Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fraud—that’s what Ian called me last night. I’m not ready to face the mess my life has become, so maybe he’s right. Or maybe I’m just falling apart, stuck between denial and shock.
This morning, when Yasmine dropped off Liam, I put on my best “everything’s fine” face. She didn’t seem to notice my missing engagement ring or the bruise on my cheek, hidden under layers of makeup, as she rushed out for her hair appointment. Keeping my breakup with Ian a secret is only temporary. I need more time to process before the inevitable blowup ruins what’s left of my reputation.
Ian’s words haunt me: Your family—everyone you love—will see the truth about you .
I attempt to shake off those toxic thoughts. My family loves me, and they’d have my back if they knew what Ian did. But would they understand why I betrayed Esme? If I were in their shoes, I’m not so sure I would.
With trembling hands, I apply another layer of makeup, trying to hide the proof of Ian’s anger. He’ll use you just like he did Esme.
I refuse to believe that, even for a moment. When Victor and I go public, others will probably spew the same venom, but I can’t let their opinions poison what we have.
The doorbell’s chime abruptly pulls me from my thoughts, causing my heart to slam against my ribs. It’s Victor, here to return my engagement ring. With Esme at work, his timing is perfect.
When I open the door, Victor’s there, looking as magnetic as ever. Those sharp blue eyes of his seem to strip me bare, but I force myself to stay composed. “Hey,” I say, aiming for casual but probably missing by a mile.
Victor steps inside and pulls me into a hug. I melt into him, our bodies pressed together. He has no idea how much I need this right now.
When we pull back, his entire demeanor changes. “What’s wrong?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.
“Nothing.” I press my lips to his, partly as a distraction, but also to savor the sensation of his mouth against my own. After he kisses me thoroughly, I think he’s going to drop it, but I’m wrong.
“Something’s off,” he says, his eyes scanning my face.
I take a deep breath; the weight of my confession comes crashing down on me. “Ian knows. He was here, waiting for me, when I came home last night.”
“What?” His body goes rigid, fists clenching at his sides. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I needed to handle him on my own.” Yeah, epic failure on my part .
Victor runs a hand over his face as if he’s trying to calm his nerves. “What happened?”
“Things…got heated.”
He cocks his head, his narrowed eyes murderous. “Did he—” The words seem to catch in his throat. “Did he hurt you?” he asks, his voice laced with concern and barely contained fury. He reaches out to caress my cheek, and I wince, the ache a stark reminder of what went down. A move his eagle eyes catch. Shit . His jaw clenches, eyes darkening. “Did he hit you?”
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. I can’t lie to him. No matter how much I want to. He’ll see right through it. Swallowing hard, I blink fast against the sudden sting of tears. “He slapped me.”
“He hit you?” His voice jumps up at the end in disbelief.
“It was just a slap.” I hate myself for trying to downplay what happened, but I know Victor well enough to know that if I don’t, he’ll see red, and there’ll be no talking him down.
He takes a deep breath. His fist balls up, and he brings it to his mouth, pressing his knuckles against his lips as if physically holding back his rage. “Nobody touches you,” he says, his voice low and fierce. “Nobody hurts you. Ever.”
I place my hand on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palm. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Let me see,” he pleads.
Reluctantly, I let him tilt my face, his touch featherlight as he examines the bruise. The tender care in his actions contrasts with the rage in his eyes. “I’m going to kill him,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“No you’re not,” I scold. “We need to be smart about this. Getting into a fight with Ian won’t solve anything.” Hot tears blur my vision. “I’m not trying to make excuses for him. But promise me you won’t do anything crazy.”
“Fine. I won’t kill him.” He presses his forehead to mine, his lashes grazing my skin as his eyes drift shut. He lets out a long, slow breath, and I feel the tightness leave his muscles. In its place, a fierce tenderness settles over us like a shield. “I love you,” he breathes, his lips skimming my face as he speaks.
“I love you too.”
