced in her tone.

There it was—her voice. Finally. Not for me, of course. Never for me.

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn replied, rolling her eyes like this was all a joke.

It wasn’t.

She didn’t get it. She didn’t understand what those names did to me. 

Didn’t know how close I was to standing up and flipping this entire goddamn table just to wipe that smug little grin off her face.

"She has an ex-boyfriend?" Felix asked, his voice tinged with surprise.

Shut up.

I didn’t say it aloud, but my head snapped toward him anyway. 

My stare sharp, unblinking. Like he was next.

"Well, that's a different story," Quinn said, pausing dramatically, like she was setting up for some grand revelation.

My teeth ground together. I knew what was coming. I knew it would be bad. 

But I still listened. I always listened when it came to her.

"Jeremy proposed to her, and she couldn’t say NO because he did it in front of everyone. She didn’t want to embarrass him or hurt his heart, so she said yes. A very dumb move," Quinn explained, stuffing her mouth with food as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the table.

The blood in my veins went from warm to lava.

Jeremy? That fucking asshole proposed to her?

And she said yes? Even for a moment? Even for pretend?

My vision blurred.

I could see it—the image forming in my mind like a cruel painting. 

Him kneeling in front of her. Her caught off guard, uncomfortable, surrounded. And still saying yes. 

Even if it was a lie, even if it was for pity—it should’ve been me. 

It should’ve never been anyone but me.

My grip tightened on the fork, the urge to smash it against the table rising.

Jeremy? That name alone made me want to go hunting tonight.

 I wanted to go and kill that so-called Jeremy.

Fucking nitwit, useless waste.

"Most importantly," Quinn paused, glaring at Mini with a look.

Mini didn’t meet it. Of course she didn’t. 

Her lips were tight, her expression neutral. But her eyes—they were storming. I knew that look. 

She was about to shout, or yell.

"What happened next?" Susan asked, leaning in, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Of course she wanted the drama. 

Everyone at this table was addicted to the spectacle.

Before Quinn could continue, I cut in, my voice colder than ice.

"Who's Caleb?" I asked, my tone leaving no room for evasion.

"No one," Mini replied curtly, her eyes finally meeting mine.

Finally.

There was a spark in them, a flicker of something she was desperately trying to keep hidden.

Fear? 

Regret? 

Anger?

Maybe all of it.

Now, she’s talking, I scoffed inside my head, though the bitterness was all too real.

You only speak when you're defending your secrets.

 Not when I burn for a single word from you.

"Her secret stalker," Quinn added with a smirk, clearly oblivious to the tension she was stirring.

The smirk. That stupid, clueless smirk.

I wanted to reach across the table and—

Mini palmed her mouth in frustration, and I could feel the blood boiling in my veins.

She was embarrassed. Irritated. Flustered.

And I wasn’t sure if it was because of the stalker part—or because of the reaction it triggered in me.

The idea of someone else—anyone—being close to her like that made me want to tear the room apart.

Because I was hers.

Even if she hated me.

Even if she wanted me dead.

Even if she never said my name again.

I was still hers.

And if Caleb ever so much as breathed near her again, I’d rip his lungs out and mail them to his mother in a fucking fruit basket.

I'd wrap the bow myself.

"I heard she had a boyfriend who left her because he thinks she's ugly. Is it true?" Quinn asked abruptly, her curiosity piqued.

The room fell silent.

Chairs didn’t creak. Forks didn’t scrape. Nothing moved. 

Everyone’s eyes darted toward me—troubled, uncertain.

Like they were watching a ticking bomb, just waiting for the second I’d explode.

They knew this conversation was skirting dangerous territory.

Before I could say anything—before the rage clawing at my chest could even escape—Mini cut in.

"Where's Liam?" she asked, her voice laced with shock, like she just remembered something crucial.

The timing wasn’t a coincidence.

She knew.

"He's out of town," Alex responded casually.

Mini looked genuinely shocked, her expression slipping for a moment.

It was small. Just a flicker. But I saw it.

Liam tricked her.

Now I’m sure of it.

"We're leaving in the afternoon," she announced suddenly, her tone final.

