21. No Escaping the Phantom
No Escaping the Phantom
Ari
Maddox doesn’t come into my room again, which is fine.
It’s fine.
I fall asleep quickly, and when I wake up, the morning light filters softly through the curtains. For a second, I expect to feel something different. A hand gripping my thigh. A voice murmuring in my ear. A body too solid, too familiar, too Maddox.
But when I blink up at my surroundings, my stomach knots.
Because it’s not Maddox sitting at the edge of my bed.
It’s Asher.
He smiles down at me, his blond hair still damp from a shower, already dressed in khaki shorts and a fitted polo. Crisp. Put together. Safe.
A deep ache settles in my chest.
“I thought we could take a walk?” he asks, his voice soft and careful. Like maybe he’s making an effort.
I nod, checking my phone. It’s just past eight. He waits for me downstairs and I quickly get dressed in white linen shorts and a black tank top before brushing my teeth. I walk downstairs into an empty house, and Asher is leaning against the front door waiting for me. Grabbing an oversized sweater and stepping into my sandals, I follow him out the door and down the narrow pathway to the beach.
The sand is still cool beneath my feet, the early morning breeze lifting my hair as we walk along the quiet shoreline. My sandals are slung in one hand, and my other hand is tucked into my sweater to keep warm.
It’s beautiful out here. The fog is starting to lift, and the blue sky pokes through the light gray mist, warming my skin whenever it shifts enough to let the sun through. There’s almost no one on the beach, and it’s so tranquil. It should feel nice. But something sits heavy between us.
Asher is quiet at first, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his gaze flicking toward me like he’s searching for the right words.
Finally, he exhales sharply. “I’ve been thinking about us.”
I glance at him, my pulse jumping. “Yeah?”
He nods, his jaw tight. “I know I’ve been distracted lately. Work has been… a lot.”
I say nothing.
“I don’t mean to neglect you, Ari,” he continues, his voice measured. “It’s just… this data breach is screwing with my head. And I know I don’t always give you the attention you deserve.”
The words should make me feel something. Hope. Relief. Maybe even gratitude. Instead, a strange, familiar numbness settles inside me. It’s not the first time he’s said something like this. In fact, it’s sort of a pattern—pulling me closer, promising to do better, to stay the night and act more like a committed partner—before work gets in the way again.
Before he pulls away again.
I nod, waiting. He pauses, kicking at the sand. Then, a small, almost bitter laugh.
“I guess I just assumed you understood.” He looks at me then, his brow furrowing. “You’ve always been independent. Strong. You don’t need me hovering over you all the time, right?”
A sharp pang twists through my stomach. “I don’t need you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be wanted. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when it’s easy .” I swallow, unsure of how to say what I’m really thinking. “I guess I’m just wondering where this is headed.”
Something flickers in his expression, but I don’t know if it’s guilt or frustration. “Yeah. I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
“So, what are you saying?” I ask, my voice careful. My heart pounds, my fingers tightening around the sleeves of my sweater.
Asher exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I’m saying that I want to be better, Ari. I do. But my job is—” A pause. A helpless shrug. “It’s always going to come first. I hope you understand.”
A dull, resounding thud echoes in my chest. There it is. Honest. Blunt. Final . The classic nail in the coffin.
I don’t know why I’m surprised.
It’s always like this, isn’t it? My dad was the same way—work first, family second. I grew up watching my mom shrink herself into the background, molding her wants and needs around his schedule, his priorities. And me? I was trained early. The eldest daughter, the responsible one, the fixer. I learned that love wasn’t something freely given, it was earned. Fought for. Pursued.
And I’m so fucking tired of chasing it. I’m so fucking tired of pretending that’s okay.
I look away, staring out at the waves, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t think that’s fair to me,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the crashing surf.
He stiffens. “What do you mean?”
I inhale slowly, steadying myself. I deserve better. And I don’t mean Maddox. I don’t. This isn’t about him. This is about me . About the fact that I’ve spent two years molding myself into the perfect, easygoing, supportive girlfriend. About the fact that I never ask for too much. That I never demand more than what he’s willing to give.
