24. Lemon
Chapter 24
Lemon
I 'm going fucking insane.
It's been a week since I blew everything to hell, and the silence is killing me. I'm curled up on the bed, Ezra's oversized shirt hanging off my shoulder, staring at the same spot on the wall I've been fixated on for hours. My eyes burn from crying, and my head throbs with a dull, persistent ache.
God, I miss them.
Ezra's stupid jokes, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. Atticus' quiet presence, how he'd guide me with just a look or a touch. Now? Nothing. It's like I'm a ghost in this damn penthouse, drifting from room to room, unseen and unheard.
I replay our fight for the millionth time, wincing at the memory of Ezra's fury, the ice in Atticus' voice. Fuck, I was so stupid. But what was I supposed to do? Let my dad rot in prison for something he didn't do?
The worst part is, I can feel them just beyond the silence. Ezra's restless energy, the way he paces when he thinks I can't hear. Atticus' controlled breathing, the slight creak of his chair when he shifts in his study. They're right there, but they might as well be on the other side of the fucking world.
I drag myself out of my bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I pad to the kitchen, desperate for…something. Anything to fill this aching void in my chest. The fridge hums, mocking me with its fullness. There's a plate of my favorite sushi rolls, probably left by Ezra. My throat tightens as I think about him going on about California rolls not being actual sushi, but he’d sit there and roll it for me.
I grab the plate and shuffle back up the stairs.
Back in my room—no, not my room, their guest room I curl up on the window seat. I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my breath fogging up the window. "I'm so fucking sorry."
But sorry isn't enough, is it? Not for Atticus, with his control issues and unbreakable rules. Not for Ezra, who looked at me like I'd ripped his heart out.
I slide down, curling into a ball on the plush cushions. The tears come again, hot and relentless. I don't try to stop them. What's the point? No one's here to see me fall apart, anyway.
I'd give anything to hear Ezra's laugh right now, to feel Atticus' hand on my skin. But all I've got is this suffocating silence and the weight of my own stupidity.
I fucked up. I know I did. But how long are they going to punish me? How long before I can breathe again?
I reach for my phone, desperate for some kind of connection. My fingers hover over Poppy's name. Fuck, I miss her. Her wild laugh, the way she'd drag me out dancing when I was too deep in my own head. But the clock on my phone reminds me it's ass o'clock in the morning in Milan. She's probably passed out after another night of partying, living her life.
My thumb swipes down, landing on Ezra's name. Before I can talk myself out of it, I type out a message.
I miss you. Both of you. I'm sorry.
I hit send before I can chicken out, then hold my breath. One second. Two. Three. The little bubbles appear, showing he's typing. My pulse quickens, hope blooming in my chest like a fucking weed.
But the bubbles disappear.
Nothing.
The silence stretches on, mocking me.
"Fuck!" I hurl my phone across the room. It bounces off the plush chair in the corner, landing face down. Part of me wants to smash it, to destroy this thing that's only bringing me pain right now.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars. The tears come again, hot and bitter. I'm so fucking tired of crying.
I curl up tighter on the window seat, pulling Ezra's shirt around me like a shield. I bury my nose in the fabric, inhaling deeply. For a moment, I can almost pretend he's here, his strong arms wrapped around me.
But when I open my eyes, I'm still alone. The city sprawls out below me, a sea of twinkling lights and shadowy buildings. From up here, everything looks so small, so insignificant. I wonder if that's how Atticus sees the world.
How he sees me.
A siren wails in the distance, the sound drifting up to my perch. In the reflection, I catch a glimpse of myself. Christ, I look like shit. Dark circles under my eyes, hair a tangled mess. No wonder they can't stand to look at me.
I see a spark of something. Determination or just pure fucking desperation.
I can't do this anymore. This silence, this isolation—it's killing me. I need them. Their touch, their voices, even their goddamn rules. I need to feel seen again, to matter to someone.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I'm on my feet. My legs are shaky, but each step feels more certain than the last. I throw open the bedroom door, wincing at the loud creak that echoes through the penthouse.
Oh well, let them hear me coming.
My bare feet slap against the cold hardwood. What if they're busy?
But then I hear the soft murmur of voices from Atticus' study.
I don't knock. I burst through the door like a fucking hurricane, my chest heaving.
Atticus is behind his massive desk, looking like a king on his throne. Ezra's sprawled in one of the leather chairs, his feet propped up on the coffee table. They both freeze when they see me, identical looks of shock on their faces.
"Enough," I spit out, my voice raw and shaky. "I can't do this anymore. You can't just...you can't just cut me out like this!"
Ezra's on his feet in an instant, his brown eyes wide. "Bellezza?—"
"No!" I cut him off, tears stinging my eyes. "You don't get to talk. Not after a week of fucking silence. Do you have any idea what that's been like? To be right here, but completely alone? "
I turn to Atticus, my anger giving me courage I didn't know I had. "And you. With your rules and your punishments. I fucked up, okay? I know that. But this…this is cruel, Atticus."
My voice breaks on his name, and I hate myself for it. I hate how much power they still have over me, even now.
