CHAPTER 15
MIA
I wake up from my nap feeling heavy and hungry.
I should probably tell Zane that we didn’t even get to the sex part and that I was naked in his bed only because he puked on my clothes.
But he hasn’t really given me a chance to explain myself with his crazy working schedule.
As I step into the kitchen, I notice a note on the table, his elegant handwriting standing e out against the paper.
He mentions having a workshop in the afternoon and suggests I go to the beach to distract myself while he’s gone.
So that’s exactly what I do.
His apartment is right by the sea, so after devouring the meal he prepared, I decide to explore a little.
Of course, I have to take Figaro with me. Knowing him, he’d judge me for the rest of the week if I went out without him.
I scoop Figaro up, cradling him in my lap.
The idea of putting a leash on him just feels… wrong.
I know what it’s like to be restrained, to have my freedom taken away, and I’d never want that for him.
He’s a free spirit, a little king, not some pet to be tethered. Besides, who am I to chain someone down?
The walk to the beach is short. The wind rushes past me, carrying the sharp scent of salt. The ocean stretches endlessly ahead—so vast, so untamed. It’s a world so different from the one I’ve known. The cold sand presses between my toes, sending a shiver up my spine. I wiggle them, watching the tiny grains shift and sparkle under the light. This should be normal, right? Something as simple as being outside should feel natural. But to me, it’s something else entirely—exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
Maybe that’s what freedom is. A little thrilling, a little scary, and entirely too easy to lose.
Lost in thought, I don’t notice when Figaro wriggles out of my grasp, his tiny paws pushing off my lap before he takes off like a streak of moonlight across the sand.
"Figaro!" I shout, my heart lurching as I watch him bolt.
I take off after him, but he’s fast, and I’m not used to running. Panic tightens my chest—what if I lose him?
Then I spot a figure crouched ahead. A girl with short black hair is holding Figaro, a calm smile on her face.
"Here’s your kitty," she says gently, her warm eyes studying me as she hands him back.
Relief floods through me as I gather Figaro in my arms. He meows in protest, clearly displeased that his adventure was cut short.
"Thank you," I say, still catching my breath.
The girl watches me curiously, tilting her head as if trying to place me.
"I think I know you from somewhere..." she murmurs, frowning slightly.
My stomach twists. Recognition is the last thing I need.
"You've got me mixed up with someone else," I say quickly, forcing a casual tone.
Before she can respond, another girl appears beside her, eyes locking onto me like I just crawled out from under a rock. Her expression tightens, a mix of suspicion and something close to disgust.
She looks at me like I’m some kind of monster—something vile, unnatural, like I don’t belong in the same world as her.
"Who’s your friend, Andi?" she asks, voice edged with irritation.
I try to keep my expression neutral, but my heart lurches. My mind starts to spin, thoughts colliding into each other like a frantic storm.
Panic creeps in, slow and inevitable, curling around my throat like unseen hands.
Stop staring at me like I’m a monster. I’m not a monster. I’m not.
Before I can respond, another voice chimes in from behind Andi—a boy’s voice, smooth and teasing.
“Hey, Andi-boo, who’s your friend?” His grin is casual, too casual. “And is she single?”
A hot pulse of anger flares up inside me, sharp and immediate.
My blood boils, my fingers twitch, but I can’t let myself lose control. Not here. Not now.
Wordlessly, I lift my hand, letting my wedding ring catch the sunlight. It feels like armor, like a shield against all the noise.
“Married,” I say, my voice firm, almost cold. “And Andi was just helping me get my cat back. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really have to go.”
Andi opens her mouth as if to say something, but I don’t wait to hear it. Clutching Figaro to my chest, I turn and walk away, my steps quick, almost desperate.
The conversation was too loud, too confusing. My head feels full of static, my thoughts flickering in and out like a broken signal. I try to focus on the sound of the waves, but it no longer soothes me. It’s just another noise among the many—people laughing, music playing from someone’s speaker, footsteps crunching in the sand. Every sound feels amplified, pressing in on me from all directions.
My heartbeat pounds against my ribs, fast and erratic, a wild rhythm I can’t control. My chest tightens, every breath feeling shallower than the last. My vision tilts for a second, and I nearly stumble.
Too much. Too many people. Too many voices.
Figaro stares up at me with wide, knowing eyes. I run my fingers through his fur, trying to anchor myself, to remind myself that I’m here, in the present. Not back there. Not in the basement.
“Sorry, friend,” I whisper shakily. “Sometimes… being around too many people does this to me. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how to be around them.”
