Chapter 99
We’re leaning in now. Slowly. Carefully. Testing the moment like it might break under the weight of it.
But it doesn’t.
This time, when our lips meet, there’s no Julie to interrupt the moment. No charade. No act.
Just us.
Just warmth and sun and damp towels and the soft hush of lake water behind us.
And his hand on my cheek.
And mine on his chest.
And the kind of kiss that rewrites a little bit of everything.
TW: Abuse, please proceed with caution.
EMILIA
The hardest part of falling in love – truly falling is the moment you realise what love isn’t.
It’s the moment you understand that love shouldn’t ache just to feel real. That the tight pull in your stomach isn’t butterflies – it‘ s fear. That the alarm bells ringing in your mind aren’t oxytocin – they’re warnings.
Real love doesn’t confine you.
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It doesn’t demand control.
It doesn’t shame you for falling short of its expectations.
It doesn’t dismiss your voice or steal your choices.
It doesn’t mask manipulation as care, or dominance as passion.
Love isn’t supposed to strip you bare until there’s nothing left to give.
Liam’s hands move gently into my hair, unraveling the little braid I did this morning. A tear escapes before I can stop it.
And when I open my eyes-
It’s not Liam I see.
It’s Zane.
The memory returns so vividly, I almost double over. It visits me often, especially when I try to convince myself that he loved me. That he always did.
I’m at the bedroom door, swaying on unsteady legs. Feverish. Weak. Every breath feels like it could be my last. I know I’m moments from blacking out, but I can still see everything. I feel everything.
He’s angry, I should’ve known better than to speak.
But I do.
“Ba–babe, please, Please, put that down.”
My voice is broken, barely more than a whisper,
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But the hurt is deafening.
—
He’s in the hallway, standing over an open suitcase, hurling my clothes down the stairs – one after the other, like they disgust him. Sweaters I knitted myself. The hoodie he gave me on our first date. A pair of slippers Tessa mailed last winter, still in their gift wrap.
They hit the bottom of the stairs in a limp, broken heap. Like me.
“You think this is a joke?” Zane’s voice cuts sharp through the thick air. “You miss my game because you have a fever? Because you didn’t feel up to it?”
My mouth parts, a trembling breath leaving me before I can speak. I don’t even know what to say. I was sick. I am sick. My vision still dances at the edges. My legs are jelly.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just- I couldn’t even sit up—”
He turns. Eyes like frostbite.
“Yeah? But you’re standing just fine to me,” his mouth pulls into a frown. “You’re supposed to be proving to me that you’re worthy of being my wife, Emilia.”
Each word is flung at me, heavier than the last. “You can’t even show up when I need you. What the hell kind of partner does that make you? You think you get to pick and choose when you matter?”
He grabs a picture frame from the wall – one of us laughing on the beach last summer – and throws it. It smashes against the hardwood, the glass skittering across the floor in all directions. I flinch. My hand flies to my chest. My body folds in on itself.
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And still, I don’t move.
Because I need to prove that I do love him enough. That I can do better. So maybe if I just stand still, maybe if I just say the right thing, he’ll forgive me for being tired. For being human.
He storms up the stairs, two at a time, until he’s towering over me, chest heaving.
I don’t even notice his hand until it’s mid–air.
It never lands.
–
He freezes – then pulls it back slowly, as if he’s the one who’s just been hurt. As if I’m the one who’s betrayed him by expecting it to come down.
I flinch anyway.
And he sees it.
He sees the way my shoulders jerk, the way my eyes clamp shut, how my breath rattles in my throat like a warning bell.
He softens.
His voice drops into that familiar hush – the one he uses to calm me down during fights, when he’d stroke my hair and kiss the bruise he swore wasn’t from him.
“I’d never hurt you, baby,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek like I’m something delicate. Like he didn’t just raise his hand at me.
Then he kisses me. Soft, Loving. Forgiving.
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My tears are trapped between our mouths.