No.

No.

"What? Liam said you were going to stay here for the whole day," Hudson exclaimed, confusion all over his face.

What the fuck?

Liam didn’t tell me this.

He said nothing about her leaving so soon. Nothing about her being here in the first place.

My frustration doubled, not just with the situation, but with the fact that I was clearly out of the loop.

I haven’t prepared anything.

No time to talk. No time to probe. No time to... see if maybe she still looked at me the way she used to.

"Of course, I mean, come on! The restaurant is closed because of a disaster, so why not?" Quinn said, brushing it off like it was no big deal.

 "She has two days off," she added, enthusiasm bubbling in her voice.

Quinn was still talking, still filling the air with noise and nonsense, when suddenly she stopped.

Her gaze shifted—first to me, then to Mini.

And then, slowly, she zeroed in on my chest.

"And also," Quinn paused, frowning as her eyes narrowed, "Your pendant... it looks familiar."

Slowly, her eyes settled on my pendant that I never took off. 

The one that hung around my neck like I needed it more than my next heartbeat.

Because I did.

"Quinn! Don’t talk while eating," Mini snapped, her voice louder than before, her composure cracking.

There it was again—that slip. That momentary break in her careful armor.

Because of me.

Suddenly, Iris glared at her, hard.

It wasn’t just a look. It was a warning. 

A silent, sharp exchange between them that made Quinn fall silent instantly.

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

I could feel the shift. The unspoken words hanging in the air like a noose, tightening with every passing second.

After breakfast, I noticed Quinn chatting away with my friends, her carefree demeanor grating on my nerves.

Where in the hell did Iris find a friend like Quinn?

So loud. So careless. So sharp-tongued and oversharing it made my skin crawl.

I stepped into Iris' room, even though I hadn’t thought this through—there was no plan, no strategy—only the need for answers gnawing at my insides.

I needed to know about Caleb.

HeR SeCrEt StAlKeR… Blah, blah.

What kind of idiot lets someone stalk them and doesn’t tell me?

What else has she been hiding?

Lying on her bed, I stared at the ceiling.

The room was dim, bathed in the soft, golden morning light that seeped through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.

Slowly, the door creaked open, the sound slicing through the quiet, revealing a sliver of the hallway beyond.

I didn’t move. Just kept lying there, still as stone on her bed, waiting. Listening.

For a moment, I thought someone might enter, but the space remained empty. 

Shadows shifted. Footsteps paused. Then…

The faint sound of voices drifted in, catching my attention.

"I mean, he is also fine, but has too many scars and very psychotic eyes. But still, I think he is the least handsome one," a tomboyish voice echoed through the crack in the door, playful yet insistent.

Quinn.

My jaw clenched.

Least handsome. Psychotic. Scars.

I knew who she was talking about. 

And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or throw something.

"Quinn, shut up. One more word and I am leaving this place without you," Iris’s voice responded, firm and unwavering.

My breath hitched.

She was…defending me? Or at least protecting me from Quinn’s mouth?

Ah, I feel great, now.

"Come on," the tomboy persisted, her tone laced with frustration, "I’m just giving you some stress relief that I wouldn’t hit on that scarred guy."

My lips twitched.

Scarred guy. Woow.

She shut the door on Quinn’s face, cutting off the conversation like a blade.

And the room fell silent once more.

“Scarred guy, blah, blah,” she grumbled under her breath, making me smile.

The way her voice dropped, irritated but soft—like a mutter she didn’t mean to say out loud—made my chest tighten.

She was angry. Because Quinn called me scarred guy?

I blinked.

She still cared.

The quiet was broken by a startled breath hitching as Iris spotted me.

She just stood there, staring at me like I was a ghost that refused to fade.

I blinked, smiling up at her. “Mini.”

“Don’t call me that,” she warned, clicking her tongue in disappointment.

Ouch.

“Wasn’t I the one who gave you that name?” I shot back, sitting up slowly.

“The man who gave me that name… died,” she paused, scoffing.

Her tone was ice. Her words hit like a blade. 