The isolation, the years spent in darkness, have left marks on me I can’t see but feel all too well.
Everything is too much. Too loud. Too sharp.
I keep walking, needing distance from the beach, from the noise. The sidewalk beneath my feet becomes my focus. I count every step, trying to drown out everything else.
One, two, three, four…
A soft voice cuts through the chaos.
“Are you okay?”
I freeze. Turning, I see Andi standing there, her face filled with quiet concern. She must have followed me.
“I…” The words feel stuck in my throat.
She doesn’t press, just watches me for a moment before speaking again. “Sorry about earlier. I think my friend scared you. She can be a little… intense, but we didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She hesitates, then offers gently, “Can I walk with you? You look like you need some time alone, but… I won’t push if you don’t want company.”
I hesitate. My first instinct is to refuse. To go back to the apartment, close the door, and let silence swallow me whole. But another part of me—a part I barely recognize—doesn’t want to push her away.
“…Okay,” I murmur, almost too quiet to hear.
Andi doesn’t say anything more, just falls into step beside me. She doesn’t try to force conversation, doesn’t ask probing questions. And for some reason, that helps.
We walk for a while in comfortable silence, and just as I start to feel my breathing even out, she speaks.
“You know,” she says casually, “some of us are heading to a bonfire tonight. Just a small thing—drinks, music, nothing crazy.” She gives me a playful look. “You should come.”
“I don’t know,” I admit, shifting Figaro in my arms. “I’m… not really good with crowds.”
“That’s okay,” she replies, unbothered. “You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. Just sit by the fire, have a drink, watch the waves. No pressure.”
I chew my lip. Part of me wants to immediately say no. But another part—a part that remembers the suffocating loneliness of my old life—hesitates.
“…Maybe,” I say finally.
She grins. “I’ll take that.”
Her friend calls her name from down the street, and Andi gives Figaro a small pat on the head before stepping away.
“See you around.”
“Bye, Andi. It was… nice meeting you.”
As Andi turns to leave, she suddenly pauses, glancing back at me with a small smile.
“Actually, give me your phone for a sec.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Why?”
“So you can text me if you decide to come tonight,” she says matter-of-factly. “That way, we can meet up before, and I can make sure no one overwhelms you.”
I hesitate. Letting someone else into my space—into my world—still feels strange. But before I can overthink it, Andi gently plucks my phone from my hand, quickly typing something before handing it back.
“There.” She taps the screen, showing me the new contact saved under Andi :). “Now you don’t have an excuse to just disappear.”
I stare down at the screen, the name feeling oddly warm in my hands. It’s such a simple thing, but it makes something stir inside me.
Andi steps back, giving me one last glance. “No pressure, Mia.”
She walks off, disappearing around a corner, and I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
It’s only minutes later, standing alone on the sidewalk, that something clicks in my mind.
How does she know my name?
I never told her.
The moment I step into the apartment , Carter’s eyes meet mine.
He’s lounging back in his chair like he owns the place, like my presence is an inconvenience rather than a fact.
I know he and Zane used to share a place whenever they were here, but this time, Zane decided it would be just him and me—no sharing.
Carter seems annoyed that he now has to stay at a hotel or wherever the hell he goes. Not my problem.
My discontent with this boy was born the day we met, the moment he decided I was his enemy.
He’s lucky I didn’t react sooner.
The apartment is silent, yet Carter is still here. He watches me with thinly veiled disdain, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable except for the sharp glint of something cruel in his eyes.
He was waiting for me.
“You came back too quickly,” he remarks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tired of causing chaos on the beach already?”
I don’t respond. I walk past him, heading straight for the bedroom, but Carter isn’t one to let things slide.
“I know what you did to Zane,” he adds, his mocking tone making me pause.
I turn my head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Really? Can’t wait for you to fill me in on what I did wrong in your eyes, Carter.”
He scoffs. “You married him without his consent. Pathetic, really. As if trapping him would make him yours.”
I sigh, exasperated. “I don’t need to trap anyone. Zane offered to help me. He likes me. Not my fault you can’t see it. Maybe because you were never able to have that connection with him.”
“Connection?” Carter lets out a sharp laugh. “He doesn’t like you, Mia. He pities you.”
“That’s not true.” But my voice is weaker than I’d like.
“Yes, it is.” His smirk grows. “The real Zane would be drowning in a harem of girls—or boys—if he wasn’t afraid that you’d kill anyone he got involved with. The real Zane loves Hollywood parties. He drinks until he blacks out and fucks people without giving a damn about feelings.”
