Chapter Twenty
Leila
I wake slowly, emerging from the depths of sleep with the heavy weight of dreams still clinging to my mind.
The world around me feels distant and muted, as though I’m floating in that soft space between sleep and wakefulness.
But even before I fully open my eyes, the memories rush back, vivid, urgent, and undeniable.
The last two nights.
My body stirs with the thought, a low warmth pooling deep in my belly.
I feel the remnants of it everywhere: the ache in my muscles and the lingering hum under my skin.
These last few nights have been of raw, consuming pleasure, frantic hands, tangled limbs, and deep, primal need.
Ryan, Henry, and Luke, their three bodies moved with mine, their strength wrapped around me, and their touches left a trail of fire in their wake.
I breathe in deeply, my chest rising and falling with the memories.
Images flashed behind my closed eyelids: Ryan’s rough hands on my hips and Henry’s tongue moving against my skin.
There was the sensation of being pulled between them and caught in the rhythm they set.
And there was Luke, always steady, always watching, his eyes dark with a quiet intensity as he joined them and drove into me.
A sigh escapes me, and I can’t help but smile, feeling a gentle glee spread through me, not just from the pleasure but from something deeper and more satisfying.
My heat, normally relentless and clawing at my insides for days, had been shortened this time.
The ache that usually lingers, making me desperate, had been soothed thanks to Ryan and Henry.
Their knotting had eased the fire in me.
I’m grateful and deeply relieved. But as the memories of last night settle and the haze of pleasure fades, another thought rises in its place. It’s one I can’t ignore.
I want to keep them. All of them.
Ryan, Henry, and Luke. I don’t just want a fleeting connection, the spur of the moment.
I want them. I want to be with them and have them in my life, not just in my bed.
The thought feels right in a way that surprises me.
How could I have ever imagined just choosing one when each of them has become so entwined with me?
I move slightly beneath the sheets, my body protesting with a dull, pleasant soreness.
My eyes drift across the room, catching sight of Luke by the couch.
He’s pulling on his clothes, his back turned to me, his movements unhurried.
The early morning light filters through the window, casting a soft glow around him, highlighting the lines of his shoulders and the tousled mess of his hair.
I watch him quietly, feeling a soft ache bloom in my chest, not the aching need of heat, but something gentler, something that feels like home.
As if sensing my eyes on him, Luke pauses and glances over his shoulder. His face softens when he sees me awake, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Morning,” he says, his voice low, still carrying the rasp of sleep. “How are you feeling?”
I stretch lazily, the sheets sliding over my bare skin, a playful smile curving my lips. “A little sore,” I admit, “but it’s a good kind of sore.”
Luke chuckles softly, turning fully to face me now. His eyes are warm, and there’s a softness in them that makes my heart skip. “Yeah, I imagine you would be.” He shakes his head, an amused glint in his eyes. “First time you’ve ever had your heat with anyone other than me, huh?”
I laugh, the sound light and teasing as I push myself up onto my elbows. “Yeah,” I say, my smile widening. “It’s… different. But I think I could get used to it.”
He raises an eyebrow at that, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Is that right?”
There’s an ease between us, the kind of comfort that comes from years of knowing each other and sharing moments like this.
Just as I’m about to say more, the beeping sound of my phone rattles the drawers.
The beep is jarring, pulling me back to reality, and I glance over to the bedside table where the drawer is.
I had put it in there, eager to escape from the world and be lost in the moments that filled these last two days.
I sigh, a bit of reluctance settling in my chest. I reach for the drawer and retrieve the phone anyway, already wondering what it might be.
The phone stops buzzing just as I grab it, the last few vibrations flickering in my palm, teasing me with their urgency.
I stare at the screen, expecting to see a single missed call.
But instead, a flood of notifications greets me—hundreds of missed calls.
The screen pulses with numbers and names, all familiar and all seemingly frantic to reach me—my friends, Cassie, and Dad.