“Why aren’t you dead? Didn’t I order you to die last time? Because whenever I see you, I feel disgrace for that man.” 

Folding her arms against her chest, she raised her eyebrows in irritation.

I should’ve flinched. But I didn’t.

I smiled wider.

“You did? I forgot. I am sorry—and thank you for reminding me,” I said, grinning like a fool who just got punched in the gut by the only person he still gave a damn about.

Ah… She talked to me. A full whole sentence. Adorable.

She still has a soft spot for me. I think.

Her eyes were dark with fury, her fists clenched. She didn’t walk away. That meant something.

"What do you want, Mr. Ace Salvatore?" she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Don’t you have some new bed warmer that you came here—"

“Who’s Caleb?” The words left my mouth, blunt and unfiltered.

I didn’t even mean to say them out loud. 

They just slipped—like my self-control had finally snapped in her presence.

She froze.

At the sound of his name, her silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating, pressing down like lead on my chest.

“Who are you to ask me that?” she shot back, her voice sharp and steady.

“My friend? No.
My colleague? No.
My enemy? Freaking no.
Then you don’t have the permission to ask me that,” she said, her eyes hard and glassy, scowling as if every word was a slap in the face.

I didn’t speak.

There was nothing I could say to that. Nothing I could throw back that would match the finality in her voice.

Without a word, she moved toward the closet, her movements slow, deliberate, as if she could somehow hide from the question, from me, in the shadows of the room. 

Her back was to me. Her spine rigid.

Like she was holding herself together by willpower alone.

But she hadn’t kicked me out.

Hadn’t screamed.

Hadn’t broken.

And I was still here.

Still watching her every breath like a starving man at the edge of a feast he couldn’t touch.

I have a chance.

Not to fix things. Not to be forgiven.

But to feel her. Hear her. Just once more.

I walked behind her, the floorboards silent beneath my steps. 

I saw the slight shift in her posture when she felt me close—the way her breath hitched—but she didn’t move.

Until she did.

She turned and looked up at me, her glare sharp enough to slice through bone.

“Go away before I sink a knife in your chest,” she gritted her teeth.

I bit down on my lower lip, teeth pressing hard enough to taste the threat.

Will she?

According to our situation. Definitely.

Adorable.

“If that’s what you want. Do it. But who’s Caleb?” I spoke.

She let out a laugh, dry and cold, and in a swift motion, her hand shot out and gripped my collar, yanking me closer with more strength than I remembered she had.

“What do you want? Huh? Do you want me to warm your bed again? That’s why you’re pretending to be cozing and caring and everything.”

“I may be dumb but I can definitely sense your stupid acts,” she said, her words laced with betrayal, her breath fanning over my chin, warm and uneven.

Her lips looked full and pink from the last time I saw her. And her anger made them tremble just a little.

Suddenly, her hand shoved me back. Tried to.

I didn’t budge, letting the force of it echo against my chest but refusing to move.

She scowled like it infuriated her more.

As she turned, I reached out, my hand finding her waist, my touch firm, unyielding, dragging her back into the moment.

"I’m not gonna ask you again," I said, my voice low, sharp with the kind of impatience that came from months of nightmares and unfinished memories.

"Why do you care?" she shot back, her voice barely audible, a bitter whisper soaked in everything she’d buried.

"I care," I replied, softer this time—more honest than I meant to be. "That’s why I’m asking."

For a second, she didn’t say anything.

Then, suddenly, her hand slapped against my chest.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each hit stung more than the last, not because of pain—but because of the weight behind them.

I backed away a bit, surprised by the strength she summoned when she was angry.

“Liar! You are a liar! I know why you’re asking. You can’t stand that I am happy somewhere,” she exclaimed, her chest heaving, her voice a storm she’d been choking down too long.

I froze.

Her words were blades, every one of them striking straight into that hollow place inside my chest

 And I deserved every single one.

I looked at her, gulping harshly, my throat dry and tight.

Suddenly, she turned, and walked toward the bathroom. Fast.

Like if she didn’t get away now, she might crumble.

My heart pounded as I followed her, adrenaline pounding like drums in my ears.