He kisses me, soft and lingering, pouring unspoken apologies and fierce promises into the gentle press of his lips. As he pulls back, his eyes blaze with resolute determination. “He will never hurt you again. I promise you.”
My heart clenches at the ominous weight of his words. “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammer, searching his face for answers.
He takes a step back, his jaw set. “I have to go.”
Panic rises in my throat, my pulse thundering in my ears. “Where are you going?” I reach for him, but my fingers grasp at the air as he slips away, already at the door, yanking it open.
My sister stands on the other side, her eyes wide and startled. “I-I’m Yasmine. I’m here to see my sister—Skylar.”
I can’t let her see me like this. I bolt to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of my smeared makeup and tear-stained face in the mirror. Locking myself in, I clutch my phone like a lifeline, my thoughts spiraling with the possibilities of what Victor might do.
The sound of his car peeling out away from the house reverberates through my bones. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, knowing that I’ll have to face Yasmine and the consequences of my actions soon enough. But for now, I just need a moment to collect my thoughts and figure out my next move.
“Sky,” my sister calls out to me, concern lacing her voice.
I can just about imagine what she’s thinking. “I’m in the bathroom,” I say through the closed door as I send Victor text after text, begging him again not to do anything crazy. He doesn’t know where Ian lives or what hospital he works at, so there’s a little comfort in that. But all of my texts go unread.
“Liam’s asleep in my bedroom. He went down over an hour ago,” I say, pulling up a text message window to Isabella. With trembling fingers, I type out everything that just happened, along with everything from last night. I hate doing this over text, but I can’t risk Yasmine overhearing anything.
“What was that about?” Yasmine is right outside the bathroom now.
“What was what about?” I ask, trying to sound normal.
“Are you okay, Sky-Sky? What happened?”
“I’m fine. Nothing happened.”
“I don’t believe you,” she admits, matter of fact.
I laugh, but it’s hollow, an empty sound. “Seriously, Yas. I’m good. I just need a minute.”
Dots swim across the bottom of my screen.
Isabella
What the fuck??? To all of it, btw. Seriously.
Me
You have to stop him from doing anything crazy. PLEASE.
Isabella
I’ll handle it. But I’m so pissed right now.
“I ran into Victor. Almost literally,” Yasmine says. There’s a beat of silence, and I can picture her on the other side, hand on hip, not buying my act for a second. “Did he and Esme just have a fight?”
“No,” I reply, the single word feeling like a boulder in my throat.
Me
I’m sorry, Isabella. This is the last thing I wanted to happen.
Isabella
I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed at Ian. He deserves to have the shit kicked out of him. But I won’t let that happen because I don’t want Victor to get in trouble. I need to call Quentin for reinforcement. He’ll know what to do.
Normally, I’d freak out at the thought of her dragging their older brother into this, but I’m past that. Whatever keeps Victor out of the drama—my drama—I’m all for.
Me
Thanks, Is.
My phone slips from my grasp, clattering against the countertop. I lean over the sink as I imagine the potential fallout of Victor’s actions. I want to shield him, to stop him from doing something he’ll regret, and I’m terrified of what might happen if he confronts Ian. Guilt eats away at me.
“Did he say something to you on his way out?” Yasmine’s voice is sharp now, protective.
“He’s a jerk,” I say, my weak attempt at humor falling flat. The lie rolls off my tongue, smooth and automatic, but it tastes like poison. When all this is over, and I’m ready to face it, I’ll tell her how fucking amazing Victor is. That he’s the love of my life.
“Yeah, I gathered that.”
I grip the countertop, struggling to keep my voice even. “But I’m fine. Now, can I please have some privacy?” I need her to let me be, just for a moment, needing the space to slow my spinning world.
“Take your time. My boobs are killing me. I’m going to go feed Liam.”
“Okay. He had a bottle about three hours ago,” I say through the door that separates us.
