“I’ll let you go,” I said reluctantly.
“Okay. Goodnight, Noah.”
“Goodnight, Liz.”
I ended the call, lowering my phone slowly, my jaw tight with the weight of all the things I left unsaid.
Liam clapped a hand on my shoulder. “So, you gonna admit it yet?”
“Admit what?”
“That she’s your entire emotional downfall and you’re secretly into the idea of holding hands in the dark and dancing under chandeliers.”
Adonis smirked. “You’re already hers. The rest is just paperwork.”
I shook my head, but I didn’t argue. Because if I let myself really think about it—
They might just be right.
Noah
The house welcomed me with its familiar silence as I stepped inside, just like it always did after dinner. The warm glow of the lights filled the space, and I could hear the gentle hum of the dishwasher in the background. For a moment, I lingered in the doorway, the tuxedo draped over my shoulder feeling almost like a weight I couldn’t bear.
“Hey, sweetheart,” my mom called from the kitchen. “Is that you?”
“Yeah.” I kicked off my boots and made my way in.
She was leaning casually against the counter, her hair pulled back, still wearing that cozy knit sweater from earlier. My dad sat at the table, flipping through the newspaper, idly tapping a pen against a crossword puzzle.
“Get the tux?” he asked, not bothering to look up.
“Yeah. It’s fine.”
My mom turned to me slowly, raising an eyebrow.
“Fine?” she echoed. “Noah, you could be bleeding from your shoulder and still say you’re fine.”
I managed a dry smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Come sit down. Talk to us,” my dad said, tilting his head slightly.
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then pulled out a chair and sank into it, resting my arms on the table like they were made of lead.
There was something about being home that made my defenses crumble. Maybe that’s why I hadn’t visited often while everything with Liz was shifting. I didn’t want to feel safe if it meant admitting just how far I’d already fallen.
Without asking, my mom poured me a cup of tea and slid it across the table. Then she settled into the chair across from me, folding her hands, her eyes steady and calm.
“What’s going on?” she asked softly.
I watched the steam rise from the cup, feeling the weight of my unspoken words.
“I haven’t told her,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Liz?”
I nodded. “About the bet. About how all of this started.”
She remained quiet, allowing my thoughts to trickle out, slow and shaky.
