“What?”
“We have to leave. Now. Please, John—please.”
Something in my voice must have told him not to argue, because only half a second passed before he agreed, “Okay. Give me five minutes.”
I crashed the phone back on the cradle, my chest heaving as I tore open the closet door. I yanked my suitcase off the topshelf and threw it on the bed. Clothes, toiletries, anything within reach—I stuffed them inside without thought, my breath coming too fast, too shallow.
Every motion felt mechanical, like if I kept moving, maybe the panic wouldn’t catch up. Like if I kept moving, I wouldn’t hear his voice echoing in my head—She’s an escort. I hired her to pretend. Stupid mistake…
The zipper dragged closed—just as the door opened.
“Em?”
I froze, my pulse spiking so sharply I thought I might be sick all over again.
Dean stood in the doorway, sunlight outlining the hard planes of his body, his hair disheveled, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.”
He stepped inside, letting the door fall half-shut behind him. “I can see that,” he said slowly. “Why?”
I turned toward him, gripping the suitcase handle like it was my only anchor. “Because I can’t lie to them anymore,” I whispered. My throat tightened. “I can’t sit at that table with all of your family and pretend?—”
My voice broke on the last word, just as John appeared in the doorway. His eyes darted between me and Dean, as if he had no idea what he’d just walked into.
Dean’s voice came quieter this time, careful—gentle. “Pretend what?”
Something in his tone made my chest ache. Like he already knew the answer but needed to hear me say it anyway.
“That I’m not just a girl you hired off the internet,” I said, my voice steady even though my whole body trembled.
Dean flinched, his gaze dropping to the floor.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating. I waited—God, I waited—for him to say something that would change things. To tell me I was wrong. That I wasn’t just a lie he had paid for. That what we’d built was more than pretend.
But he didn’t.
The quiet stretched too long, until he finally looked up again.
I drew a shaky breath and met those beautiful eyes—the same ones that had undone me from the start. “I can’t lie anymore,” I whispered, the words scraping out from somewhere deep. “Not to them. And not to myself.”
“Em—” Dean’s voice was rough, raw, like gravel dragged over stone. He took a hesitant step forward, but before he could say another word, I felt George’s nose press against my thigh.
I looked down to find him staring up at me—eyes wide and trusting, but confused, as though he could feel every crack in this make-believe world splitting open around us. “Go lie down, George,” I said softly.
He tilted his head, nudging my hand once again, as though he didn’t understand why I sounded so sad.
“Lie down,” I repeated, louder this time, but my voice broke halfway through.
He sank right there on the rug, slow and uncertain, ears pinned back like I’d just scolded him. The sight of him—so loyal, so eager to please, yet so confused—nearly broke me.
Then John’s voice came from the doorway, quiet but certain. “Em…”
I blinked hard, forcing myself to look up. My chest burned as I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle. “Let’s go,” I whispered.
John hesitated, his hand hovering near the frame. His eyes moved from me to Dean, and something heavy passed betweenthem—as though he knew we were both about to make a mistake, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.
I walked out the door without looking back and climbed into the passenger seat of John’s truck, buckling myself in before I could fall apart.
