Except it wasn’t really silence. I could still hear the shouts outside, the cameras clicking, the endless hungry chatter of people who wanted a piece of me—of us—of whatever story they could spin from our private moment.
“Farley,” I said, turning to him. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”
“How?” His voice was hollow. “How did you have no idea? You’re famous, Samuel. This is what fame looks like. This is what it does.”
“I know, but I thought—”
“You thought what? We could hide up here forever? That no one would ever find out? You actually believed you could have a normal relationship while living a completely abnormal life?”
“Farley—”
“I didn’t sign up for this, Samuel.” His voice cracked on my name. “I came here to get away from chaos. To heal. To figure out who I am without... without all of this.” He gestured around the room—at Sabrina still tapping on her phone, at Ollie lurking by the fireplace, at the windows where shadows of photographers were still visible. “I didn’t sign up to be part of your circus.”
The word hit me like a physical blow.
Circus.
Like what we had was just another performance. Another spectacle. Another thing to be consumed by strangers who didn’t know us, didn’t care about us, just wanted entertainment.
“That’s not—” I started.
“I think you should go.” Farley’s voice was quiet, devastated. “You and Sabrina and... everyone. I think you should all just go.”
“You don’t mean that.”
He looked at me, and his eyes were wet. “I don’t know what I mean. I don’t know anything right now except that an hour ago I was happy, and now there are photographers and my ex-boyfriend, and, and my... and you, looking at me like I’m breaking your heart when all I’m trying to do is survive mine.”
He turned and walked into the bedroom.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt louder than all the chaos outside.
I stood there, frozen, surrounded by the wreckage of everything I’d thought I was building.
Sabrina was already talking—something about damage control and strategic statements—but I couldn’t hear her. Ollie was moving toward the bedroom door, but Gladys stepped in front of him with a look that could kill.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said. “You’ve done enough.”
Purrsephone jumped onto the couch and stared at me with her mismatched eyes. For once, she wasn’t judging. She just looked... sad.
Outside, someone shouted my name again.
And I realized, with devastating clarity, that I had no idea how to fix this.
Chapter Eighteen
Farley
Isat on the edge of the bed and listened to the chaos outside.
Muffled voices. Camera shutters. Someone—Gladys, I think—was shouting about trespassing laws. And underneath it all, a silence where Samuel should have been.
I’d told him to go, that his life was a circus. I’d watched his face crumble and done nothing to stop it.
And now I was alone, which was exactly what I’d wanted when I came to this mountain. Solitude. Peace. Freedom from the complications of caring about anyone.
It tasted like ash in my mouth.
A soft knock on the bedroom door. Not Samuel—he wouldn’t knock. Hopefully not Ollie—I’d rather set myself on fire. than talk to him.
