“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” Isabelle says lightly. She’s examining her nails, bored now that the show is over. “You knew the terms. You agreed. You delivered. The rest is just—” She waves a hand. “Conscience. Tedious.”
Kieran whirls on her, and his voice when it comes is pure rage—steel blue gone sickly green, the color of lies.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You ruin people and call it fun? You post this garbage and think it makes you powerful? It just makes you empty.”
He’s shaking. “You don’t have anything on me anymore, Isabelle. Not the bet, not my time, not one second of space in my head. We’re done. Go fuck yourself.”
Her smile doesn’t move. “Such fire. Pity it’s too late.” Her eyes slide to me. “You think the Defenders GM will love this look,chéri? Star player exposed as a predator who targets virgins for sport?”
“I don’t give a shit,” Kieran spits.
Isabelle laughs—silver and false. “We’ll see.”
She walks away, heels clicking, scrolling her phone. Probably moving to her next victim.
Kieran turns back to me, desperation written acrossevery line of his body. “Wren, please. Look at me. I know how it looks but?—”
“How it looks?” My voice rises. “How it LOOKS? Kieran, you?—”
The words choke off.
“I’m done with her,” he says, urgent now. “Whatever she threatened, whatever she wanted—I’m done. We can fix this. You and me, we can?—”
“There is no you and me.” The words taste like ash. “That was the whole setup.”
“That’s not true?—”
I shake my head. The humiliation is too complete to argue.
“It wasn’t a lie,” he says, voice breaking. “I meant it. Every word. I love you.” A breath. Then, desperate, “Fucking say it back, Wren. Say it back. Please.”
The pressure behind my eyes crests.
“I know it’s true,” he rasps, stepping closer. “Say it.”
I don’t want to give him this. But the words break out of me anyway.
“I love you.”
For a second, he can’t move. Hope hits his face so fast it’s almost violent. He reaches for me.
“Then stay,” he says. “Please. Tell me we’ll get through this.”
I step back. “No. I’m not standing here and listening to your silver tongue.”
A ripple moves through the crowd—breath, disbelief, shock.
I shoulder my backpack.
“How does it feel to be king?” I ask quietly, and then I turn away.
“She did this to destroy us,” he says hoarsely. “To make sure I couldn’t come back to you. Don’t let her win.”
“She did well then.” I stop and turn. “You and Isabelle make sense.”
“Wren—”
“And Reed,” I add.
