Not when I stood.
Not when I raised my hand.
Not when I opened my mouth and destroyed him.
I add a little more blush, like I can bury the memory under colour, and breathe out slowly through my nose.
This is my life now.
A door closes somewhere down the hall. Soft footsteps approach—unhurried, confident. I feel him before I see him, the shift in the air, the weight behind me.
Noah’s reflection appears in the mirror.
Blonde hair, perfectly styled, blue eyes sharp and intelligent, the kind of face that looks expensive without trying. He’s already in his suit—tailored charcoal, crisp white shirt, tie knotted just loose enough to suggest control rather than carelessness. Ink peeks out from beneath his cuff when he reaches forward, a hint of black and geometric lines wrapping his wrist.
His hands settle on my shoulders, warm and possessive.
“You’re up early,” he says, voice smooth, intimate. “Couldn’t sleep?”
My throat tightens. I meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching me watch myself.
“Big day,” I reply lightly.
His thumbs slide along my collarbones, slow, deliberate, and my body reacts on instinct even as something inside me stiffens. He leans down, mouth brushing my temple, inhaling like he’s memorising me.
“You look incredible,” he murmurs. “As always.”
I hum, noncommittal, and reach for my lipstick.
He takes it from my hand before I can apply it, sets it down, then cups my chin gently, turning my face toward him so I have no choice but to look at us reflected together—me, pale and composed; him, all sharp lines and certainty.
“Later,” he says. “I like you like this.”
His fingers trail down my arm, possessive without being rough, and I swallow.
We look perfect together.
That’s what everyone says.
“So,” Noah continues casually, straightening, adjusting his cufflinks like he’s about to discuss the weather. “I heard some… interesting news this morning.”
My pulse stutters. “Oh?”
He smiles at my reflection, all charm, all teeth. “Your brother.”
The word lands heavy.
“Kai,” he adds, like he enjoys saying it. “Gets released today, doesn’t he?”
The room feels smaller. The mirror sharper.
I turn slightly on the stool. “I don’t keep track.”
Noah chuckles, low. His hand returns to my waist, fingers splaying like he’s claiming ground. “Of course you don’t. Still—funny how these things line up. You finally settle into this life.” His grip tightens just enough to register. “And then the past decides to come knocking.”
I force a smile. “He’s not my past.”
“No?” His brows lift. “Could’ve fooled me. Court transcripts make for fascinating reading.”
