I clear my throat softly and she turns to look at me, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, her posture defensive, like she’s preparing for a fight. I don’t need to hear the words to know what’s coming. I’ve seen this before. The rejection. The withdrawal. The escape.
Her voice is clipped, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, something raw that she’s hiding behind her words. “This is not right,” she says, her gaze unwavering. “I’ve already decided. This won’t happen again.”
Her words don’t surprise me, but they hit me harder than I want to admit. They’re a punch to the gut, and I feel it deep in my chest. I know she’s trying to put distance between us, to claim some semblance of control, but it’s too late for that.
I don’t argue. There’s no point. She’s made up her mind, and I know it. I’ve seen her run before.
But this time, I’m not going to let her run without a consequence.
I watch her, my jaw tight, my hands clenched at my sides. “You want to leave?” I say, my voice like ice. “Then go.”
She doesn’t flinch. She just looks at me, waiting for something more, something I’m not going to give her. Not today.
“If that’s what you want,” I add, the words slow, deliberate, each one landing with cold finality. “Then walk out. And don’t come back.”
She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. But I can see it—the way her body tenses. I don’t take back my words because if I attempt to, there’ll be a lot of things I’ll take back with it.
I’m giving her exactly what she wants. A clean exit.
Except… I can’t let her leave without saying it—the words burning deep in my chest.
I take a step toward her, my eyes never leaving hers, the distance between us closing, but this time, I don’t reach for her. I don’t touch her. I speak, my voice barely above a whisper but heavy with intent.
“Better make sure our paths don’t cross next time. If I see you again—” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “—I won’t let you go.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a line drawn in blood.
Because next time, I won’t let her pretend it meant nothing. Not when I’ve claimed her—not when she’s mine.
At my words, she glares and whirls to face the door. Every part of me wants to stop her, but I keep still, watching her leave. Before she reaches the door, we hear footsteps in the hall outside and Zoe turns to me with panicked eyes.
“Are you expecting anyone here?”
But before I can respond, the door swings open.
Maria walks in, her presence instantly changing the dynamic in the room. She stops short when she sees us, her eyes flickering between Zoe and me, confusion clouding her expression.
“What are you doing here?” Maria demands from Zoe, her voice cutting through the thick silence.
Zoe freezes mid-step, caught between me and the door, and I can feel the tension in her body, the tight coil of fear and confusion.
I don’t say anything. I stay silent, my eyes locked on Zoe, watching her struggle to find the words. I know it’s cruel that I don’t step in to help, but I want to see what she’ll say, and how she plans to get herself out of this. She opens her mouth to speak, her voice shaking just a little, and then she says it.
“I… I got into some trouble last night at the club. Some guy was messing with me. Lukin—your dad—helped me and brought me here for the night so I could feel safe.”
I feel the weight of her words hit me like a slap, and for a brief moment, I want to say something. To correct her. To say it’s more than that—because it is. But I hold back.
Maria nods, her face pulling into a mask. “Are you okay now?”
“Yes.” Zoe nods.
Maria doesn’t press further. She switches topics, and suddenly her mood shifts. “By the way,” she says, her excitement returning, “I got some news. It’s fortunate that you’re both here. I’m leaving soon. I got accepted for an exchange year in France! Can you believe it?”
I watch Zoe’s face carefully, her expression flickering for a second—relief, maybe. But the facade fades quickly, replaced by excitement for her best friend.
“That’s amazing, Maria! Congratulations,” Zoe says, her voice soft, too soft for my liking. She’s trying to sound happy, but the weight of the situation is still too much.
Maria grins, oblivious to anything but her excitement. “Thanks! I’m so excited. I’m leaving in about two weeks. You’ll be okay, right?”
