Someone like him wouldn’t what?
Wouldn’t pay thousands to keep me safe?
Wouldn’t cover me with his jacket, tell me to button my shirt, push water toward me when my hands were shaking too hard to hold the bottle?
Wouldn’t sit there for hours just so I wouldn’t have to walk back into that crowd?
Wouldn’t let me take his phone—his phone—and play silly little games like a child, like it was the most normal thing in the world?
I lay back on the bed, clutching the envelope tightly to my chest.
It felt wrong. His jacket. His water. His phone. His money. It all felt… wrong. Because if I let myself believe he did it for me, really for me, then what? What would that mean?
My throat tightened.No. He pities me. That’s all.
Yeah. That has to be it.
He saw a girl struggling, some quiet scholarship kid who has to wear short skirts and tight shirts just to survive, and he decided to feel bad for me. That’s all it was.
A charity case.
He didn’tseeme. Not really. Not any differently than anyone else. I’m just another waitress. Another mute angel. Another silent doll.
The only difference is that he didn’t touch me like the rest of them. He just… threw money at me. Respectfully. Like I was still a service, but at least he didn’t make me suffer for it.
That’s it.
That has to be it.
Because to him, what’s a few thousand? Change. Pocket lint. A flick of the wrist. I pressed the envelope tighter, almost angrily.
I can’t let myself think it meant more. I can’t. Because the second I do, I’ll start believing he actually cares. And Joshua Lockhart doesn’t care. Not about me.
He pities me. End of story.
Then—
My phone buzzed.
I froze, heart lurching into my throat. The screen lit up with his name. Joshua.
Joshua: Did you get home fine?
My palms went slick.Why would he ask me that? Why would he—
No. Don’t spiral. Just… breathe.
I stared at the text for too long. My thumb hovered, trembling.
I couldn’t bring myself to answer the question. Instead, I typed something else.
Me: Are you busy?
The reply came back almost immediately.
Joshua: No.
My stomach flipped. He wasn’t busy. He was upstairs. Just upstairs.
