Even thinking about a life without Langston makes my chest ache. Makes something inside me curl inward and protest.
I take a slow breath. Steady myself.
Then I look Elliott dead in the eye.
“Only one year?” I say.
The words come out sharp. Controlled. Measured.
Not an invitation.
A warning.
I’m just about to unload every thought I’ve ever had about him—about how he never knew me, never chose me, never earned a place in my life—
When something slams into the wall outside the closet.
Hard.
Violent.
I flinch, heart jumping into my throat.
I shove the door open wider.
And then I see him.
Langston.
Sliding down the wall like gravity has finally caught up to him.
His face is twisted in agony so raw it steals my breath. Not anger. Not rage.
Devastation.
Like the ground beneath him just gave way.
Like his whole world cracked open in one brutal second.
“Oh my God,” I breathe.
I’ve never seen anyone look like that.
Never seen anyone look like they just lost everything they didn’t even know they were allowed to want.
And suddenly I understand.
He heard me.
And whatever he thinks those words meant—
It’s breaking him.
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I drop to my knees in front of him like the marble floor doesn’t exist, like my dress isn’t silk and emerald and far too expensive to be crumpled beneath me. None of it matters.
