Chapter 26
By the time Abbie and Cora burst through the arrivals gate—each dragging an obnoxiously large suitcase for a simple weekend trip—the airport already feels too crowded.
Liam and Aidan flank them, wearing matching dark suits and scowls as they scan the airport with that alert stillness that never looks casual.
Two more men follow—Smithy, and a fourth I don't recognise. Bigger, broader, a scar running from his ear to his jaw. Clearly, Logan opted to find the scariest-looking guy he could when he had to replace Cole as one of Abbie’s guards.
When Cora spots me, she doesn’t walk, she launches.
A sharp little squeal leaves her, the kind she only ever makes when she’s forgotten to pretend she’s cool, and before I can so much as uncurl my fingers from my suitcase handle, I’m swallowed in one of her bone-crushing hugs.
Abbie barrels in next, arms looping around both of us like a human seatbelt, laughing into my shoulder as if we haven’t FaceTimed three times this week.
For a heartbeat—just one—everything feels stupidly, beautifully normal.
Warm skin, familiar perfume, their breaths catching with excitement against my neck.
And for that single suspended moment… it’s easy to forget.
To forget that eyes follow me everywhere now. That every step I take has a shadow stitched to it. That safety is something none of us are promised anymore.
But the illusion cracks the instant I glance past Cora’s shoulder and see Liam’s gaze snag on mine.
The stern look on his face, the gaping absence on his left.
There’s no third brother standing with him anymore, and that absence feels like a bullet tearing through me every single time.
Knowing my own mother likely played a role in Cole’s death makes it worse—a heavy, unspoken, guilt I can’t carry without lowering my head.
Abbie’s voice cuts through the silence. “Lily, this is Duncan.” She gestures toward the scarred man, who inclines his head but doesn’t smile.
“We said four was overkill, but well, you know how it is,” she adds with a roll of her eyes.
I nod, even though it isn’t a question. Guards walking a step behind us, men lingering outside dressing rooms pretending to check their phones while really scanning exits, and always clearing a building before we set foot inside—it used to be my life, every instinct wired to expect it, every step second nature.
A year away from it hasn’t dulled the rhythm, hasn’t erased the strange comfort it brings, even if I don’t belong here anymore. I miss it sometimes, the way it felt normal to live like this, even as it consumed me.
We’re three boutiques in, and I’ve already lost count of how many times Abbie’s said the word revenge while holding up lace.
Liam and Duncan stand near the doorway, arms crossed, expressions carved from stone, while Aidan and Smithy rotate outside like some kind of invisible perimeter, their reflections flashing every time the glass doors slide open.
“I want something that screams, ‘I wore black to spite you, and I’d do it again,’” Abbie declares, holding up a sheer robe trimmed with lace. “But also… maybe whispers, ‘Come ruin me now that I’ve fallen head over heels for you.’”
Cora laughs. “You didn’t even sleep with him that night. Logan spent the entire night on the sofa.”
“He did,” Abbie admits with a shrug. “Iconic of us, I know. But it’s nearly been two years and we’ve survived family wars and assassination attempts since then.
I think when things are settled, I deserve a do-over.
With a white dress, champagne… maybe even a little dancing in the moonlight. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t show up.”
Their banter twists something in my chest. Watching Abbie so light-hearted—so married and safe—reminds me of when I was shaking so violently she had to hold me upright in Cora’s bathroom as we looked at the six white sticks lined up like soldiers on porcelain.
All negative. And still I’d sobbed until I felt hollow, because for five whole minutes I thought I was going to bring a piece of him into the world. Alone.
Cora presses a silky blush top into my hands. “Try this. It’ll make Matt’s eyes bleed.”
I freeze, breath catching before I can stop it.
She doesn’t mean anything by it, just a throwaway joke from back when we all pretended my obsession was harmless. Back before it became a wound I can’t stop picking open. I force a smile, brittle around the edges. “We’re not doing the Matt topic today, remember? This weekend’s about us.”
“You brought him up first,” Abbie says, softer now. “Not with words. But the mood’s kind of written all over your face, babe.”
Shit.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I duck into the dressing room before they can read me any deeper.
The curtain falls shut, but the flimsy fabric doesn’t feel like a shield.
And suddenly, the blouse in my hands isn’t just silk.
It’s Matt’s gaze and the way he used to strip me down without ever lifting a finger.
My chest tightens, heat threading under my skin.
