Chapter 165
Becca’s body on the kitchen floor.
And then-
Emilia.
—
Her voice soft, always soft. Never loud like Margot. Never this demanding.
She never left lipstick stains. Her kisses were clean, unsure. Her mouth never tasted like wine or lies.
–
The way her eyes lit up when Liam walked into a room – like he was the sun. Like he was everything.
What did he ever see in her?
What does he see?
—
–
flawless,
It makes no fucking sense. Not when I’m here with Margot experienced, willing and still, all I see is Emilia’s face the dinner I ended things. Hurt, confused. Still hoping.
Fuck, Zane, it’s been more than seven months.
Margot pulls me back, dragging her lips across my throat. “I’ll make it all better.”
But I’m not here.
Not really.
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I’m in that bathroom three years ago watching Emila dump her concealer into the trash because I her she didn’t mesi in
I’m in her dorm room, breathing in her sweater while she laughed at some show I never cared about
I’m on the phone with her while she cried because she ruined the eg and I’d called her useless
I came here to forget. To bury something
But all I’ve done is dig it back un
After. Margot lies across my chest, smug and quiet. Her fingers trace patterns on my stomach. She doesn’t ask what I’m thinking
Good.
Because if she did. I’d have to lie.
It wasn’t her I saw when I came
It was Emilia.
It’s always Emilia.
EMILIA
I knock on the door to Tessa’s home office for what feels like the
hundredth time. Still locked.
Of course it is.
I shift the tray in my hands – a small bowl of fruit, a plain oatmeal, a few slices of toast. Nothing fancy. Just something soft, light.
Something she can’t argue with.
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She hasn’t eaten since she locked herself in there yesterday. I’m sure of
- it.
“Tess,” I call gently. “I made you breakfast.”
Silence.
I wait, like maybe this time will be different. It isn’t.
I sigh, resting my forehead against the door.
–
When I first came back three weeks ago, I let myself believe her behaviour was temporary. That the Tessa I knew — stubborn, bright, always two steps ahead of herself – would bounce back. She’d
–
followed me to the station, hadn’t she? Kept her promise. That had to count for something.
But the longer I stay, the more I watch her unravel – quietly, steadily
– the more I realise I might’ve come back to a stranger.
–
I close my eyes and raise my voice just enough to be heard through the wood. “Tessa? Please… just say something.”
Still nothing.
“I’m worried about you.”
And this time, the words come out smaller than I mean them to. Because they’re true. And I hate how helpless they make me sound.
For a second, nothing.
Then, finally, her voice is muffled and thin. “I’m busy, Emilia. Just leave the food at the door.”
It’s not much, but it’s enough to make hope bloom in my chest, stupid and stubborn. “You’ll eat it, right? At least take a few bites. And
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maybe, maybe you’ll go in today? Or tomorrow? Just to get some air
“Just drop it by the door.”
The way she cuts me off stings more than I want it to. I press my lips. together, bite down on the instinct to push. To lecture. To snap.
Tessa’s put up with worse from me. I owe her patience. Even now.
So I set the tray down quietly. I stare at the closed door for a second longer, then step back.
Never thought I’d live to see the day I’d be begging my workaholic best friend to go to work.
Anything. Anything to get her out of that damn office.
“Lyle, you absolute bastard,” I mutter under my breath before getting ready to head over to the bakery.
If she’d just listened to me and not brought him as her date… Ugh. She hasn’t said much about what happened, but she didn’t have to. It doesn‘ t take a genius to put the pieces together. Whatever he did whatever he said — it broke something in her.
–
–
And part of me hopes he steps in front of traffic. A small part. The rational part. Obviously.
I wish Liam was here. He would know the right thing to do. The right thing to say.
As I walk, I catch myself smiling like an idiot.
Liam.
Just thinking his name is enough to turn the sky a shade brighter. His
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apartment key still sits on my vanity table, and every time I catch sight of it, I squeal. Out loud. Like an actual child.
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