Chapter 21 Adaline
Adaline
I don’t let myself cry in the dress.
Not in front of the mirror, not while my hands shake as I peel off the earrings Aunt Jane insisted on, not while I unpin my hair and watch glossy curls fall apart into something messier and more honest.
Connor trapped me like he owned my air.
Hunter punched him like he owned the world, and for a moment, everything stopped.
And somehow, in the span of ten minutes, my past and my present slammed together so hard my ribs still ache from the impact. I don’t feel like Connor won tonight.
Not really.
He tried to threaten me. Tried to make me feel small. Thought he still had power over me.
And instead, he got dragged out of a fundraiser ball in front of all those people and camera lenses. He got shown, publicly, that he can’t just whisper a threat and expect me to fold.
Maybe that makes me reckless for thinking it.
But it also makes me… lighter.
Like something that’s been chained around my throat for months finally loosened.
Still, my body won’t settle. The one thing I didn't want was a scandal at the fundraiser, and that's exactly what happened.
My hands won’t stop trembling. My skin feels too tight. My brain keeps replaying the moment Hunter stepped in front of me, solid, unyielding, like he could block Connor’s shadow just by existing.
His protectiveness confused me; my thoughts all jumbled up, I’m not ready to deal with that kind of closeness right now.
I’m not ready to deal with Hunter’s eyes on me, his fist split open, his voice going sharp with rage that still rattled something in my bones. My chest tightens, legs restless, breath refusing to settle.
So I do what I’ve always done when everything gets too loud. I decide to go for a run.
I strip out of the dress and into my running leggings and a long-sleeve top, hair shoved into a ponytail that’s more messy than functional. I pull on socks, sneakers, the whole routine like it’s a spell I can cast to make my life make sense again.
The mansion is quiet. Too quiet for how much happened tonight.
Aunt Jane is asleep, thank God. Mrs. Lane’s door is closed. And Hunter… he shut himself away.
I think about his fist. The way he tried to hide it in the limo. The way I handed ice without speaking because if I did, my voice might have cracked right in front of him.
Is he icing it? Is it swelling?
The thought makes me feel worried. I can’t carry him too. Not tonight.
I send a quick text to Racheal. I don't want her to worry about me, but I can’t talk right now. Not when my own insides still feel like they’re shaking.
I slip down the stairs and out into the night like a ghost, careful with the door, careful with the silence, like sound itself could trigger another confrontation.
Outside, the air is colder than it was earlier.
The sky is a heavy gray-black, clouds layered thick, like bruises.
The path toward the pond is barely lit by low garden lights, their warm glow cutting small holes through the darkness.
Roses line the beds, their scent softer at night, but still there, faintly sweet, faintly anchoring me.
I inhale.
My lungs expand. My shoulders drop a fraction.
Good.
Movement. Silence. This I can handle.
I jog slowly at first, more of a brisk walk with intention than a real run. My ankle is mostly fine now. I did survive those high heels tonight, but the memory of it buckling still lives in my muscles. I don’t push too hard. I just… move.
The pond is out there, past the hedges, past the stretch of lawn that looks like it belongs in a painting. I’ve walked toward it plenty of times, always stopping before I reach the property line like there’s an invisible fence I can feel in my bones.
Tonight, I need farther.
I need the kind of distance that makes my thoughts go quiet. I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around my phone.
I shouldn’t.
I know I shouldn’t. But my chest aches in that specific way it does when I’m holding too much with nowhere to put it. I scroll to HeartLines without thinking, my thumb moving on muscle memory.
The chat is there. The last messages are there. His “Then breathe.”
And then… silence.
He hasn’t been online since that night after the fall festival when I told him I messed up. Which shouldn’t hurt, but it does.
Because he’s a stranger. A username. A comforting voice, the sound of which I never heard. But it does hurt, and I hate that too. I stop walking and stare at the screen, my breath fogging faintly in the cool air.
Wind: Are you there?
I wait. Nothing. The “online” dot is dark.
I swallow and type anyway because my hands need to do something besides shake.
Wind: I’m on a walk. I’m… a little shaken up.
I stare at the chat, my throat thick.
Wind: I don’t want to be dramatic, but I feel like I might be lost.
Wind: Not lost-lost. Just… wandering.
That’s not entirely true. I know how to get back. I know the lights. I know the path.
But emotionally? I’m so lost I can’t even see straight.
I wait again. Still nothing.
A pulse of frustration flashes hot in my chest. Fine.
Ignore me. Disappear. You’re good at that too, apparently.
I tuck the phone back in my pocket and start walking again, faster now, like speed can outrun the ache. The garden lights grow more spaced out. The path becomes less manicured, and the trees start to crowd closer.
The scent of roses fades. My shoes crunch over gravel, then softer earth. I keep going because stopping means thinking. And thinking means Connor’s voice in my ear again, low and poisonous.
It means Hunter’s fist connecting with Connor’s face. It means Hunter’s hand on my elbow afterward, gentle and careful, asking if I’m okay, like my well-being matters.
It means admitting my heart did something stupid and traitorous when he touched me.
I hate that my body responds to him. I hate that I’m drawn to him even when he’s angry.
Even when he’s cold.