I hate that it still lives in me, this imprint of him, that every brush of fabric feels like a memory pressed against my body.
Against my better judgment, I dig into my purse. The card is still there. Folded. Heavy. Waiting.
Wear them. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll know.
The words scold me every time I see them. The mirror throws back my reflection—a girl who looks like she’s thriving. Perfectly curled hair, cheekbones shimmering under the overhead lights, everything polished to a shine. A mask good enough to convince almost anyone. Almost.
Underneath it all, I’m a mess of memories that threaten to swallow me whole.
I shove the card back into my bag like it’s wired to explode.
I step out of the changing room in the top, and Abbie immediately perks up from her sprawl across the velvet chaise, as if I’ve just delivered a royal entrance. “Ooooh,” she purrs, eyes lighting up. “That’s fire.”
I twist slightly, showing them the low back. “Too much?”
Cora glances up from her indecisive pile of blouses, a smirk tugging at her lips. “On you? Too much doesn’t even exist in your wardrobe,” she teases.
Abbie tilts her head, eyes narrowing, the humour softening. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie too fast, my throat catches on it. “I just hate how much I want to look good for someone who doesn’t deserve to see me.”
The second it slips out, I wish I could snatch it back. The lightness of the afternoon fades, even Liam glances over, sharp and fleeting, like he knows the weight behind my words.
Cora sets her blouse aside. “This is about Matt, isn’t it?”
I shrug, eyes glued to the floor. “I said I didn’t want to talk about him.”
“You said that,” Abbie murmurs, “but your face disagreed.”
My pulse stutters, traitorous. “He sent me something this morning.”
“What kind of something?” Cora’s voice drops, careful now, cautious, like she’s bracing for impact.
“The kind that comes in a box, wrapped in a bow, buried in a thousand sheets of tissue paper.” The words stick in my throat. “A full La Perla set. Thigh-highs, suspender belt, thong, bra… and a note.”
For a long moment, the only sound is Duncan’s awkward cough.
Abbie blinks once, slow, like she’s struggling to reconcile the Matt she grew up with and the man who haunts me. “Jesus.”
“What did it say?”
I swallow hard, the heat rushing up my throat. “Wear them. Or don’t. Either way, I’ll know.”
Abbie exhales, a sound caught between a laugh and a warning. “That’s either the hottest thing I’ve ever heard or a crime.”
“Welcome to my life,” I mutter, though my chest twists around the words.
Cora straightens, her eyes dark and sharp. “That bastard doesn't get to pull strings just because he knows which buttons to push.”
Abbie sits forward on the chaise, no trace of her earlier playfulness behind her cutting glare. “And you don’t have to answer him. Not with your body. Not with your silence. Nothing. He lost any right to expect a response from you with his actions, you know that.”
The heat crawling up my throat threatens to choke me. “I didn’t say I was going to.”
“Didn’t have to,” Cora says, her gaze softening even as her voice sharpens. “We can see it on your face.”
My pulse skips. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is with him,” Abbie groans, running a hand through her hair. “Complicated and messy. You deserve better than being left shredded every time he decides he wants you again.”
The words land like a blow, not only because they’re true, but because hearing them from her makes them sting even worse.
For so long, I tried to hide what sneaking around with Matt was doing to me.
But as these two wormed their way between my walls, hiding that hurt became impossible, even if I never explicitly told them who was tearing my heart out and crushing it under his boot.
Cora reaches out, fingers brushing mine. “If you don’t want to talk about him, fine. We’ll drop it. But don’t you dare sit here and pretend this doesn’t hurt. That you don’t want him so badly it’s tearing you in two.”
“Cora’s right, babe. You don’t have to hide your hurt from us. If you want to vent, or cry, or throw things… well, I’ll find you a rage room while Cora handles the tissues and chocolate.”
I blink against the burn in my eyes. The shop around us carries on, oblivious, while the two people who know me best in this world build a fortress around me with nothing but their words and their presence.
And still, somewhere in the mess of it, Matt’s ghost presses closer—silk and lace in his hand, daring me to fall.
I bite down on my lip until it bleeds, trying to hold it together, but it’s no use.
My knees weaken, my chest tightens, and the dam I’ve been holding back bursts.
“I… I can’t,” I choke out. “I hate that I want him. I hate that he gets to—gets to make me feel like I’m nothing.
Like I’m… just something to be pulled apart. ”