I shake my head, a little too amused by the whole thing. “It’s ridiculous that you’re trying to sell me this version of him. I know him. He’s more than that, and I’m not buying it. What happens between me and Zane—whether we got married, whether we don’t, whatever—we’re our business. You can hate me all you want, but it’s not going to change the fact that he’s mine. ”
Carter’s lips curl. “Yours? Please. You know Zane only stuck around because he owed Charlie a favor. And you… you’re just a burden. A lost cause. Someone who’s holding him back.”
I stop. My fingers tighten around the doorknob. Something inside me locks up, like a spring winding too tight.
“Do you want to know the truth?” Carter continues, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “You took advantage of him when he was drunk. As if that would change anything. As if he would ever really want you. Who would? Who would want a bitch with no future?”
I smile, but it’s not because he’s right. Daddy didn’t raise me to be a prostitute. That was just a cruel twist of fate. Because I was always unable to succumb. My father raised me to be a killer.
He wanted someone who could eliminate enemies without them even knowing what was coming. But as he liked to put it—I was a defective product.
I don’t say anything. I turn, intending to head to my drawing kit, but then Carter speaks again.
“Maybe your mother was a whore too, and being an opportunistic tramp runs in the family. Maybe that’s why you basically abused Zane. Because you’re sick.”
I move faster than he can react. My fist connects with his face, the crack of impact echoing through the apartment. Carter stumbles back, clutching his jaw, eyes wide with surprise.
“Say that again,” I growl, my breath ragged, my body vibrating with fury. “Say it again, Carter.”
He lets out a short laugh, spitting blood onto the floor. "See, Mia? Look at you... you're just a fucking freak."
My head spins. His words coil inside me like a snake tightening around my ribs. Because I never… I never thought Zane didn’t want it. He never said that. He said it was a surprise, that he was confused. He never said he didn’t want me.
My head hurts.
I try to make sense of this world, but some parts always blur, always twist in ways I can’t control.
Carter’s voice breaks through my haze. “You don’t understand anything, do you? Not people. Not feelings. Not right from wrong. Because you’re not made for this. You’re just a broken toy someone decided to keep because they felt sorry for you, too afraid to throw you away.”
The silence between us is suffocating. My hands shake. I could break him apart. Tear that smug look off his face.
Carter wipes his mouth, amusement glinting in his bloodied smile. He should be afraid, but instead, his eyes gleam with anger.
“Look at that,” he taunts. “I must have hit a nerve, huh?”
My fingers tingle. My chest rises and falls unevenly. I should leave. Get away before—
“That’s what you do, isn’t it?” Carter takes a step forward. “You lash out when words get too hard. Because that’s all you know—hurt and kill. You’re not a wife, Mia. You’re a monster.”
The word cuts through me like a blade.
Monster.
My heart hammers against my ribs. The apartment warps around me. The floor shifts like quicksand beneath my feet. My fingers tremble, but not from fear.
The whispers start. Low, insistent. A chuckle in the corner of the room.
Shadows flicker in my peripheral vision, shifting, waiting. Waiting for me.
“Do you think I took advantage of him?” My voice is low, dark, something hollow curling at the edges.
Carter crosses his arms.
I pull the knife from my waistband.
Time slows. My grip tightens on the hilt, the metal gleaming under the dim light. Carter tenses, but that smirk remains.
Kill the demons.
Silence the voices.
“I knew it,” he breathes. “I knew you were just an animal. Are you going to kill me, Mia?”
I step forward. He steps back.
The whispers grow louder. The shadows close in.
“Do it, Mia,” they urge. “Finish him.”
I raise the knife—
“Mia!”
Zane’s voice cracks through the tension, freezing me in place. My eyes snap to him. He’s standing in the doorway, panting, his face pale with shock.
His gaze flickers to the knife. To Carter. To me.
And then, when he looks at me, I see it.
I see the fear. The regret.
My chest tightens. My stomach twists. Breathing suddenly feels impossible.
Carter’s words burn in my mind.
“Zane,” my voice wavers, and I don’t even know why. “Is it true? Everything he said? Did you stay with me out of pity?”
Zane opens his mouth, but no words come.
I let out a hollow laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? Because I really thought… I really thought…”
He steps forward. “Mia, please—”
“No.” I cut him off. I don’t want to hear it.
I turn to Carter. He’s smiling.
I lower the knife. Take a step back.
And before Zane can say anything, before the words can tear me apart, I walk out the door.
I’m going to Andi’s bonfire.
I can’t stay here.