Chapter 13 LILY
LILY
I wake up and don't recognize the ceiling.
For a moment, panic flares. The kind that comes from waking in an unfamiliar place with no memory of how you got there.
Then understanding settles, slow and heavy.
I'm in Luan's apartment. In the guest room that's now mine. At least temporarily.
The mattress beneath me is different. Softer than anything I've ever slept on.
The kind of soft that cradles instead of caves, that supports instead of sags.
No springs digging into my ribs. No thin spots where the padding has compressed over years of use, leaving hard ridges that press against bone.
Silence.
That's what strikes me most. Complete, unbroken quiet.
No alarm shrieking at four a.m., dragging me from sleep before my body is ready. No buses grinding past on the street below, air brakes hissing, engines rumbling. No neighbors arguing through paper-thin walls, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm I learned to sleep through years ago.
Just quiet. The kind of quiet that feels almost unnatural after so long without it.
Morning light touches my face. Warm. Gentle. Filtered through curtains that actually block the harsh glare instead of letting it flood in unchecked, turning my eyelids red and making sleep impossible past sunrise.
I can't remember the last time I woke up naturally. To light instead of noise. To comfort. To a body that feels rested instead of already exhausted before the day begins.
The room is beautiful. I noticed it yesterday when Artan showed me in. But I was too tired then, too overwhelmed by the decision I'd just made, to really absorb it. Now, lying here in the stillness, I can take proper inventory.
Cream walls. Soft gray accents that make the space feel calm, deliberate.
A dresser that looks like real wood, solid and heavy, not particle board held together with cheap screws and hope.
A chair in the corner with a throw blanket draped over it, the fabric thick and expensive-looking. Art on the walls.
The bathroom attached to this room is bigger than my old bedroom. Marble countertops. A shower with glass doors and multiple shower heads. Towels so thick and soft they feel like luxury against my skin.
Everything here is like that. Spacious. Expensive. Chosen with care and money I can't fathom.
It's real luxury. The kind that speaks of money spent without thinking, without the constant mental calculation of what can be afforded and what can't.
I turn onto my side. Pull the covers higher. The duvet is thick, filled with down that weighs just enough to feel comforting without being heavy. The pillowcase is cool against my cheek, smooth fabric that smells faintly of lavender.
I left my house yesterday. The one where I grew up.
The memory surfaces unbidden. Sharp and clear.
I remember standing on the front porch one last time, my bags already loaded into the car Artan arranged for me. The key heavy in my hand.
I slid it into the lock. Turned it slowly, feeling the mechanism engage. The soft click as the deadbolt slid into place. The weight of finality settling over me like a blanket I couldn't shake off.
Nostalgia hit hard. A physical ache in my chest. Memories flooding in without permission, without mercy.
My aunt in the kitchen making pancakes on Sunday mornings, the smell of butter and vanilla filling the house. The way she'd hum while she cooked, off-key but happy.
Henry and me building forts out of couch cushions in the living room. Draping blankets over furniture. Pretending we were explorers or astronauts or anything other than two kids trying to forget what they'd lost.
The way the floorboards creaked in the hallway outside my bedroom door. A specific pattern I learned to recognize. Three creaks, then silence, then two more. My aunt checking on me before she went to bed. Making sure I was safe. Making sure I was still there.
But I'm resolute. I've always been resolute. You don't survive what I've survived without learning how to keep moving forward. You take what life offers and you make it work. You adapt. You endure.
And right now, life is offering me this.
A comfortable bed. A beautiful room. Morning light filtering through expensive curtains. Silence and safety and the kind of comfort I haven't known in years.
It's been months since I woke up to daylight. Since before I started the grocery store job. Five a.m. shifts, six days a week, stocking shelves before the store opened. The alarm clock my most hated possession, its shrill beep a violence I endured every single morning.
I had to quit that job. The commute from here to the store would be impossible.
One less source of income. One less paycheck. One less safety net.
But I still have this job.
And when Luan's vision returns fully, when he can stand up to his family on his own, when he doesn't need me anymore, I'll move on. Find another apartment. Another job.
The thought sits heavy in my chest. Uncomfortable. Wrong somehow.
This is temporary.
The reminder is supposed to be comforting. A boundary. A clear endpoint that makes this manageable. Contained.
But it ruins the quiet contentment I woke with. Turns it sour. Makes the comfort feel borrowed. Stolen. Something I'll have to give back.
It will be hard to leave this.
But it will be harder to leave them.
The men.
I close my eyes. Press my face into the pillow. Admit what I've been avoiding since I agreed to this.
I'm attracted to all three of them.
Differently. Distinctly. But equally.
The realization should feel wrong. Shameful. Evidence of something broken in me.
But it just feels true.
Luan is control and danger wrapped together.
Authority I want to press against just to see what happens, just to test the edges of that restraint.
His voice does things to me. Low and controlled, even when I can tell he's anything but.
The way he says my name, like it's a command and a question at the same time.
