I’m almost to the crosswalk when a hand grabs my arm, firm and unyielding. My heart stumbles, the shock of contact rooting me to the spot.
“Not so fast,” Todd’s voice growls behind me, low and rough.
I turn, and the breath hitches in my throat at the sight of him—closer now, his violet eyes darkened with something frosty, something unreadable. The fire that always burned in him hasn’t dimmed; if anything, it’s grown more intense, more dangerous.
“Todd,” I say, my voice tighter than I want it to be. His name feels foreign on my tongue after so many years, like a song I’ve forgotten the melody to.
He doesn’t give me the chance to say more.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he growls, stepping closer, his hand still gripping my arm, firm enough to keep me pinned in place. His violet eyes burn into mine, and there’s no mistaking the edge in his tone. “You don’t hold power over us anymore.”
The words land like a slap, bitter and stinging, harder than the spring air cutting through the city. Power? I never believed I had any. Didn’t they prove that a long time ago? My head shakes, a quick denial of his accusation, though my heart betrays me, thundering in my chest. I don’t want power over him. Do I? Would that have changed anything?
"I—" I begin, but his scent—a heady blend of honey, and sandalwood with a hint of bitter amber—hits me, its almost touchable annoyance swallowing my words before they can form.
He leans in, just enough to make sure I can’t look away. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, whatever you thought you could walk back into with this little plan—” His voice dips lower, each word measured, laced with something cruel. “It’s gone. Dead. Just like the girl who left us.”
The air in my lungs freezes, and I stare up at him, every word sinking deep, raw and unrelenting. I blink, the sting building behind my eyes, but I refuse to let it show.
He doesn’t falter. If anything, his gaze sharpens, like he’s daring me to crumble under the pressure of his words.
My lips part as if to respond, to defend myself, but the ache in my chest strangles every word before it can escape. The girl who left. The girl he thinks I killed. She’s still here, buried under the years and regrets, still needing them in ways I wish she didn’t.
His grip loosens, and then his hand falls away entirely, leaving the ghost of his touch behind—colder than the spring breeze sweeping through the city.
“Whatever this is, Ashlyn, you’ll get nothing from me but what’s required for the show,” he says, his tone clipped and final, like a door slamming shut. He takes a step back, then another, each one widening the chasm between us.
And then he turns, walking away without hesitation, without a single glance over his shoulder.
I stand there frozen as the world moves around me—people brushing past, conversations buzzing in the air, car horns blaring in the distance. It all fades into a dull hum. His words echo louder than everything else, carving themselves into the space just beneath my ribs.
My stomach churns, and I press a hand there, as if that might steady the nausea rising inside me. The faint scent of strawberries and cream—mine, undeniably mine—clings heavier now, a reminder of emotions I can’t afford to let surface.
I take a deep, trembling breath. I won’t cry. Not here. Not now. Not for them.
I square my shoulders, forcing my spine straight, my head high. But as I glance at Todd’s retreating figure, a flicker of something raw pulls at the edges of my resolve.
No.
I turn on my heel, heading in the opposite direction, my steps quick and deliberate. The loud click of my heels against the pavement cuts through the chaos of the city, but it does little to drown out the storm raging inside me.
I walk away from the studio. From him. From everything threatening to unravel me.
Lilah slidesinto the booth across from me, her radiant smile lighting up the room as she sets her phone down on the table. She’s always smiling these days, ever sinceOmega in Paradiseturned her life into one of those fairy tales she used to roll her eyes at.
I envy her happiness, but I’d never take it from her. She deserves every moment of it after what her ex put her through. Hell, I was the one who shoved her toward the show in the first place. Watching her fall in love made me realize something brutal about myself—that my own chance at happiness had slipped through my fingers years ago.
“What’s wrong?” Her smile falters as she takes me in, perceptive eyes scanning my face.
“Nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile that feels about as genuine as a knockoff designer bag.
Lilah doesn’t buy it. She never does. “You look like you’ve been through a war zone. Start talking.”
I let out a shaky laugh, picking up my coffee to stall. “It’s just work. Crazy schedules, long days. You know how it is.”
Her brows pull together, concern creasing her forehead. “Ashlyn, I know you. You thrive in chaos. This isn’t work stress—you’re... I don’t know, different. Tense.”
I shake my head, but my throat tightens at her words. “It’s not a big deal, Lilah. Just a lot going on.”