My chest tightens, and I sit up straighter in bed, the sudden seriousness in my posture mirroring the change in my mood.
Something is wrong. My pulse quickens as I swipe through the list. The sheer volume hits me harder with each scroll.
There are fifteen missed calls from Dad?
My fingers tremble slightly as I count. More from Cassie. What the hell is going on?
The questions swirl in my mind, half-formed, as dread creeps in. I instinctively move to dial Cassie, her name the first on my mind. But before I tap her number, the phone vibrates again, with another incoming call flashing on the screen. I freeze when I see the caller ID: Jail.
I stare at the word for a long second, my hand tightening around the phone.
It's definitely Mom. I haven’t spoken to her since the day she was taken to prison.
To be honest, I haven’t wanted to. Every time I think of her, a knot of emotions tightens inside me: anger, shame, and something else I can’t quite name.
The weight of it all presses on me now, leaving me conflicted. But I know I can’t ignore this call.
I exhale slowly, forcing my breath to steady before answering.
"Hello? Ms. Leila Kaye?" The voice on the other end is unfamiliar, calm, but professional.
"Yes, this is Leila Kaye," I respond, my voice firmer than I feel.
"This is Officer Scott Rhodes. I’m the warden at the prison where your mother is being held. I’m calling to…"
His voice fades, replaced by the sharp trill of another incoming call. I glance at the screen, but the call ends before I can see the new caller. My heart pounds, frustration bubbling up. I barely have time to process what the officer is saying before my attention is pulled elsewhere.
As the screen clears, a headline pops up at the top. A tabloid notification with my name plastered in bold letters: brEAKING.
The blood drains from my face as I click it.
The headline blazes across the screen, and the world tilts beneath me.
“Poetic Justice Served as Murderous Mother of Rejected Leila Kaye Commits Suicide in Prison.”
Mom?
The word shatters through me, breaking everything.
My thoughts crash into each other, falling into a spiraling abyss where nothing makes sense.
I can’t think, I can’t breathe. My lungs strain, pulling for air, but it’s like the oxygen has thinned, and I’m left gasping, clawing at nothing.
I can’t move. I can’t feel anything except the cold, hard shock settling into my bones.
I’m vaguely aware of Officer Rhodes’ voice still filtering through the phone, his words suddenly cutting through the haze. His tone, slow and deliberate, reaches me with an agonizing clarity.
“Ms. Kaye,” he says, his voice low, strained with something like pity, “I am deeply sorry, but your mother passed away in the early hours of this morning.”
My vision blurs. The weight of his words feels like a blow, sharp and final. I clutch the phone tighter as if I could hold on to something, anything, to stop the crashing sensation in my chest. But I can’t. I’m slipping.
Luke is suddenly in front of me, his eyes wide with shock, his lips parting as he whispers, “Oh my God…”
And then it happens. Everything I’ve been holding inside bursts free.
I can’t help it. The sobs tear through me, harsh and uncontrollable, my breath catching in my throat as my body heaves with grief.
The phone trembles in my grip. Officer Rhodes’ voice still comes through, a steady, distant rhythm against the storm of emotions raging inside me.
“She… she tried to reach you multiple times,” he continues, his tone gentle, almost regretful. “She left voice messages for you. We will hand them over once you come by the station.”
The words hit me like a knife to the gut.
She tried to reach me? My heart lurches, and a fresh wave of pain rolls through me.
Guilt. Sharp, unrelenting guilt. Maybe I could have stopped this.
Maybe she just wanted to talk, to explain, to say goodbye.
I hadn’t spoken to her in so long and hadn’t even wanted to.
And now, in this cruel, final moment, I would give anything to hear her voice. Just one more time.
The thought is unbearable. The tears come harder, faster, spilling down my face in torrents. My chest tightens, and I can’t catch my breath. The sound that escapes me is more than a sob. It’s a scream, raw and filled with all the grief, anger, and frustration that has been building inside me.
