“Dove, I?—”
“I’m done,” I said, my voice firm despite the tears streaming down my face. “I’m done letting you hurt me. You don’t get to keep me here, Ashton. You don’t get to own me.”
He stood there, frozen, his fists clenched and his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths. For a moment, I thought he might fight me, might try to stop me, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his eyes burning into mine, and it almost broke me all over again.
The sound of the Uber pulling up outside shattered the tense silence. I turned without another word, my steps quick and unsteady as I headed down the grand staircase. The gothic architecture of the estate loomed around me, its dark beauty now a cage I couldn’t wait to escape.
As I stepped out into the cold morning air, I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.
Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.
42
DOVE
The bells above the bookstore door jingled softly as a customer walked in, the sound blending with the faint Christmas music playing through the old speakers mounted on the walls.
The store smelled of cinnamon and pine, thanks to the garland draped across the shelves and the candles Christina had insisted on burning near the register.
Warm light spilled from the frosted windows, making the small shop feel like a snow globe scene come to life. Outside, Hollow Hills was in full holiday swing, its cobbled streets dusted with fresh snow and lined with twinkling lights.
It was December in Hollow Hills, and that meant traditions. The entire town looked like it had been plucked out of a Hallmark movie, with wreaths on every lamppost and cheery red ribbons strung between the storefronts.
A massive tree stood in the town square, its branches adorned with handmade ornaments, and a star that the mayor ceremoniously placed on top every year.
There was the annual “Candlelit Stroll,” where thetownspeople paraded down Main Street with lanterns, singing carols while snow fell softly around them. And, of course, the “Great Gingerbread Contest,” which had everyone from the local bakery to the firehouse vying for the title of Best Gingerbread Creation.
This year’s top contender was a life-sized gingerbread replica of the town’s historic clock tower.
I should have felt the magic of it all—the charm, the warmth, the joy. But as I stacked a new shipment of books on the table near the window, I realized I didn’t feel any of it. Not really. I was here. I was functioning. But it was all surface-level, like I was going through the motions.
In the quiet moments, when the hum of the store died down, and I was left with nothing but my thoughts, that was when the ache hit me hardest.
That was when I thought of him.
Ashton.
It was ridiculous. I hated him, didn’t I? I should hate him. He’d taken me, broken me, made me feel things I shouldn’t have felt, and then… then he’d told me to leave. He’d said those awful, cruel things, torn me apart, and I still couldn’t get him out of my head. I hated myself for it. For the way my mind would drift back to him when I was alone, for the way his face haunted my dreams.
“Dove!” Christina’s voice snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. She was standing by the counter, holding two steaming cups of coffee and grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “I brought caffeine. You’re welcome.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself. “Thanks. I think I’ll need it to get through today.”
She handed me a cup, her expression softening as she studied me. “You’re working too much,” she said. “You shouldcome out with me tonight. The Candlelit Stroll is happening, and it’ll be fun. You love it every year.”
“I’ll pass,” I said quickly, taking a sip of coffee to avoid her gaze. “I’m not in the mood for carols and crowds.”
Christina leaned against the counter, her brow furrowing. “You’re never in the mood for anything anymore. You can’t keep doing this, Dove.”
“I’m fine,” I said, a little too sharply. I wasn’t, but I didn’t want to admit that—not to her, not to anyone.
“You’re not,” she said, her tone gentler now. “You’re just pretending to be.”
I sighed, setting the coffee down and crossing my arms. “What do you want me to do, Christina? Forget everything that happened? Pretend like it didn’t?—”
“I want you to stop punishing yourself,” she interrupted. “And maybe… maybe you should talk to him.”
I stiffened, the mention of him instantly putting me on edge. “We’re not doing this,” I said, shaking my head. “Not today.”
