Chapter 20 #2
He looked toward the coffee table, then back at me, as if the food and wine might explain something my face did not.
“Where is this coming from?”
“It’s been coming for a while.”
“No, it hasn’t.”
That answer irritated me because it was both wrong and understandable.
For him, nothing had been wrong because I had made sure nothing looked wrong.
I had answered texts. Smiled at dinners.
Worn the bracelet. Touched his arm at the right moments.
Let his mother approve of me, and his father measure my usefulness.
I had played the part so well that now he genuinely thought the performance had been evidence that our relationship was real.
“It has,” I said quietly.
Thad ran a hand through his hair.
“Is this because of Katherine?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Céline.”
His voice held frustration now, and beneath it something that might have been fear.
He stepped closer. “Talk to me. If you’re spiralling, if you need space, that’s fine. We can slow down.”
Slow down. As if we had ever truly been moving.
“I don’t need space.”
“Then what do you need?”
The question was so simple. I almost answered honestly.
I need a life no one can take from me. I need to stop belonging to men who confused access with love.
I need Professor Moreau to burn every copy of that file and never say Katherine’s name again.
I need to know whether any version of me exists without someone else holding her up.
“I need to not be your girlfriend anymore,” I said.
Thad stared at me. His face shifted slowly from confusion into hurt. That hurt was real. It made me feel monstrous.
“Did I do something?” he asked.
“No, you were… are perfect.”
“That’s worse. Then I don’t know how to fix it.”
“I know.”
He laughed once, quietly, but there was no humor in it. “Wow.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say sorry like you’re already gone.”
My throat tightened. Because I was. I had been gone from this relationship longer than either of us admitted. Maybe since Katherine died. Maybe since Vincent. Maybe long before either of those things, when I realized Thad’s future looked safe but never once felt like mine.
He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, restless now.
“Is there someone else?”
I should have said no immediately, but I froze.
Thad’s expression changed.
“Who?”
“No one.”
“Don’t insult me, I’m not stupid.”
“I’m really not. There’s nobody.”
“Is it Moreau?”
I looked away.
“I didn’t want to believe the rumours but oh my god…” Thad said softly.
“Nothing has happened… or ever will.” It was a half-lie.
Thad stared at me in disbelief.
“He’s your professor.”
“I know.”
“That’s insane.”
“I know, Thad.”
“And you’re what? Leaving me for him?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then what is this? Tell me what it is about.”
“I really can’t.”
Thad stared at me, and for one brief moment, I saw him try to step out of the life he had been raised inside, try to become the kind of man who could reach me without money, without family, without the smooth tools he had always used to manage discomfort.
“This is humiliating,” he said finally.
I nodded once. Though I wish he had said heartbreaking instead, like I meant something to him, not just his social position.
“Yes, I’m so sorry.”
His face darkened. “That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to explain how my girlfriend goes from dinner with my parents to breaking up with me over some professor everyone knows is obsessed with himself.”
The anger in his voice should have made me defensive. Instead, it made me tired. “Everyone knows a lot of things that aren’t true.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
I almost smiled. The truth would ruin both of us.
“I don’t love you,” I said quietly.
That did it. The anger left his face so quickly that I regretted the words. He looked younger suddenly. Not the wine heir. Not the rich boyfriend. Just a man who had been hurt by a girl he had given himself to for three years.
“I wanted to,” I added, because I was cruel but not completely heartless. “I tried.”
Thad looked down, jaw tightening. Then he nodded once, sharply.
“Okay. Leave then.”
“Thad—”
“No. It’s fine.”
It was not fine. His pride had arrived to save him before the grief of our relationship could. I knew that instinct too well to resent it.
He walked to the door and opened it. The gesture was clear. A dismissal. For once, he was the one ending a conversation.
I picked up my bag slowly. At the doorway, I paused. He did not look at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Yeah,” he replied. “You said that already. Now leave.”
I stepped into the hallway. The door closed behind me with a soft, controlled final click.
I stood there for several seconds staring at the polished wood while my pulse beat heavily in my throat. Then I took out my phone. My fingers hovered over Vincent’s name. I did not want to text him. I did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I had obeyed.
But the alternative was worse. If I stayed silent, he would know anyway, and somehow that felt even more humiliating.
So I typed two words.
Céline : It’s done.
I stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Then I sent it.
A reply came in instantly.
Vincent: Good girl.
I laughed once in the hallway, quietly enough that no one could hear it. Then I pressed my hand over my mouth because the laughter almost turned to tears. I felt insane.
When I reached the lobby, the doorman smiled at me as if I still belonged here.
“Have a good night, Miss Martin.”
I smiled back automatically. “You too.”
Outside, the rain had started again. The endless rain in this stupid town never bothered me before, but now I find it depressing. My cage was flooding, and there was no way out.
I walked into it without opening my umbrella, letting the rain blend with my tears.