Noah
I didn’t see her at first.
Liam was laughing about cake, Adonis had just finished his drink, and I was… happy. Lighter than I’d felt in years. Thinking about Liz. That dress. The way she kissed me like I was hers. The way she looked at me like maybe — maybe — I could finally be more than what I was made for.
Then Adonis said it.
“So… does she know yet?”
And everything in me stilled.
He kept going, casually, like he didn’t see the bomb he’d just dropped. “About the bet.”
The words echoed in the air like they’d been spoken through a megaphone.
A soft clink made me turn.
Liz.
She was standing just past the edge of the curtain, the glass she dropped spinning gently on the floor. Mary and Lillian were behind her, wide-eyed and silent, but all I could see was her.
Her mask was still on, but I didn’t need to see her full face to know what was breaking beneath it. Her mouth parted, her eyes—those mismatched eyes, one storm blue, one forest green—were wide, wet, and shining with something worse than rage.
Hurt.
Deep, soul-cutting, world-ending hurt.
“Liz—”
She walked forward slowly, like every step was a decision not to crumble. And then she reached me.
Her hand came up fast. A sharp crack across my cheek.
Everyone around us went still.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t scream.
She just looked at me, her voice like glass. “You made me think I was finally something real to someone.”
And then she was gone.
Out the door, through the crowd, her dress sweeping behind her like a blade.
“Shit,” Adonis muttered beside me. “I didn’t see her. I didn’t—”
“Don’t,” I said, already moving. “Just—don’t.”
I ran.
Out of the ballroom, down the hall, out into the courtyard where the storm had broken.
Because of course it was raining.
Of course it was.
The rain always came when we shattered.
I saw her ahead, heels in hand now, dress soaked and sticking to her legs, her mask discarded and forgotten in the grass.
“Liz!” I called out.
She didn’t stop.
I caught up anyway, grabbing her arm gently.
“Please—just listen. Let me explain.”
She whirled on me, eyes blazing with betrayal and water. “Explain what, Noah? That I was a bet? That everything — the smiles, the kisses, the way you looked at me — was part of some game?”
“No. Not like that,” I said, desperate, breath heavy. “It started as a bet. Yeah. I won’t lie. We were idiots. I was an idiot. But it changed. I changed. The second I saw you for who you really were, the bet stopped meaning anything.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” she snapped. “Why let me fall into this? Why let me love you while you carried that lie?”
“I was scared,” I admitted. “Scared I’d lose you. That the truth would kill everything we had. But Liz—we all broke it off. Me, Liam, Adonis. It meant nothing compared to you. I swear to God, I haven’t thought of it once since I realized I—”
“Don’t,” she said, stepping back like my words burned. “Don’t say it.”
I swallowed hard. Rain ran down my face like tears I couldn’t shed.
“Please,” I said again, quieter. “You said I made you feel real. But you… you made me feel like I had a heart. You made me feel like I could finally be human. Not just a weapon. Not just a mission. Liz, what we have is—”
The thunder rolled above us.
She looked at me, eyes blazing with tears and rain. “You’re just like him.”
“No,” I breathed. “No. Don’t say that.”
“You pretended I was yours,” she said, quieter now. “You played with me. Just like my father did. You looked at everything I was — everything I was trying to heal — and you exploited it.”
I took a step toward her, and she flinched.
“I swear to you, Liz. It was stupid at the start, yeah. A joke. A bet. But that ended the second I saw you. The second you made me feel something I thought I couldn’t anymore.”
Her lips trembled.
“I love you.”
That stopped her breath for half a second. But only half.
She looked at me like I was a stranger.
“No,” she whispered. “Don’t say that now. Not when it’s convenient. Not when it’s safe.”
“It’s not safe,” I said, desperate. “None of this is safe. But it’s real. I didn’t fall for you because of a bet — I fell for you in spite of it. You’re not a mission, Liz. You’re not an assignment. You’re the one thing that’s ever made me want to be more than what I was trained to be.”
She shook her head, tears spilling.
“I can’t do this. I can’t.”
She turned and ran, heels in her hand, hair soaked, the storm swallowing her whole. I was left standing in the rain — with love on my tongue and her hate burned into my skin.
And for the first time since meeting her,
I didn’t know if I could fix this.