Because somewhere deep down, I knew. I knew he would never choose me.
So I made sure he never had to.
The realization makes my stomach twist, but Asher doesn’t look upset.
I let out a shaky breath and meet his eyes, finally. “I guess I always just hoped you’d wake up one day and decide I was enough to come first.”
He just nods, like I’m confirming something he’s always suspected. Something that, deep down, he already knew, too.
“I never wanted to hold you back,” he says after a moment.
I let out a small, bitter laugh. “No. You just wanted to keep me waiting on the sidelines.”
His lips press into a thin line. “That’s not true.”
I lift a brow. “Isn’t it? I think we both know where this is headed,” I say softly. “We’re just too afraid to say it out loud.”
He nods. “Yeah. I suppose you’re right. So… what? This is it?”
I swallow hard, then nod. “Yeah. This is it. I’m done trying to fit into a life that was never going to make space for me, Asher.”
He looks at me warily, as if he’s trying to decide if I’m angry. So I reach out for his hand, trying to show him that I’m not mad.
I’m just done .
My fingers curl around his, gentle and steady. “No hard feelings,” I say, offering a faint, sad smile. “I just can’t do this anymore.”
Before I can say anything else, his phone buzzes. He glances at it, then sighs, pulling his hand from mine.
“I have to take this,” he mutters. “We’ll talk more later, okay?”
I don’t answer. Because we won’t.
As he steps away, phone pressed to his ear, I wrap my arms around myself. The ocean stretches endlessly before me, waves lapping at the shore.
* * *
Hannah suggests we go out to eat at one of the restaurants along the cliffside for dinner. I presume Asher hasn’t told his family about us breaking up yet, because no one says anything. And after tucking myself away on the beach all morning and afternoon, it feels good to shower and get dressed.
The car ride is short, just a five-minute drive along the coast.
And the restaurant is stunning—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, candlelit tables draped in crisp linen, the low murmur of conversation weaving through the clinking of wineglasses and silverware.
I should feel happy to be here. Instead, all I feel is off-kilter. Because Asher isn’t different. He’s never going to be different. And as I look at him, clean-shaven and proper, I know he’s not what I want anymore.
Across the table, Maddox is watching me. I catch the slight tilt of his head as I sit down, eyeing the dress he picked out for me days ago—a dark red cotton dress with thin straps and a square neckline.
And when Asher’s phone buzzes for the third time during dinner, I don’t even flinch. I just lift my wineglass, holding Maddox’s gaze as I take a slow, deliberate sip.
Because if Asher wants to be distracted? Then maybe I do, too.
Maddox is cleaned up. Too cleaned up. It’s fucking unfair. I’m used to him in black hoodies and tattoos, used to the way he carries himself like a predator in waiting.
But tonight?
Tonight, he’s in a crisp black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, showcasing his ink. The top button is undone, the open collar exposing a sliver of golden skin and the sharp ridges of his collarbones. His hair, usually an unruly mess, is brushed back in a way that makes him look almost respectable.
Almost .
But his eyes still give him away.
They burn under the dim lights, a searing, unrelenting blue that pins me in place every time I make the mistake of looking at him—which is often.
Because, fuck me, I can’t stop looking. It feels ironic to be sitting here next to Asher, who was my boyfriend until about eight hours ago, eating a sixty-five-dollar steak, in a dress Maddox chose.
His smirk tells me he knows it, too.
God, I hate him.
I’m too distracted to enjoy dinner. Asher is to my left, half absorbed by his work, nodding at something Otto is saying. Hannah is talking about a winery she and Otto visited last year. The conversation is perfectly polite.
Perfectly safe.
And across from me?
Maddox.
Silent. Watching me.
I refuse to look at him, keeping my focus on my wineglass. The deep red swirls in the light as I turn it between my fingers, trying to ignore the heat licking at my skin.
It’s fine. It’s all fine.
Until Asher’s phone vibrates on the table again.
He sighs, glancing at the screen. Then at me. Already apologizing before he even says a word.
“I have to take this.”
Of course he does.
“Go ahead,” I murmur, taking another sip of my wine.
