Chapter 39 Connor
CONNOR
It’s surreal, watching her slip back into the fold like she never left. I mean, she always had control over the group—more like it was her friends, and I was tagging along because we were together.
Hannah is hugging her while Nicole squeals loudly over her dress.
Athena laughs easily, tilts her head just so, and every move is rehearsed perfection.
My mother beams, and my father nods in approval like she’s already the daughter-in-law he ordered.
Everyone is enamored by her charm. She turns to me then, her smile landing like a weapon.
“Connie. You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you? ”
And me? I sit there like a prop in my own life.
She leans closer, brushing my arm as if it’s still hers. “It’s been too long,” she says warmly, eyes glinting. “I was just telling your mother I can’t believe I stayed away this long.”
“Yeah,” I manage. My voice is flat by design, practiced. Too many eyes on us for me to show how I really feel. “Time gets away.”
One of my cousins steps in, greeting her, complimenting her shoes. More laughter. It’s endless, this parade of welcome-backs, like the entire room has been waiting for Athena to walk through the door and make everything right again.
And I can’t breathe.
When the tide of greetings finally ebbs, her attention snaps back to me, her hand slipping over my sleeve again. “Connie,” she murmurs, low enough for only me. “Why don’t you show me around? Catch me up?”
I force a tight smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Sure.”
I push back from the table, my chair scraping, and guide her away with a hand at the small of her back. She doesn’t notice the stiffness in my touch, the way my jaw locks as we weave past tables, past the noise and champagne, until the double doors swing shut behind us.
The hallway is quieter, cooler.
I turn on her the second we’re alone. “We need to talk.”
She steps gracefully out of the doorway and turns to me with that perfect, polished smile.
“Connor,” she says, voice low, amused. “Dragging me out like that? People are going to think we’re sneaking away.”
I don’t smile. “Athena, what are you doing here?”
Her head tilts, glossy hair slipping over one shoulder. “I was invited. Your mother sent me the sweetest message—she said she hoped I’d surprise you.” Her hand lifts to my arm again, familiar, practiced. “And I thought… why not?”
My stomach knots. “You shouldn't have.”
She laughs softly, the kind of laugh that used to make me think she was untouchable. “You needed time, Connie. I gave it to you. I assumed that meant we’d pick up where we left off.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “There is no picking up. We broke up. ”
Her smile falters but only for a beat. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” My voice is harder now, echoing faintly against the marble. “We’re done.”
She folds her arms, eyebrows rising, coy again. “You’ve said that before, and yet here we are. You’ve always come back, Connor. Always.”
She’s not wrong. I ended things before—half a dozen times, maybe more. Each time she waited me out, certain I’d fold. And I always did. Until now.
I let out a humorless laugh, rough at the edges. “Not this time.”
Her lips part, eyes narrowing, something sharp in them now. “So what, then? You throw everything away for some… fling? Nicole—”
Before I can answer, the doors creak open behind us. My mother steps out, concern tightening her face, and my father follows, his hand already raised in warning.
“Connor,” my mother says quickly, scanning Athena, then me. “Please. Let’s not make a scene, darling.”
Athena straightens instantly, the perfect picture of composure. “We were just talking, Genevieve,” she says lightly, as if my chest isn’t on fire. “Catching up.”
I can feel the rage climbing, pressing at my throat. And for once, I don’t want to swallow it back down.
I laugh, sharp and ugly. “Catching up? Is that what we’re calling this?”
“Connor,” my mother hisses, her eyes darting toward the ballroom doors. “Keep your voice down. People will hear.”
“Let them,” I snap, my voice cracking with it. “I am so fucking tired of keeping my voice down.”
My father stiffens. “Watch your tone, young man.”
“No,” I say, chest heaving. “You don’t get it. Neither of you do. I ended this. We ended. Athena, I don’t love you. I haven’t for a long time.”
She blinks, startled. The coy tilt of her head wavers for the first time. “You’re just overwhelmed. You needed space. That’s all.”
I bark out a laugh that tastes bitter. “Do you know what nearly killed me? Pretending. Pretending to be the perfect son, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect future husband. Dying on the inside just to make everyone else comfortable. Space? Athena, I nearly collapsed from burnout six months ago. I thought I was dying. And do you know what went through my head in the emergency department? That I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
Not with my job. Not with you. Not with the life everyone else wanted for me. ”
“Connor,” my father growls, “this isn’t the time or the place—”
“It’s always the same with you!” The words tear out of me, louder than I mean, but I don’t stop.
“Not the time, not the place. Don’t say it here, don’t rock the boat, don’t embarrass the family.
Do the job. Date the right girl. Get married, have kids, keep the image intact. Every box checked while I suffocate.”
“Connor,” my mother tries again, her voice sharp with the same warning she gave me during my teenage years.
I round on her. “I was drowning. And you didn’t notice. Or maybe you did, and you just didn’t care, because at least I was still performing.”
Her face crumples, just for a second, but then it’s gone, smoothed back into composure.
Athena steps forward, her chin high. “You’re being dramatic. You’ll regret this outburst. You always do.”
My throat tightens, and something inside me snaps. “No. I won’t regret finally telling the truth. I don’t love you. I don’t want you. And I will never marry you.”
The words echo in the empty hall, final and brutal.
My mother gasps softly, and my father’s jaw clenches. And Athena looks like I slapped her. But for the first time, none of them have a script ready.
And in the silence that follows, I realize I can breathe. My chest hurts, my hands are shaking, but I can breathe.
I drag a hand through my hair, the sound of muffled music and laughter seeping faintly through the ballroom doors. And suddenly, I know.
I know exactly who I need to find.
“I’m done,” I say, voice raw but steady. “With this conversation. With all of it.”
I don’t wait for a reply. I shove the doors open, scanning the room, searching desperately.
But the table where she sat is empty.
“Where is she?” My voice catches on the question, too frantic.
Camila looks up from across the table, her face soft with something like pity. She shakes her head once. “She left.”
The floor drops out beneath me.
Of course she did.
I push past the tables, past the music, out into the night air. My pulse is still pounding, my throat raw, my chest hollow with panic. Every path stretches dark ahead of me—back to the house, down to the lake, anywhere.
I don’t care where she went. I just know I have to find her.
Because if I don’t—if I let her slip away now—I’ll lose the only thing that’s ever made me feel like I wasn’t drowning.