Even when he makes me feel like I’m always one wrong move away from being sent back to the life I ran from.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my heart leaps. But it’s not North. Just the screen lighting from movement. False hope. Again.
I pull it out anyway, staring at the chat like I can will him into existence.
Wind: I need a friend right now. More than I want to admit.
My fingers hover. This feels small. This is me reaching for something to hold when everything else is tipping.
This is me clinging to a connection because it feels safer than the one right in front of me. Hunter, with his real eyes and real touch and real ability to hurt me without even trying.
I type anyway.
Wind: I know we don’t know each other’s names. But I think I want to.
Wind: I think… I want to meet you.
My pulse pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears.
I hit send. And immediately regret it.
Because desperation looks ugly on anyone, but it feels especially humiliating on me.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and keep walking, jaw clenched, eyes burning.
How did I get here?
How did my life become a string of running away? Away from Connor, away from scandal, away from my own mistakes, only to end up in a town that gossips for sport and a mansion that echoes with secrets?
The wind picks up. I think of how ironic that is.
Cold air rushes through the trees, snapping branches lightly, making leaves hiss like whispered warnings.
A drop hits my cheek. Then another. I tilt my head back, blinking.
Rain.
The sky chooses now to break open.
Within seconds, it turns from drizzle into something heavier, more insistent. It soaks the top of my hair, dampening the fabric on my shoulders. The air smells like wet earth and distant storms.
Not sure that's my favorite smell anymore.
My first instinct is to turn back. But when I look over my shoulder…
The mansion lights are farther than they should be. The warm garden glow is faint. Distant.
And the path behind me is darker than the path ahead, like the night is swallowing my footprints.
A flicker of unease crawls up my spine. Okay. Turn around anyway. You know the way.
I take a few steps back, trying to orient myself. Left, then right, then past the hedges.
But the hedges aren’t here. Just trees, and uneven ground beneath my feet.
Just trees. And mud. And the sound of rain suddenly loud enough to drown out everything else. I feel nervous and disoriented. I went past the property line. I went farther than I realized.
A flash of irritation burns in my chest, at myself.
Why am I like this?
Why do I always make things worse?
Why can’t I just stay put and be normal for five minutes?
The rain intensifies. It pours now, thick sheets cutting through the dark. My hair sticks to my cheeks. My clothes cling. My shoes sink slightly into softening ground with each step.
I pull my phone out again, thumb flying over the screen.
No signal. The little bars are gone. Now my chest tightens.
Okay. No. That’s fine. It’ll come back in a second. Just move.
I take a few steps, holding the phone up, like height matters, like the air will be kinder if I ask nicely.
Still nothing.
The wind snaps harder, and a branch cracks somewhere nearby with a sharp sound that makes me flinch. I spin, heart racing. It’s just the storm. But the darkness feels thicker now.
Wild-dark. Unfamiliar. And then, like the world decides to make the night worse. The lights in the distance blink.
Once.
Twice.
And then they go out completely.
The faint glow from the mansion vanishes, swallowed by black. The power is out. My breath catches.
For a second, I just stand there, soaked and blinking, the loss of light landing before the fear does.
I take a step, then another, but the ground shifts beneath me. Mud grips my shoe. I stumble slightly and catch myself, breath ragged. Something hot crawls up my throat, thick and breath-stealing. This is stupid.
This is so stupid. I should have stayed inside. I should have just cried in my room like a normal person.
I should have… I don’t know. Made tea. Hugged a pillow. Anything other than wandering into the woods like I’m auditioning for my own horror story.
My phone screen glows pale against the rain. No signal. No lights.
No idea which direction leads home.
Is it really home? I can’t think like that right now.
And suddenly, unexpectedly, my mind flashes back to the night I twisted my ankle, clear and sharp against the chaos.
Hunter’s hand extended toward me. The way he didn’t let me suffer even when I wanted to. The way he helped me without making it a big deal.
I need him.
The realization hits hard and sharp, and I hate it because it feels like weakness.
But it’s true. I need help.
I swipe to call him anyway, even though the signal is gone, even though it’s pointless. My thumb hovers over his contact, heart pounding like maybe sheer will can make the call go through.
The screen shows No Service.
I laugh once, short, broken, more like a sob than humor, and shove the phone back into my pocket.
Rain pelts my face. My teeth start to chatter. My hands feel numb. I wrap my arms around myself, hugging tight, trying to trap heat that keeps escaping.
And then it comes crashing, the loneliness. Not just in this moment, standing in a storm with no direction.
But the bigger loneliness.
The one that’s been stitched into my life since I was seventeen and the world decided I had to grow up overnight.
Since Grandma Ruth passed, I didn’t have anyone’s house to run to anymore.
Since Connor stepped in with his promises and convinced me I wasn’t alone, only to turn love into a leash.
Since I came to Rose Hills to hide and found myself tangled in someone else’s life, someone else’s sharp-edged heart.
I blink hard, rain mixing with tears until I can’t tell which is which.
“I’m such an idiot,” I whisper, and the storm swallows it whole.
I take a step, then freeze. Every direction looks identical. Trees. Shadows. Mud beneath my feet.
No signal, no lights, and absolutely no sense of home.
And the worst part? I did this to myself. I don’t move. I can’t.
The only thing my mind holds onto, burning through the panic and the dark is—Hunter.