We stare through the downpour, silence heavier than anything Conor said.
He doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to.
His anger hangs in the air, thick as the storm itself and somehow, it feels meant for me.
My throat tightens. I can’t breathe. I turn and walk away, heart dragging behind me like dead weight.
Back in my room, I touch the spot on my spine. It’s swollen.
I strip and step into the shower. The water burns through the dirt, the ache, the storm.
They’ve taken everything, my choices, my body, my voice. Now they want my death too?
To be framed, strategic, useful even in dying?
No. Not like that. Not on their terms.
One night, I will jump.
Not because I want to die, but because I want at least one choice that is mine.
That’s the only power I have left.
I won’t be buried under a lie signed in Uncle Liam’s blood.
I’ll jump before the end of term before they crown my coffin.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the storm already came.
Tonight, I rest before I burn their house of lies to the ground.
I close my eyes. My breath stays shallow.
In the dark behind my lids, I see Matteo.
Not saving me. Not reaching.
Just seeing me.
Maybe that’s enough to survive tonight.
When I stepout of the bathroom, Nora’s cross-legged on her bed, scrolling her phone. My hair drips down a hoodie too big for me.
She looks up and grins. “You look like you fought the sea.”
I manage a smile. “Pretty sure the sea won.”
Her laugh doesn’t pry. Doesn’t ask. It just exists, light and human.
I crawl into bed, blanket over my knees.
Nora breaks it first. “You hear about that Rothschild girl? Tried sneaking out to meet some royal heir at the cliffs.”
I lift a brow. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was. He brought flowers and a fake invitation to the masquerade. Full Blackstone drama.”
