28. Amanda
Amanda
Fear isn't just an emotion.
It isn't like sadness.
Or joy.
Or even anger.
Fear is something different.
Something alive.
Like a parasite.
A thing with teeth and claws that sinks itself deep inside your chest and feeds on every terrible thought you have.
It grows stronger with every second.
Every step.
Every shaky breath I take into the darkness as my kidnapper prods me forward with the gun.
And I can feel it happening.
I know I'm spiraling.
I know my thoughts are racing too fast.
I know I'm catastrophizing.
But I can't let it show.
Because fear like this?
Predators feed on it.
So I force myself to keep moving.
I keep breathing.
Keep pretending.
Even while my heart pounds so hard I'm convinced the sound alone should give me away.
I can't believe this is happening.
But then again, maybe I should have expected it.
Because whenever life finally starts going right for me, something always seems to come along and ruin it.
And lately?
Life has been beautiful.
This role?
Being cast as the lead in a Chance Madoc production of an Oliver Pax show?
It's my dream role.
Literally.
This is what I've worked toward my whole life.
The endless auditions.
The tiny apartments.
The ramen dinners.
The years of wondering if I'd ever be enough.
The years of smiling through rejection after rejection.
The years of telling myself someday.
Someday.
And somehow, someday finally arrived.
All of it led here.
But it's not just work anymore.
It's him.
It's Less.
Falling in love with him all over again?
I never dreamed that would happen.
Not in a million years.
Not after what happened before.
When Alessio disappeared after our whirlwind romance the first time, I thought I was just unlucky in love.
He broke my heart.
And maybe he broke something inside me, too.
Eventually, I accepted it.
Or at least I pretended to.
I buried myself in work.
Told myself my career would be enough.
Told myself I didn’t need anyone.
That I didn’t need forever.
That love wasn’t worth the risk.
I became very good at pretending.
Then I got hired for that private concert.
And bam.
There he was.
Looking older.
Sadder.
But still, so damn beautiful.
And still capable of making my heart stop with one look.
And somehow—despite everything—I went and did the one thing I said I wouldn’t do.
Despite the pain.
Despite the abandonment.
Despite every promise I'd made to myself.
I fell head over heels all over again.
Because Alessio makes me feel things no one else ever has.
Safe.
Wanted.
Cherished.
Protected.
Loved.
Good or bad.
Right or wrong.
I love him.
And the realization hurts.
Not because I regret it.
I don't—no fucking way.
But because right now, with blood trickling down the side of my face and a gun pressed into my ribs, I realize how close I came to real happiness.
But this time it was me who wasted it.
The other night, he was going to propose.
I know he was.
I saw it in his eyes.
Saw it in the way he looked at me.
Saw it in the hope written all over his face.
And I panicked.
Because I was scared.
Scared to believe.
Scared to trust.
Scared he'd leave me again.
And now all I can think is—what if I never get another chance?
What if the last thing I gave him was hesitation instead of my heart?
What if the last thing he remembers is me asking him not to make promises?
My chest aches.
Tears burn behind my eyes.
But I force them back.
Not now.
I refuse to cry.
I refuse to break down.
Because I know I'm already slipping.
Already imagining the worst.
Already letting fear devour me.
And I can't afford that.
Not yet.
Because somewhere out there I know Less is looking for me.
And if there's one thing I've learned about the stubborn, overprotective man who owns my heart, it's this.
He always comes for me.
Even if it takes a little while.
Because no matter what happens, Less is mine and I am his.
Tears threaten to spill, but I force them back.
I still refuse to cry.
I'm too angry.
Too terrified.
Too determined.
Yeah, maybe I should've known something bad was waiting around the corner.
Maybe I should've expected it.
But no.
Fuck that.
I refuse to blame myself.
Not anymore.
What I have with Less is real.
And if I survive this—when I survive this—the first thing I'm going to do is tell him.
Everything.
No more fear.
No more hesitation.
No more waiting.
The barrel of the gun presses painfully against my ribs, and I swallow hard.
“Move it,” the angry voice snaps.
God.
This feels like a nightmare.
But the cold steel digging harder into my side is terrifyingly real.
Merciless.
Unforgiving.
And my head still hurts.
Because when the masked figure surprised me inside my dressing room, I fought.
Of course, I fought.
I tried to scream.
I kicked.
And the next thing I knew, something hard slammed into the side of my head.
The blow had sent me crashing into the vanity.
Now warm blood trickles slowly from above my temple, sticky against my skin.
Every step I take makes me dizzy.
Makes the world tilt slightly.
But I keep moving.
Because I refuse to give up.