Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I remember when she couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive,” I mutter.
“She seems happy enough. Although, I’m sure it won’t be long before the wheels fall off, and she finds out he’s cheating on her.”
“That’s really dark, Mom.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me do it.
Her laugh is quiet and knowing. “Maybe. But I think we both know how jaded I am.”
I hesitate. “I guess I shouldn’t bother asking if you’re seeing anyone.”
There’s a pause. “Who has time for relationships when grants need to be written and classes need to be taught?”
I swallow hard, unsure whether I envy her certainty or pity it.
She yields a fraction, but not much. “What about you? Have you been out lately?”
I exhale, forcing a nonchalance I don’t feel. “No one serious.”
The response feels like a lie. What I want is for Oliver to be more of a temporary situation. But there’s nothing casual about the way he’s taken root under my skin.
“That’s for the best,” she says briskly. “You know how men are. They’ll take what they want and then leave you to clean up the mess. I just want you to be smart.”
“I am smart,” I bite out, more defensively than I mean to.
“I know.” Her tone gentles, the way it always does right before the knife slips in. “You feel things so deeply, Rina. And when you do, it comes at a cost. Just be smart about things. Don’t hand that kind of power over to just anyone.”
I close my eyes as the truth sinks in.
Too late.
My throat burns. “I won’t.”
“I’m proud of you. You built a life on your own terms, and you’re not dependent on anyone. That’s strength, baby. Don’t ever lose it.”
There it is. The mantra I grew up with.
Independence above all else.
I force a smile. “I won’t.”
“Good.” The approval in her tone is cool and practiced. “Now, get some sleep. You sound like you need it.”
“Night, Mom.”
“Night, sweetheart.”
The line disconnects, and I stare at my phone until the screen fades to black, her voice still ringing in my head.
You’re not dependent on anyone.
I sink to the edge of the couch, towel loosening around me in the process. The photo of her gleams faintly from across the room, that perfect smile frozen in place.
She’s everything I was raised to become.
Polished.
Unflinching.
Alone.
Maybe she’s right about strength.
Or maybe strength is knowing when to stop pretending you’re not looking for something more.
I don’t know.
And that’s the problem.
My reflection stares back at me from the window, pale and hollow, the outline of a woman who thought she’d mastered the art of composure.
“I’m fine,” I whisper to myself.
The lie settles like lead in the quiet as my phone lights up again.
Big D: I was serious, baby. We’re not done.
My fingers hover over the screen before curling into a fist. I push away from the couch and head into the bedroom, the pad of my footsteps the only sound in the quiet apartment. After setting the phone face down on the nightstand, I slip into a tank top and shorts before sliding beneath the sheets.
Only then do I reach for the phone. I stare at the device for a few moments before setting it back down again and sinking deeper into the sheets, letting the quiet wrap around me.
But sleep doesn’t come easily.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel his hands.
His mouth.
I hear his voice.
There’s no more running, Rina.
I press my face into the pillow, inhaling deeply, as if that will be enough to smother the memory.
Tomorrow, I’ll wake up and find my balance again.
Tomorrow, I’ll be strong enough to resist him.
22
Oliver
The elevator doors slide open into silence.
It’s the kind of quiet that feels too loud.
A little unsettling.
The penthouse is spotless, just like always. There are three spacious bedrooms, a gleaming chef’s kitchen any Michelin-star chef would covet, and sweeping city views. It’s everything a guy like me is supposed to want. And yet it all feels too big. Too empty. Like a showroom someone forgot to live in.
It’s the kind of place people imagine when they picture success.
I toss my keys on the counter. The skyline spills glittering light across the glass, carving the furniture into shadows. My footsteps carry through the open space.
I glance at my phone, and the screen lights up with the last message I sent.
I was serious, baby. We’re not done.
Am I surprised she didn’t bother to respond?
Nope. Not at all.
I know my girl.
She’s still mentally grappling with it all.
I drag a hand down my face before exhaling through my teeth. I keep telling myself to give her space, that she’ll come around when she’s ready. The sad truth is that I don’t know how to stop fighting for Rina.
I’m not even sure I could if I tried.
That woman’s under my skin in a way that feels permanent.