Chapter 31 SAGE
SAGE
He couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.
As if my presence was unbearable now that he knew the truth.
As if the weight of my past, of what had been done to me, had contaminated the very air between us.
I could almost hear the phantom thoughts circling his mind—She tricked me. She’s broken. A filthy whore riddled with disease.
Even though I knew Reich wasn’t Klay, that he wasn’t built for cruelty in the same way, those words still clawed their way into my consciousness. They wrapped around me like barbed wire, impossible to untangle.
The nightmares had become my only constants—reliving moments that never let me breathe.
But God… would it ever end?
The question haunted me. A low, insidious hum beneath every thought.
I was running out of strength and when that was gone, I wasn’t sure what would be left.
The hollow echoes of a girl who used to be alive?
Or maybe… she had already left a long time ago.
I paced the room.
Over and over.
The repetitive rhythm of my bare feet across the cold wooden floor was the only thing keeping me tethered.
Until I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror.
I hadn’t looked at myself in days.
I hadn’t dared.
But now…Now I couldn’t avoid it.
The woman staring back wasn’t someone I recognized.
Her eyes were dull. Empty.
Her face was thinner, sharper, like all the softness had been scraped away, leaving nothing but harsh edges and shadows.
I took a step closer.
I saw the hollows under my eyes.
The cracked lips.
The faint bruises still lingering across my collarbone like fingerprints pressed too hard.
I looked every inch as broken as I felt.
Even though I felt filthy inside—tainted by things I had no control over—I couldn’t bear to see myself reflect that filth.
Not tonight. Not after what just happened with Reich.
I turned away quickly, my fingers trembling as I reached for the small music player he had left on the windowsill.
I scrolled until I found something familiar.
A soft and haunting song, drifted through the speakers, wrapping around me like smoke.
I let it happen.
Let it soothe the jagged edges of my mind until the worst of the shaking stopped.
And then, I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower.
The rainfall head sprayed warm water over me, each drop hitting my skin like a silent prayer, cleansing me, like a gentle hand smoothing over my scars, wiping them clean.
I closed my eyes.
I could almost feel him.
Reich.
His hands.
The way they’d touched me—hesitant at first, then reverent.
Like I was something worth holding.
Something worth needing.
I pressed my palms flat against the cold tile wall, my breath catching as I imagined his fingers in my hair, his lips against the nape of my neck, his body bracing me there, keeping me upright when I had no strength left.
God, I could almost smell him.
That intoxicating mix of smoke and cedar, sharp and warm.
The scent that made my knees weak, that made me feel… alive.
I dragged my hands through my hair, pretending they were his.
And for a fleeting second, it was enough.
I stayed under the water until my skin was raw and pink.
Then I dried off, wrapping myself in one of the soft black towels Reich had left in the closet.
It was warmer than I expected.
A cocoon that I didn’t want to break out of.
But I did.
I forced myself to move to the closet.
The moment I stepped inside, it was like entering another world.
Rows of clothing—luxury brands I couldn’t pronounce—hung in perfect symmetry.
Mostly black, a few grays, a handful of rich, deep tones that hinted at life.
And somewhere in between them, my own clothes were hidden like artifacts from a different existence.
I ran my fingers over the fabrics.
Soft silks, delicate lace, cool leather.
Things I never thought I’d wear.
Things that felt too beautiful for someone like me.
And yet…here they were.
As if they had been bought with me in mind.
As if he wanted me to have them.
I stopped at a dress.
Short, black, fit-and-flare, with a lace slit down the middle that hinted at something sinful.
I didn’t have anywhere to wear it. Nowhere I could even attempt to go.
But tonight…tonight I just wanted to feel something other than hollow, if only for myself.
I slipped it on, the fabric whispering over my skin like a lover’s touch.
And when I looked in the mirror—shockingly—I didn’t hate what I saw.
I wasn’t whole.
I wasn’t fixed.
But I wasn’t gone either.
Not yet.
My eyes burned with tears and I let them fall.
Because maybe I was starting to heal. One fractured piece at a time.
I walked to the window, resting my hand against the cold glass.
Below me, the open field swayed in the breeze.
Wild. Untamed.
A reflection of something I used to be.
My gaze shifted to the small stack of books Reich had left by the sill.
One stood out.
Persuasion. Jane Austen.
I picked it up, running my thumb over the worn cover.
Reich had been reading this.
Earlier, when I woke up the other day he was sitting in this very room, lost in these pages.
Austen. Romance.
I didn’t understand it.
Reich was all hard lines and brutal precision.
He wasn’t softness and second chances.
He wasn’t supposed to be reading books about love and regret.
And yet… here it was.
And maybe that’s why he intrigued me.
Because he didn’t fit into the box I kept trying to shove him into.
He was an enigma.
And I wanted to understand him.
I curled into the window seat, tucking my legs beneath me as I lost myself in Anne Elliot’s world.
Hours passed. Maybe more.
And when I finally closed the book, something in me ached.
Because I wanted what Anne had found. I wanted to believe in second chances. Even if I always felt like I didn’t deserve one.
A soft creak drew my attention to the door.
And there he was.
Reich.
Polished. Perfect. The wealthy, romance-reading enigma who was quickly becoming my undoing.
He held a tray in his hands.
Food.
The same routine.
But there was something different in the way he watched me.
Our eyes met, and for a moment, the air between us thickened.
I smiled. Small. Wistful.
Then I turned back to the window, hiding the storm brewing inside me.
I heard the tray settle against the dresser.
The faint clink of glass.
And then…his footsteps.
Closer.
Beside me.
His voice was low. Warm. Deliberate. “Sage.”
I didn’t look at him, as I spoke, “I decided to try something new.” The words came out sharp. Defensive. But underneath… I was scared. Afraid of what he might say next.
A flicker of something passed across his face.
Surprise. Curiosity. Concern. I didn’t know.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
His voice was too careful.
Too controlled.
I gave him a smirk that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Broadening my horizons,” I replied, mimicking his earlier words back to him.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
But then he said nothing.
The silence stretched between us like a wire about to snap.
I hated it.
“Sage—” His voice was softer now. As if searching for a place to land.
I didn’t let him.
“Thank you,” I said abruptly. “For the clothes.”
And then— “For everything.”
The words felt like glass in my throat. Raw. Shattered.
But they were true.
His lips parted, but I kept going. Kept control.
And then—he said it.
“Klayton Ovitt.”
The room tilted. The breath left my lungs. The warmth was gone.
Ripped away.
I turned toward him slowly. Meeting his gaze.
His eyes burned.
Hot. Alive. Unforgiving.
He knew him.
And just like that—the fantasy ended.