He leans in to kiss my temple. I flinch before I can stop myself. His eyes widen, confused, but I say nothing. I don’t need to. He gives me a pleading look, and I realize he’s expecting me to play along.
Expecting me to continue to pretend to be his girlfriend, despite ending our relationship on the beach earlier today.
All for show.
His lips press together into a thin smile, and then he slips out onto the patio to take the call.
Otto and Hannah are recounting their time in Italy two years ago, completely unaware of what transpired, but I’m hardly paying attention.
My skin is burning, and I can feel Maddox looking at me.
I last all of ten seconds before I finally glance his way.
Maddox leans back in his chair, elbow propped on the armrest, his fingers resting against his jaw. He doesn’t speak; doesn’t need to.
That smirk? The one playing at the corner of his lips? It says everything.
My grip squeezes around my wineglass. “What?”
He tilts his head, studying me. “Just wondering how long you’re going to let him treat you like an afterthought,” he whispers.
A sharp pang lodges in my ribs. And immediately, the memory from this morning hits me like a wave.
I see the shoreline again—the soft fog lifting, the bitter realization curling in my chest as Asher told me, plain as day, that work would always come first. The gravity of those words still presses down on me now, heavy and relentless.
I should say something. Anything. But what would I even say? That I knew it was true? That I’ve known it for a while? That I’m still here anyway?
I hate the way my stomach clenches. The way my thighs press together under the table like my body is betraying me—not because of his words alone, but because Maddox sees it. He sees all of it.
Not just that Asher forgets me. But that I’ve let him.
His voice dips lower, just for me, just like on the Ferris wheel. “Careful, Ari. If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to start thinking you want me to ruin you right here in this restaurant.”
And the worst part? I do.
The heat in my belly spreads like wildfire, licking up my spine, knotting in my throat. I should be used to his taunts by now, the slow, deliberate way he strips me down with nothing but words. But I’m not. I never am.
My fingers tighten further around the wineglass. I force myself to look away, to focus on something— anything —other than the man across from me and the way my pulse trips over itself every time he speaks.
I need a second. A breath. Some space.
I push my chair back, grabbing my clutch. “I’m going to the restroom.”
Maddox doesn’t say a word. But when I glance at him, his smirk is lazy, like he already knows something I don’t. Like he’s letting me go just to see what I’ll do next.
Bastard.
I make my way toward the bathroom, head high, spine straight, like I have everything under control. But the second I step inside, my grip locks on the edge of the sink, my breath coming too fast.
I shouldn’t feel like this. Not here. Not now. Not because of him.
My reflection stares back at me—flushed skin, wide, wild eyes, lips parted.
I look shattered. And it’s not from the wine.
My phone buzzes.
(858) 667-9960
Are we playing a little game of cat and mouse?
Because I think we’ve established that I’ll always catch you.
A sharp exhale leaves my lips. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I shouldn’t respond. I shouldn’t .
But my fingers move before my brain catches up.
You’re all talk. Let’s see if you can walk the walk, big guy.
I hit send before I can think better of it.
A pause. A beat of silence where the only thing I hear is my own pulsing heartbeat in my ears and the clinking of porcelain from the restaurant.
Then—
(858) 667-9960
Game on, angel.
My fingers tremble over the screen. I didn’t expect him to hesitate, but it does something funny to my insides. I appreciate him checking in, but it somehow makes it feel more real. Less of a fantasy.
Am I sure?
Asher’s out there, working. Distracted. Prioritizing everything but me. Like always. For two years, I’ve been patient. I’ve been understanding. I’ve been good. And for what? A man who will always put me second? A relationship that felt more like an expectation than a choice?
Besides, we broke up this morning. Or, at least we mostly broke up. He’s been too busy to really talk it over since this morning.
Maddox is none of those things. He’s chaos. Uncertainty. Hunger. But he’s here. Seeing me. Wanting me with a ferocity that terrifies and thrills me all at once.
And for once— just once —I want to take something for myself.
I’m waiting.
I don’t even get a response.
Fifteen seconds later, the bathroom door crashes open.