24. Quinn
Quinn
The one that matters.
The one I don’t answer cleanly.
Because I can’t.
Because it’s not clean.
“He controls everything,” I say instead.
His brow tightens. “Explain.”
I exhale slowly.
Not to steady myself.
To let it out.
“All of it,” I continue. “My access. My money. My decisions. The trust was written so I don’t get full control unless I meet his conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Ones that benefit him.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t get to walk away without losing everything.”
The words sit there.
Heavy.
Real.
And for the first time—
I don’t soften them.
“Everything?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Then why come here?”
Because I couldn’t stay there.
Because I needed something that wasn’t controlled.
Because I needed—
I don’t say it.
“I told you,” I say. “I needed leverage.”
“That’s not all.”
No.
It’s not.
But it’s enough.
For now.
“He’s been doing this my whole life,” I continue. “Not just control—manipulation. Pressure. Deciding what matters before I get the chance to.”
Logan doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t push.
Just watches.
Listening.
Finally.
“He doesn’t raise his voice,” I add. “He doesn’t threaten directly. He just… adjusts things until the outcome is what he wants.”
“That’s not control,” Logan mutters. “That’s—”
“Torture,” I finish.
The word lands.
Hard.
Because it’s true.
Because I’ve never said it out loud before.
And once it’s out—
it doesn’t go back.
Silence stretches between us.
Different now.
Not just conflict.
Not just anger.
Something deeper.
More dangerous.
“Then why not tell me?” he asks.
There it is.
The question that breaks everything.
I meet his gaze.
Because this answer—
this is the real one.
“Because I don’t trust anyone to fix it,” I say.
The truth hits clean.
No filter.
No strategy.
Just—
honest.
“Not even me?” he asks.
No anger.
No edge.
Just—
quiet.
I shake my head once.
“No. My trust in others was beaten out of me at a young age. I take care of myself.”
That’s the second break.
The one that matters.
Because this isn’t about Evan anymore.
It’s about us.
And there’s no version of this where I pretend that I would’ve let him in.
Not fully.
Not ever.
“I don’t need someone to save me,” I continue. “I need to take back control myself.”
“And using me was part of that.”
“Yes.”
The word doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t soften.
Because that part—
that part was real.
Silence settles again.
Final this time.
Because there’s nothing left to adjust.
Nothing left to explain.
Nothing left to fix.
Logan steps back.
Just slightly.
Enough.
“Then we’re done,” he says.
There it is.
Clean.
Clear.
Exactly what I expected.
Exactly what I planned for.
So why—
why does it feel like something just shifted under my feet?
I don’t let it show.
I don’t let anything show.
“Good,” I say.
The word tastes wrong.
But I don’t take it back.
I turn.
Pick up my bag.
Start down the steps.
Because that’s what I do.
I move forward.
I don’t stay.
I don’t wait.
I don’t—
“Quinn.”
I stop.
Just for a second.
Don’t turn.
Don’t look back.
Because I know—
if I do—
this gets harder.
“What?” I ask.
His voice is rougher now.
Less controlled.
“Was any of it real?”
There it is.
The question he shouldn’t have asked.
The one I can’t answer the way he wants.
The one that would undo everything I just said.
I close my eyes.
Just for a second.
Then—
“Yes.”
The word is quiet.
But it carries.
It’s the only truth I give him that matters.
And it’s not enough.
It’ll never be enough.
I don’t wait for his response.
I don’t turn back.
I don’t give him anything else.
I walk.
Off the porch.
Across the yard.
Past the life I didn’t plan for—
and the one I still don’t trust enough to keep.
Because if I stay—
I lose control again.
And I won’t let that happen.
Not to him.
Not to me.
Not anymore.