I reached the door just as she tried to slam it shut.

My hand caught the edge.

The door clattered against the wall as I forced it open and stepped inside, closing it behind me with a solid click of the lock.

Fuck my faith.

"Go away," she demanded, voice cracking like glass, hands braced behind her, her eyes wide but unflinching.

I sighed.

Gripping her wrist, I picked her up—swiftly, instinctively—placing her on the bathroom slab and caging her in.

She didn’t resist. Not this time.

But her eyes were burning, fixed on me like she could unravel me with a single blink.

And maybe she could.

Because I wasn’t at the edge.

I was past it.

I deserved this.

I knew that.

I knew I was the cause.

But everything I had done—all of it—was fading now, dissolving in the sight of her like smoke meeting rain.

I want someone to drag me away from her right now because I can’t myself. No matter what.

My grip tightened on the marble, knuckles pale, arms shaking from how badly I wanted to touch her and how desperately I shouldn’t.

Fuck it.

Gulping, I palmed her cheek, the pads of my fingers brushing her skin with a gentleness that didn’t match the hunger and desperation inside me.

“Mini, just answer me, who is that useless boy?”

Her eyes widened, just slightly. Like I had said the one thing I wasn’t supposed to.

Like I triggered something deeper than I meant to.

Her hand shot up, pushing against my chest, hardly.

“Don’t call me that,” her voice cracked.

And that made me snap.

I gripped her waist, pulling her close to me, making her fight harder, her body jolting against mine like I’d touched a live wire.

“Leave! Leave me!” she yelled, and her hand shot up, gripping her neck—my neck—her fingers digging into my skin like claws, desperate and furious all at once.

“No.”

I wouldn’t.

Not when she was this close. 

Not when I could feel the pain rolling off her in waves and knew I was the reason it existed at all.

Her legs thrashed, trying to push me away, searching for any gap, any weakness to break free.

And I just stood there, taking it, holding her.

Her tears—those stubborn, traitorous tears she tried to keep buried—finally broke through, trailing down her cheeks.

She sobbed, the sound shattering every last piece of pride I had left.

And she cursed me, soft little words that hurt more than knives.

I hissed when her nails dragged down my neck, her pain etching itself into my skin.

It felt like an eternity, every second stretching out unbearably as I fought to steady her, to reach her, but she was a storm—violent, untouchable, and burning from the inside out.

And still, I didn’t let go.

Finally, her strength began to wane.

Her sobs quieted, becoming breathy little heaves, her body shaking, not from rage—but exhaustion.

I felt it in the way her weight leaned into mine for just a second too long.

She may be strong now, fierce and angry—but she was still that naive girl, hidden somewhere deep in the wreckage.

The one who craved love so badly, she once mistook my destruction for it.

I sighed, the sound heavy—so heavy—with things I could never take back.

I wiped her tears away, my thumb brushing her cheeks, again and again, uselessly, like I could erase the years I ruined with each pass.

"Mini, look at me," I murmured, my voice soft—too soft for someone who caused the pain.

Her face turned, but her eyes stayed locked on the floor.

"Go away," she pleaded, not commanded.

And that single change broke me open.

Her voice, ragged and torn and trembling—not angry. Just in pain.

"D-Don’t call me that," she whispered again, and this time, it was barely air, barely anything at all—but I heard it. I felt it.

Why?

Do you hate it now?

Or is it because you still love it?

My throat burned, and I couldn’t stop myself.

"Do you love me?" I blurted out, my voice barely audible above the ragged mess of our breathing.

Silence. Thick, heavy, cruel.

Her gaze drifted back up, finally, and I saw it.

Not hate.

Not disgust.

But loss.

"I do," she said, and I flinched.

Her voice cracked with something worse than anger—betrayal.

"I love the man who I loved—not the man who used me for his selfishness!"

She met my eyes and the anguish in her expression—it was unbearable.

"I am just a bed warmer for you," she added, her voice trembling as if saying it aloud made it real.

Like she didn’t want to believe it, but she did.

Because of me.

Her admission crushed me. 