“Perfect.” Another beat of silence follows. Yasmine’s voice softens, probing gently for the truth. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m…on my period,” I say, the lie easier to tell than the truth.
Yasmine hums a sympathetic sound. “Cramps?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.”
“I have some Midol in my purse. Want some?”
“No, I’m good.” Another attempt at a laugh falls from my lips.
“I brought you a pumpkin spice latte. But do you want some tea? I can make some for you.”
The corners of my mouth twitch upward for the first time in hours. “No. The latte is perfect,” I say, a genuine note of gratitude warming my words. But even as I try to find comfort in the small gesture, my mind races with the guilt and fear of what’s to come.
“’Kay. I’ll leave it in the kitchen,” she says, her footsteps receding.
“Thanks, Yazzy,” I call out, making sure my voice carries through the door, past the walls I’ve put up, letting her kindness seep through the cracks just a little.
Emerging from the bathroom, I try to smooth out my expression, to wash away the signs of my breakdown. The living room’s stillness is a relief, offering a moment to steady myself. Yasmine must still be upstairs with Liam, oblivious to the storm that’s just torn through my life.
The gleam of the discarded ring catches my eye, now a harsh reminder of a path I’m no longer walking. Sliding it onto my finger feels like slipping into a costume, a role I once auditioned for. I grab a bridal magazine from the coffee table drawer and flip through it. The pages are thick with futures that seem like they belong to someone else.
Yasmine returns holding Liam, her new pixie cut catching my eye. “Oh, hey,” I say with a genuine smile. “I love your hair.”
With a grin, she plops down next to me. “Thanks.”
Pasting on a smile, I step into the role I’ve made for myself. We fall into a familiar rhythm, and for a moment, I can almost pretend everything’s normal. Our chat shifts to dress choices, to futures that once seemed so certain.
As we talk about the wedding and the life I just set ablaze, Esme breezes in through the front door, her voice cutting through our conversation. “Traffic was ass today. I swear to God, everyone needs to stop moving to Texas.”
I blink, caught off guard by her sudden presence.
“Uh, hey,” Yasmine says, her pitch an octave too high, and I can see the gears turning. She thought Esme was upstairs because why else would Victor have been here?
Esme doesn’t miss a beat, complimenting Yasmine on her hair and fawning over Liam with her effortless charm. “Welp. I’ll be upstairs.” And just like that, she’s gone without ever acknowledging me. Not that I acknowledged her.
The second Esme is gone, Yasmine’s gaze snaps to me, her brows knitted together and her lips pressed into a thin line. “What the hell are you doing?” Her whisper is sharp, filled with worry and confusion.
My face flushes, and my eyes are suddenly stinging with unshed tears. I want to spill my guts to Yasmine, to pour out my heart and beg for her understanding, but the fear of her judgment stops me cold. “It’s not what you think,” I manage to choke out.
She’s not convinced, her eyes narrowing as she studies my face. “It’s not?” She glances over her shoulder, probably making sure we’re alone.
I glance too, just to be sure, before my eyes meet hers. The worry and doubt in her gaze are almost too much to handle. “I’m going to marry Ian. I…I love him.” The words feel like a betrayal not only to Victor but to myself. But I need to keep it together, just a little while longer.
“And Victor? Where is he in all of this?”
I shake my head, denial and shame washing over me. She scoots closer, taking my hand in hers, her touch gentle but firm.
Esme’s laughter echoes down the stairs, shattering the delicate moment between us. “You’re so cringey, Mom,” she says through her phone.
“I can’t talk about this,” I whisper back urgently as Esme’s voice drifts closer, my heart racing in my chest. “Please don’t say anything.”
“You know I won’t.” She squeezes my hand, her promise silent but as real as the pressure of her fingers. I’m grateful, even as the weight of my secrets crushes me.
I know what she’s thinking, and she’d be right. I slept with my best friend’s boyfriend. But what she doesn’t know, at least not yet, is that I’m in love with him.