Like he's testing me. Measuring me. Deciding what I can handle.
Artan is steady. Safe. The kind of man you could lean into and know he wouldn't move.
Wouldn't let you fall. His presence is grounding in ways I don't know how to articulate.
When he touches me, when his hand settles on my shoulder or brushes my arm, it feels deliberate.
Protective. Like he's anchoring me to something solid.
When he looks at me with those brown eyes, steady and watchful, I feel seen. Not the version of myself I present to the world, the one that's always smiling and helpful and fine. But the version underneath. The one that's tired and uncertain and trying so hard to hold everything together.
Erion is spark and unpredictability. Heat I don't trust but can't ignore. When he leans close, when he says things designed to unsettle me, to make me blush and stammer, my body reacts before my brain catches up. Pulse racing. Skin flushing. A pull I know is dangerous but can't quite resist.
He's chaos where the others are control. Impulse where they're calculation. And something in me responds to that. To the way he looks at me like I'm something he wants and doesn't care who knows it. Like restraint is optional, not obligatory.
Three different men. Three different gravitational forces pulling me in directions I didn't know I could go.
And I'm caught in the middle, being drawn toward all of them at once.
I groan. Bury my face in the pillow, the sound muffled by expensive fabric.
The sheets are soft against my skin. The kind that feels like silk, cool and smooth and impossibly luxurious.
The sensation reminds me of yesterday. Of Luan's bathroom.
Steam filling the air, making everything soft and hazy.
Heat radiating off his skin. His hands on my waist, lifting me onto the counter like I weigh nothing.
The way he stepped between my legs, the towel barely covering him, his body so close I could feel the heat of him.
The blade in my hand. The trust in his stillness. The intimacy of touching his face, of being that close, of hearing his breathing change.
And then his hands on my hips. Pulling me forward. His erection pressing against me, hard and insistent and impossible to ignore. The low growl in his voice when he told me to finish cleaning him up.
Be a good girl.
I liked it.
More than liked it.
The memory alone makes my body react. Heat pooling low. Pulse quickening. A want I don't know how to manage.
I must be insane. Stepping into this situation. Moving in. Agreeing to pretend to be engaged to Luan while attracted to all three of them.
I'm twenty-five. Not a virgin. But not experienced either. One boyfriend. Sweet and uncomplicated. More friendship than romance. We dated for six months. Had sex a handful of times. It was fine. Pleasant. Forgettable.
I've never felt this before. This pull. This magnetism that makes my skin feel too tight and my thoughts scatter. Not for one person, let alone three.
There's something about them. Something heavy. Dark. I can sense it even if I can't name it, even if I don't have the language or experience to articulate what I'm picking up on.
It's in the way they move. The way they speak. The careful way they phrase things, like they're used to words having consequences. The tension that follows them into rooms, the way silence feels different when they're present.
Probably just wealth and power. The kind of money and influence I'm not used to being close to. People who move through the world with certainty, who don't apologize for taking up space, who assume doors will open because they always have.
I agreed to something beyond my depth. That much is clear.
But it was also a lifeline.
A roof over my head until I figure out what's next. Money to help Henry. To make sure the baby has everything needed when it arrives.
And, I admit with a twist of shame that makes my stomach turn, protection.
From Henry.
The thought makes nausea rise in my throat.
He didn't mean to push me. I know he didn't. I have to believe that. He was angry. Frustrated. Overwhelmed by the weight of his choices and the consequences catching up to him. He lost control for a second. Just a second.
It was an accident.
But he scared me.
That's the part I can't reconcile. The part that sits heavy and uncomfortable in my chest.
And his messages since then have shifted. Gone from apologies to concern to demands to something darker.
I sit up slowly. The covers fall away, cool air touching my skin. I reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up at my touch, bright in the dim room.
I need to tell him. That the house is his. That he can move in with his girlfriend. That I've kept my promise.
I open the messages. Scroll through the thread.
I'm sorry. Can we talk?
Right after it happened. When the cut on my forehead was still fresh and I was trying to convince myself it was an accident.
Don't leave me on read. Answer me!
Yesterday morning. The tone already shifting. Less apology, more demand.
Have you moved out yet? You owe me this.
Yesterday afternoon. The threat clear.
You better have all your shit packed by next week...
Last night. After I'd already left. After I'd already made my choice.
Sadness settles over me. Heavy. Familiar. The kind of grief that comes from watching someone you love become someone you don't recognize.
This isn't who Henry used to be.
Or maybe it is. Maybe I just didn't want to see it.
I type out a message. Keep it short. Simple. Final.
The house is yours. You can move in. Good luck with everything.
My thumb hovers over the send button.
I press send.
The message delivers immediately. Blue checkmark appearing almost before I register the action.
Done.
The phone screen goes dark in my hand. My reflection stares back at me from the black glass. Blurred. Indistinct.
A tear rolls down my cheek. Hot. Unwanted. I don't wipe it away. Just let it fall.