Flattened every part of me that was still holding on.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing until it choked me. I couldn’t even speak.

With a trembling hand, I reached out and gently stroked her hand, tentative, slow.

As if my touch might burn her all over again.

Then I leaned in, kissed her knuckles—soft and reverent—like they were sacred.

Like I had no right to them.

"I apologize," I whispered.

Her eyes widened, her brows drawing together like she didn’t know whether to hit me or laugh in my face.

"For what?" she asked, disbelief raw in her voice.

"For everything. For every single thing I did to hurt you… again and again," I said, my voice even. Hollow. Honest.

And I knew.

She wouldn’t believe me.

Hell, no one would.

But I meant it.

And I couldn’t stop myself.

I pulled her close, like a man dragging himself out of the grave and finding his soul still standing there, waiting.

I wrapped my arms around her body, burying my face into her neck—deep, as if I could disappear into her skin and never be reborn.

Like a starving, pathetic beast curling at its master’s feet, begging not to be cast out.

Inhaling her scent hit me like a drug. Again.

Years. Years of keeping this inside.

Of not touching anyone.

Of saving this moment for her.

I wanted her to hug me first before anyone else.

“Please forgive me…” I whispered, my voice unraveling.

If I were her… I wouldn’t forgive me either.

I’d never even look at me again.

"Forgive me," I repeated, my voice shaking, my arms tightening around her like if I let go, she’d disappear forever.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whispered, her voice choked with tears.

Her tears soaked into my skin—tiny burns that reminded me, again and again, what a pathetic loser I was.

But holding her... it still felt good. She still felt good.

With a heart heavier than my body, I slowly pulled away.

Her tear-streaked face stared back at me—fragile and furious, a mirror of every crack I’d carved into her soul.

I wiped her cheeks, gently. Tender, but laced with the sorrow of knowing it wasn’t enough.

"I missed you," I murmured, barely louder than a breath.

Her breath hit my face—sharp, uneven—and our faces were inches apart.

Then—

"WHY! Why are you behaving like this?" she yelled, voice ripping through the room like glass shattering on concrete.

"Are you not happy that I’m sad? Do you want to break me again?"

Every word—bitten out through clenched teeth—sounded like a scream through the crack of a heart.

Why does she think I also want her broken?

I should stop.

I should stop.

If I don’t, I’ll lose it again.

"I didn't mean it. I had no choice," I blurted, and even to my own ears, it sounded hollow.

She laughed. That dead kind of laugh that doesn’t carry joy—just the echo of disappointment.

"No... choice. Hurting me was the only one you had?" she murmured, her voice so empty, it made the room feel colder.

"There were too many choices. You just chose the one that broke me."

She looked at me like she’d already written me off as a ghost from a nightmare.

“I mean,” she chuckled bitterly, “everything between us was fake. And now you wanna talk about choices—like you ever loved me?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Because she was right.

I had choices.

And I’d picked the coward’s path.

"All that bravado you carry—it’s fake. You're just a loser. A coward trying to dress up guilt like regret. Telling me you had 'no choice.'"

"I am a coward," I admitted, voice breaking. "But I lo—"

"No." Her tone snapped like a whip. 

"I don’t want to hear your so-called explanations or your excuses."

"Mini, listen to me, please—" I tried.

"NO. DON'T! DON’T CALL ME THAT!" Her scream cracked something inside me.

"LEAVE! LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU LIAR! YOU MONSTER!" She shoved at me with a fury I had no right to resist. Her body thrashed, wild with rage and grief.

I backed away.

Every step I took felt like penance.

Her cries clawed at my spine, each one a razorblade dragged across old wounds I’d kept hidden.

And yet—none of them hurt more than the look on her face.

She buried her face in her hands. 

The sound of her sobs—choked and raw—shook the silence like an earthquake no one could survive.

And through it all, her words stayed like broken glass beneath my feet.

"I came here to meet my friends," she whispered, broken and sharp. "I didn’t come here to hear your pathetic excuses."

Her eyes met mine—pure venom.

"I hate you with all my heart. And that hatred won’t leave even if I die."

And she meant it. Every syllable.