Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
For just a moment, I see myself in the woman sitting across from me.
The same tight control, the same fear of wanting too much. It hits me that I didn’t just inherit her eyes or mannerisms. Maybe I inherited her fear too. The belief that love has to be managed and kept at a safe distance.
Her admittance sinks deep, right where I’ve been trying not to look. Because she’s right. That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I’ve been keeping Oliver at arm’s length, pretending distance equals safety, pretending I can live without him when all it does is cause pain.
Mom squeezes my hand, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “You can’t live your life being afraid, Rina. I spent too long doing that. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Don’t walk away from love just because it scares you. Or because you saw me and your father fall apart.”
A memory of Dad’s suitcase sitting by the front door before he walked out of our lives surfaces. I was thirteen, and I told myself I’d never need anyone that much ever again. I blink hard as tears blur Mom’s face. Maybe this is what healing looks like. Not erasing the past but finally sitting with it and coming to terms with it.
Terrified is exactly what I am.
And yet, beneath all that fear, something quieter blooms.
A knowing.
A truth.
That maybe Oliver isn’t the danger I keep telling myself he is. Maybe he’s the one thing I shouldn’t be running from.
Later that night, when I finally crawl into my childhood bed, the house settles around me with its familiar stillness. For years, it was my refuge. A place to hide, to heal, to convince myself I didn’t need anyone.
But tonight, it feels different.
Emptier.
Like something has shifted, like the fog I’ve been living in has lifted and I’m seeing everything—maybe even myself—with startling clarity.
46
Oliver
The penthouse feels too large in the quiet. Every sound carries. From the faint buzz of the fridge, the low whir of the heat cycling on, the soft tick of the clock on the wall. Each noise fills the space where she should be.
The air still carries her perfume from this morning. It’s a sultry scent that’s all her. Clean, with a hint of smokiness that used to make me lean closer just to breathe her in. Now it lingers like a ghost I can’t bring myself to exorcise.
I drag a hand across the back of my neck and continue pacing, bare feet silent on the floor. My phone feels heavy in my palm. Her location hasn’t changed. She’s still at her mom’s house in the suburbs. I tell myself I’m just making sure she’s safe, but the truth is much darker. It’s the only thing that keeps me from doing something impulsive.
Like driving over there and pounding on the door until she lets me in.
Or forcing a conversation she isn’t ready to have.
I stop at the window, my reflection faint against the glass.
How the hell did a proposal meant to prove how serious I am about us end up being the thing that scared her off?
I thought showing her I was all in would make her believe it.
That it would make her stay.
Turns out grand gestures don’t fix fear. They just shine a spotlight on it.
The phone vibrates in my hand, jolting me from my thoughts.
Rina: I’m at my mom’s. I just need some time.
Relief hits first, followed by the familiar ache that’s been carving its way through me since she walked away. At least she hasn’t completely shut me out. At least there’s still a line of communication open between us, even if it’s frayed and worn thin.
I stare at her message, caught between what I want to say and what I should say.
“Put the phone down and slowly back away.”
Kia’s voice slices through my thoughts. She’s curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over her legs, blonde hair pulled into a messy knot that’s starting to fall loose.
I glance at her. “You don’t even know who texted me.”
She arches one perfectly judgmental brow, the family resemblance between us uncanny. “That was Rina. And you’re two seconds away from doing something that will make the situation worse.”
I scowl. “Wrong.”
“Uh-huh.” Her lips twitch. “Because pacing like a feral Roomba totally screams emotional stability.”
The corner of my mouth kicks up despite myself. “Thanks for the insight, Dr. Phil.”
“I’m just trying to save you from yourself,” she says, the words muffled by a yawn. Then her voice dips, the teasing edge fading. “I can see how much you care about her.”
“I love her,” I admit. The confession feels heavy, final, like saying it out loud cements it deeper inside me. “More than I thought I could.”
Kia’s smirk gentles. “I know. It’s written all over your face. I’ve never seen you like this before. I like it. And I like Rina for you.”