CHAPTER 12
SIN
If I thought that night when Theo broke into my pool house and all but begged me to make him feel in ways he’d never felt before would change anything between us, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Maybe it was naive of me to have thought that.
I didn’t expect declarations of love. I didn’t expect him to shout it from the fucking rooftops or throw himself into my arms at work.
But I did expectsomethingto change.
A reply to my texts. A look. A nod. Basic human decency, minimum-effort acknowledgment that I hadn’t imagined it. That I hadn’t given him everything just to continue being treated like a secret that needed burying deeper than any celebrity scandal.
But no. Radio silence. Ice-cold, Theo-style emotional suppression. He ignored me like I was some stupid mistake that he was too rich and too legacy-bound to repeat.
And ithurt.
More than I wanted it to.
I told Thalia once I don’t let people in because they fuck you over. Their absence bruises worse than their presence ever did,and then, like some masochistic junkie, you poke at the ache over and over just to see if it still hurts.
Spoiler: it did.
I didn’t chase him. I didn’t beg. I watched him indifferently. But I wasn’t about to sit around and mope like some lovesick reject while Prince Upper-East-of-Fuck-You acted like I didn’t exist.
So I did what I do best. I acted out so he couldn’t ignore me, even if he wanted to. It was a tried and tested method that worked on my parents until they’d had enough, but I knew it would work. It wasn’t playing fair; I knew there was more going on than I was aware of, but I’d be fucked if I was made to feel like shit again just for existing.
“God,” Thalia groaned, smacking her gum as she leaned over the table, “you’re brooding again. Stop making that face. It’s scaring people.”
“My face is beautiful,” I mumbled, chin in my hands, slouched dramatically like I was auditioning for a tragic indie movie.
Claire raised a brow from where she sat, perfectly poised, latte in one hand, sunglasses perched like a crown. “Is this abouthim?”
“No,” I said immediately.
“Uh-huh,” she deadpanned.
“So it’s just a coincidence you’ve worn eyeliner every day since he ghosted you like an emotionally constipated Victorian ghost?” Thalia cackled.
I didn’t answer. I just lifted my middle finger and took a long, aggressive sip of my iced coffee.
“Let it go,” Thalia offered. “He’s an Astor. They don’t do emotions. They do PR, scandal suppression, and generational trauma.”
“Yeah, well,” I huffed, slumping lower, “his PR can suck my dick.”
Claire grinned. “Wanna blow off some steam?”
I looked up. “That a euphemism or a plan?”
“A little of both.” She leaned in. “There’s a party down by the lake tonight. Think boats, bad decisions, and rich kids with no parents.”
Thalia perked up. “Yes.I need chaos.”
“I need tequila,” I muttered. “And maybe a guy with bad tattoos.”
“We can arrange both.” Claire smiled sweetly.
I stood, the mask slipping back over my features like war paint. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s get fucked up.”
