I don’t want to touch that.
Natalya is officially dead. Same as me. And it’s the only thing that keeps her safe, thanks to Adrien shipping her to the other side of the planet that night.
“Please tell me she is. You can trust me, Kasien.” Her voice is quiet, steady.
Her eyes are still red but dry now. She means it. I look at her for a long moment, then slowly nod.
Her whole face lights up, eyes bright, smile blooming like she’s been waiting her whole life to hear that.
I waited six years to see that smile again. I feel my own mouth twitching into something that might be a smile, and look away before she sees it.
“I knew it,” she whispers, practically glowing.
She liked Natalya. They had that weird chemistry—sweet, soft, almost protective. I used to get jealous, which is pathetic now that I think about it.
I miss my little sister.
For a second, warmth spreads through my chest. A rare, dangerous feeling. And the moment I let it in, reality slams the door.
Even if I let Kiara back into my life, nothing changes. My life isn’t mine to offer. Lucien doesn’t need chains to keep me in place. He built the walls inside my head years ago.
I look back at Kiara. Her body finally gives out, her eyes closing. She slumps to the side, her head landing gently on Adrien’s, since he’s literally pressed into her.
They’re fucking cuddling.
Keep it together. They’re just sleeping.
Their heads are so close together, I could suffocate them both with one pillow.
No.
Should I?
No.
Kiara
Age 17
Lana hands me another glass of wine as I realize I’ve zoned out while she keeps telling me about her new crush. There is a new one every month. I love whatever is wrong with her.
I take the glass and snap out of my thoughts.
“Anyway, tell me about you and that Varner boy,” she says, sitting back next to me and tucking her legs under her, sipping from her glass.
“I haven’t seen him for five days,” I say and stare into my glass for a second. “He’s sick.”
“But you text all the time. I saw it.” She smiles, and I give her a knowing smirk.
He’s kind of an obsessive texter. More of a caller in the evenings. My cheeks warm up when I think about it.
“Yeah, we do,” I admit, feeling my face heat.
“So? What’s going on with him?”
“He’s so,” I pause, thinking how to put it. “So present. He remembers everything I tell him. He remembers when I work, keeps checking if I’ve eaten, if I’ve slept. It’s so,” I let out a quiet laugh. “I’ve never felt so taken care of.”
“Okay, that actually sounds hot as fuck.” She raises her eyebrows and sips her wine.