I scream because I don’t know what else to do. It’s the only thing that feels real and the only thing that makes sense in a world that has just torn itself apart.
Luke flinches, his eyes wide with alarm, but he doesn’t move.
He stays next to me, standing like a pillar of silent support as I unravel.
But it’s the screen in front of me, the tabloid headline still flashing, that sparks the rage.
The cruel, mocking words etched against the image of my mother make my blood boil.
With a surge of anger, I hurl the phone across the room. It smashes against the wall with a violent crack, shattering into pieces just as the door swings open.
Henry rushes in, followed by Ryan, their faces etched with concern and their eyes scanning the scene. They know. The look in their eyes tells me they know something is terribly wrong.
Henry moves quickly, almost instinctively. He crosses the room in a few long strides, climbing onto the bed beside me. His arms wrap around me without hesitation, pulling me into the warmth and strength of his body, grounding me as I collapse into him, my sobs turning into deep wails.
I cling to him, my fists balling into his shirt as I break apart in his arms. The room falls into silence, except for the sound of my grief, echoing off the walls, heavy and endless.
And in that silence, I let everything go.
Henry holds me tightly, his arms a fortress around me as I press my head deeper into his chest. I can feel the rise and fall of his breath and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.
He’s silent, offering no words, just the warmth of his embrace, as though he believes he can somehow shield me from the storm inside.
But the storm rages on, indifferent to his quiet strength.
Ryan and Luke stand close by, side by side, their eyes mirroring the same grief and the same helpless sympathy.
I can see the weight of it in the way Ryan’s jaw clenches and Luke’s fingers curl into fists by his sides.
They are here with me, their presence a balm against the overwhelming tide of sorrow. Yet, it’s not enough—not this time.
I’ve never cried in front of anyone other than Luke.
I’ve never let myself fall apart like this—not where others could see.
Only Luke has ever seen me break down, and even then, it was rare and brief.
But this? This is different. The sobs rack through me, unstoppable, and I can’t seem to rein them in.
It’s like something inside me has shattered beyond repair, and I can’t glue the pieces back together, not yet.
My mind is a battlefield, emotions clashing and warring, each one demanding to be felt: guilt, grief, anger, regret.
They crowd inside my head, suffocating me and leaving no room for anything else.
I feel trapped and restless. Even with the three of them around me offering their silent support, I feel as though I’m drowning, and I need air. I need to escape.
I push myself gently out of Henry’s hold, his arms reluctant to release me at first, but he lets go.
His gaze meets mine, filled with the weight of unspoken concern, his hands lingering for a moment as though he’s afraid to fully let me go.
I glance between him, Luke, and Ryan. All their faces are painted with worry.
Uncertainty hangs in the air as they watch me.
I try to steady myself, but my body betrays me, trembling beneath the weight of my sorrow. My breath is still shallow, clogged with unshed tears, but I force myself to speak the only words I can manage.
“I need some space.”
The words come out fragile, almost a whisper, and I see the immediate flicker of hesitation in their eyes.
Ryan’s brow furrows, his lips parting as if he’s about to protest. Luke’s eyes darken with concern, and Henry’s jaw tightens, his fingers twitching at his side.
They don’t want to leave. They want to stay, to help me and hold me through this nightmare.
But I can’t. I can’t let them. Not now.
I shake my head, my voice firmer this time, cutting through the silence like a blade. "Please. I need space."
The words hang in the air, heavy and final. They exchange glances, silent and uncertain, weighing their desire to stay against my plea. For a moment, I think they might resist and push back, but they don’t. Slowly, they nod in quiet understanding, though I can see the reluctance in every movement.
Henry’s eyes linger on mine, searching for something, some sign that I’ll be okay, but I can’t give him that reassurance. Not now. Ryan’s shoulders sag with the weight of unsaid words, and Luke, ever watchful, presses his lips together in a thin line as if forcing himself to accept my request.
As they step back toward the door, a pang of guilt crashes into me so forcefully that it feels like it is tearing through my chest.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same after this.