“Aoi, what is your relationship with Aiden Morgan?” a reporter questions, and that makes me frown. “Is it true that you’re in a relationship with the youngest Lacroix brother?”
What? Why would they even ask me that?
“I will only answer questions about my autobiography and my choice to quit the industry. Refrain from asking unnecessary questions that do not suit the context of this press conference.” I exhale and clench my fists under the table, digging my nails into my flesh until relief explodes from the pain of my skin tearing. I don’t know how I haven’t broken down yet. “My retirement from the industry is led by personal reasons, and I won’t explain further. I have no intention of ever publishing again.”
The journalists get louder, swarming me with incessant questions, and I feel my heart shrink in my chest as another wave of self-hatred crashes into me.
I turn to Dixon and hold back the nausea threatening to stain the stage if I don’t get the hell out of here. “I’m sorry but I have to go. Please, answer their questions for me.”
“Wait, what?” He reaches for my arm, but I’m already halfway across the stage when Mr. Williams stands up from his chair and calls after me alongside Dixon.
I can’t breathe.
I have to get the fuck out of here before I lose it. The lobby is too crowded, and people seem to recognize me as they start walking toward me.
No. No. Please, leave me alone.
“There you are!” Amira’s voice echoes behind me, her hand grabbing my wrist. “Let’s get out of here.”
Fuck, I want to cry and let her hold me, but I need to be far from here first. I can’t stand all these judging eyes and prying ears just waiting for me to slip up so they can tear me down.
I interlace our fingers and let her guide us through the lobby. “I’ll get the car, okay? Don’t move from here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I don’t know what face I’m making, but her usually composed demeanor falters, and she grabs my cheeks. “Aoi, tell me you understand.”
I nod, and she mirrors my move before running out of the hotel and leaving me behind. Staring at the ground, I watch my foot tapping impatiently against the polished floor, my clammy hands wrapped around myself for comfort.
I yelp when my arm gets yanked out of nowhere.
No. Not you.
48
Visha
Dulled and bloodshot ocean eyes stare back at me.
“What do you mean you’re retiring? Why are you quitting?”
He averts his eyes and flings himself out of my grasp. “That’s none of your business.”
He’s running from me again.
No matter how close I get, he manages to slip away.
I grab his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. “Cut the crap, Aoi. I’m not some fucking reporter. Tell me the truth!”
He finally looks at me, stunned by the crudeness of my words. “I’m just so fuckingtired,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Exhausted of everything. Especially of you.”
There’s a wall between us. No matter how hard I try to pierce it, he manages to build a new one to shut me out.
I can see him running from something, hiding behind glass, and yet I can’t get through to him. No matter how close we get, he won’t let me in. But I promised to always run after him when he flees, to keep fighting when he tries to shut me out.
“What’s going on with you, Aoi? Please, let me help you,” I beg, so close to getting on my knees and causing a scene if it means getting anything out of him. “Why did you leave the other night? Why didn’t you reply to my texts? Did I do something wrong? Did something happen? Why are you running form me? And why are you retiring? I don’t understand.”
He opens his mouth and closes it right after, unsaid words fluttering around us, and yet I’ll never know what they mean because he won’t fucking talk to me.
“You can’t help me,” he mutters, avoiding my gaze. “There’s nothing you can do. Drop it and leave me alone.”