"I miss you," I whisper, the fight draining out of me. "Both of you. I miss the way you look at me. I miss feeling wanted. Even if it was on your terms."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. Ezra looks like he's been punched in the gut, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Atticus…Atticus is unreadable.
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain grounds me, keeps me from falling apart completely. "What about our deal?" I spit out, my voice trembling with rage and desperation. "I'm supposed to be your toy, your pet. But you're not even fucking using me!"
The words hang in the air, heavy and raw. I see Ezra flinch, but Atticus remains impassive, those icy blue eyes boring into me.
"It's bullshit and you know it," I continue, my voice rising. "You're not adhering to the deal. What's the point of being your little plaything if you won't even look at me? Touch me? Fuck, even acknowledge my existence?"
I'm shaking now, tears streaming down my face. I probably look like a lunatic, but I don't care. Let them see what they've reduced me to.
Atticus leans forward, his massive hands splayed on the desk. When he speaks, his voice is low, controlled, but there's an edge to it that makes me shiver.
"The deal," he says, each word precise and cutting, "is whatever the fuck I want it to be. "
I feel like I've been slapped. The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and I stagger back a step.
Atticus continues, his gaze never leaving mine. "I don't need to touch you or talk to you for you to be my pet, Lemon. Your obedience, your submission—that's what makes you ours. Even in silence. Even in isolation. Actually, especially then."
Something inside me snaps. A week's worth of pain, loneliness, and frustration comes pouring out of me like a tsunami.
"Fuck you!" I scream, grabbing the nearest object—a heavy crystal glass and hurling it at the wall. It shatters spectacularly, shards of glass raining down. "Fuck both of you!"
Ezra jumps, his eyes wide with shock. But Atticus just watches me, his expression stoic. Bored even.
"Is this what you want?" I'm screaming now, my voice hoarse and breaking. "To break me? To see how far you can push before I shatter? Well, congratu-fucking-lations! You've done it!"
I grab another object, a framed photo from the wall of one of his degrees, and smash it against the edge of the desk. Glass flies everywhere, a piece nicking my cheek. I barely feel it.
"I'm not your fucking toy!" I sob, my chest heaving. "I'm a person. I have feelings. I made a mistake, but I don't deserve this!"
I sink to my knees, surrounded by the wreckage of my outburst. My hands are bleeding from the glass. I can't breathe as I stare at the crimson droplets falling onto the marble flooring. It’s oddly beautiful, in a fucked-up way.
Atticus' voice cuts through the chaos in my head like a knife. "Well, that was a tantrum if I ever saw one. "
“Fuck Atticus, give her a goddamn break.” At least Ezra is semi on my side.
I look up, my vision blurry with tears. He's leaning back in his chair, looking for all the world like he's watching a mildly interesting TV show. Not like I just destroyed half his office.
"Yes," he finally says, his voice smooth and cold. "That's exactly what I want. Breaking you is paramount. I can't build and mold you until you're as shattered as the glass littering this room now, can I?"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My mind is blank, wiped clean by the sheer audacity of what he's saying. I look at Ezra, desperate for…I don't know what. Support? Understanding? Anything.
But Ezra looks as shocked as I feel. His eyes are wide, darting between Atticus and me like he's watching a tennis match from hell. "Fuck." he mutters, barely audible.
"You..." I finally manage to choke out. "You planned this?"
Atticus' lips curl into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Oh, lemon drop. Sweet, na?ve Lemon. Of course I did. Every moment of silence, every ignored text, every lonely night...it was all designed to bring you to this point."
The room tilts dangerously, and I have to put a hand down to steady myself. Glass crunches under my palm, but I barely feel it. "Why?" I whisper.
"Because," Atticus says, leaning forward, his voice dropping to a low purr that makes my skin prickle, "only when you're completely broken can I truly make you mine. Ours."
"You...you can't do this," I whisper, hating how weak I sound. "I'm not some…some building for you to break down and rebuild."
Atticus rises from his chair, towering over me. He moves with the grace of a predator, each step measured and deliberate. Glass crunches under his expensive leather shoes as he approaches.
"Oh, but I can, sweet girl," he purrs, crouching down in front of me. His hand cups my cheek, and I hate myself for leaning into his touch. "And I will. Because deep down, this is what you want. What you need."
Atticus' words echo in my head, each syllable a dagger to my heart. Because he's right. The bastard is always fucking right.
"Don't lie," he murmurs, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. "You don't even need to say anything. Just think about it, truly think about it."
And I do. God help me, I do.
The silence. The loneliness. The ache in my chest that nothing could fill. It was torture, yes. But there was something almost otherworldly about it, too. The way it stripped me bare, peeled away all my defenses until there was nothing left but raw, pulsing need.
I close my eyes, feeling the warmth of Atticus' hand on my face. When I open them again, his piercing gaze is fixed on me, reading every micro-expression, every flicker of emotion.
He knows. Of course he knows.
"Ezra," Atticus says, his eyes never leaving mine. "Clean up Lemon's hands and make sure she doesn't hurt herself further. I'll take care of the glass in here."
Ezra's at my side in an instant, his touch gentle as he helps me to my feet. I sway, lightheaded from the rush of emotions. He steadies me, one arm around my waist.
"Come on, sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with an emotion I can't quite place. "Let's get you patched up."