Then she disappears into the rain.
I follow slowly, trailing behind her like a shadow. I watch her run into Calum’s arms. He wraps her in his coat, hands sliding over her back. She melts into him like it’s instinct.
They return to the tower together. All of us dripping, teeth chattering.
Annabel sinks onto the bench, exhausted. Calum pulls her closer, rubbing her arms, pressing his lips to her temple. She closes her eyes, breathing against his collarbone.
She’s asleep within minutes.
I sit across from them, hands clenched. My wet shirt sticks to my skin like regret. My heart aches with a dull, unbearable throb.
She’s mine. She always has been.
Before Calum, before the sketches and paints and awkward silences.
She is branded on my heart like fire.
And I’ll wait.
I’ll wait until she remembers.
J + A
‘Til death.
Chapter Twelve
Calum
The dream starts the same way every night.
Annabel stands at the edge of the cliff, her hair swept wild by the wind, her dress clinging to her as if the storm itself is trying to claim her. She looks back at me, her face a mix of defiance and something darker—disappointment, maybe. Or betrayal. The sea below churns with fury, waves crashing against the jagged rocks, their roars almost drowning out her voice.
Almost.
“You don’t see me, Calum,” she says, her words sharp as the icy wind. “You only see what you want to see.”
I move closer, the damp earth sliding beneath my feet. My pulse hammers in my ears, louder than the ocean, louder than her accusations. “That’s not true,” I tell her, my voice strained, desperate. “I see you. I see everything.”
She laughs, but there’s no joy in it. “You see the version of me you’ve created. A muse. A prize. But not me. Never me.”
The distance between us shrinks, but it feels infinite. Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I think she’ll let me pullher back from the edge. But then her expression hardens, and she takes a deliberate step closer to the precipice.
“Annabel, stop!” I reach out, but she jerks away, her movements sharp and angry.
“You think you own me,” she snaps, her voice rising with the storm. “You and Jonathan both. You’ve turned me into a game, a possession to fight over. But I’m not yours. I was never yours.”
The wind howls, and she slaps me, her ring cutting across my cheek. The sting is immediate, hot and sharp, and when I touch my face, my fingers come away slick with blood.
“You’ll never let me go,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost tender. “Even in death, you’ll hold on.”
I try to say something, anything, but the words die in my throat. She steps back, her heel teetering on the edge, and I lunge forward, grabbing her wrist. For a second, everything freezes—the storm, the sea, even time itself.
And then she pulls away, slipping through my grasp like smoke. The scream rips from my throat as she falls, her body vanishing into the chaos below.
I wake with a jolt, my chest heaving, my heart slamming against my ribs. The room is dark, the air heavy with the scent of salt and rain. My hand flies to my cheek, and I freeze.
There’s blood.
