Raising my hand again, I sought to end this conversation. “Alyssa, please.”
She nodded slowly, as if she had come to terms with the fact that I would never confront this issue in the way she hoped.
“I’ll go. But just know that I love you, and I’m looking out for you.”
Why does everyone insist on saying that right before they do exactly what I don’t want them to do?
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she added, her voice thick with concern. “And right now, that’s exactly what you’re doing. I’m here for you, Sav. Always. Don’t forget that.”
With a final, forceful slam, she shut the door behind her, leaving me in a suffocating silence. I could finally breathe.
I exhaled in shaky bursts, struggling to calm the tremors that had taken residence in my hands. My chest felt constricted, as if caught in a vice grip.
She had said it so casually, as if it were a simple matter to address.
When Roman had brought up Professor Kingston during the game, I had been swept away in a tide of pleasure, finding it easier to dodge the truth than confront it.
And he hadn’t asked with the knowledge of my past; he had asked like someone in this house had whispered something to him.
And I knew it was Chloe.
No one wears a smile, adorned with the matching bracelet you gifted them, while plunging a knife into your back… unless they’re Chloe Hart.
I was certain she was the architect of this betrayal.
And now? I didn’t care what Roman thought. If Chloe and Dean were scheming individually to tear us apart, then I was ready to serve them a taste of their own medicine.
And if she believed she could casually mention Professor Kingston to my fiancé without facing repercussions? She was sorely mistaken.
With a surge of determination, I pulled myself up from the bed and made my way to the bathroom, desperate to fix my appearance-transforming from a ghostly figure back into a person.
In the bathroom, I gripped the counter tightly, leaning in until my reflection met my gaze, challenging me to confront the truth. My eyes were rimmed with red, my cheeks blotchy-a portrait of vulnerability that I refused to carry into that backyard.
I splashed cold water onto my face repeatedly, the icy droplets stinging my skin, as if I could cleanse away the trembling that had taken residence in my hands. Each splash felt like a futile attempt to wash away the anxiety that clung to me like a second skin. I grabbed the hand towel, pressing it against my cheeks with more force than necessary, as if the pressure could somehow ground me.
With a swift motion, I yanked the hair tie from my hair, letting my locks cascade down my shoulders. It was a small act, but it felt liberating, hiding the tension that had knotted my neck.
I lifted my chin, forcing my lips into a practiced half-smile-neither joyful nor sorrowful, just a mask of untouchability.
Taking a few deep breaths, I inhaled slowly, then exhaled, letting my shoulders drop back into a more confident posture.
The trick wasn’t in convincing myself I was okay. No, the real trick lay in presenting myself as if I had never been knocked down in the first place.
As I stepped out of my sanctuary, it wasn’t Savannah, the girl with a secret, who emerged into the world of the barbecue-it was Savannah Hart, perfectly polished and ready for whatever battle lay ahead. I had a vendetta, and it was sharper than any blade.
However, as I descended the stairs and crossed the threshold into the living room, an unsettling feeling washed over me.
The moment I entered, I could sense the tension in the air. The entire family was gathered around Lizzie’s phone, their faces illuminated by the screen as if it held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries. They were huddled close, eyes glued to the display, a collective breath held in anticipation.
Except for Chloe.
She stood apart, isolated in a corner, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to ward off an invisible chill. Her fiancé enveloped her in his arms, whispering soothing words into her ear, attempting to console her.
From a distance, she could have easily been mistaken for a grieving widow, but I knew my sister all too well. She thrived on drama, and this was just another act in her ongoing performance.
“What’s happening?” I asked, trying to sound casual, but my curiosity was palpable.
Lizzie looked up, her face radiant, as if she had just discovered the secret to world peace. “You won’t believe this, but Bridal Luxe just posted!” She barely contained a squeal of excitement.
My stomach twisted into knots. That magazine was Chloe’s Holy Grail. She had been obsessively dreaming about having her wedding featured, pouring over every detail as if it were a lifeline.
So why this sulking demeanor? Did she not make the cut? Had they relegated her to a back-page spread? I could hardly imagine her making it to the front page.
Good riddance, I thought.
“They’re doing a feature,” Lizzie sang, her smile unwavering, as if she had just won the lottery.
Chloe’s voice sliced through the air from her lonely corner, brittle and thin. “Wait… that’s not-“
Lizzie quickly spun the phone around, revealing the screen to all of us. And there it was, in all its glossy, high-resolution glory:
*This season, we’re following the most anticipated wedding in New Hope-Savannah Hart and Roman Blackwood.*
For a heartbeat, I thought I had misread it. Then, almost as if on cue, Roman’s hand brushed against mine-light, deliberate, sending an electric pulse through me that I could hardly ignore.
Chloe’s expression froze, her face becoming a perfect porcelain mask, with cracks threatening to splinter it apart.
Well, well, well. It seemed the universe had decided to throw me a bone after all.
For a fleeting moment, it appeared as though she might lunge at me, but her fiancé held her back, his grip firm and steady.
“Are you kidding me?” she screamed, her voice echoing across the yard.
Every head turned in our direction, the atmosphere thick with tension.
“My wedding is the only reason they even looked at this pathetic town! And now it’s suddenly about you?” Her voice rose higher, hysteria dripping from every word. “Who did you sleep with?! Let me guess… Roman? I bet he paid for that spot! That’s why you’re marrying him!”
“Chloe! Enough with this embarrassment right now!” Mom gasped, her eyes wide with shock.
I stood still, a faint smile playing on my lips, maddeningly calm amidst the chaos.
Her in-laws looked on, their expressions a mix of disbelief and discomfort as they witnessed her true colors.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.