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I nod.

“Good night, Blue.” He kisses my forehead and leaves, closing the door behind him.

I sink into my chair, emotions swirling within me. Joy that he wants me. Heartbreak that he doesn’t believe me. Frustration at my own inability and stupidness.

And most of all. Fear.

Fear that I’ve ruined everything. That, in my obsession, I’ve driven him away for good.

My fingers curl into fists, nails biting into my palms. No. I won’t accept that. I didn’t come this far, opened myself up this much, just to lose him now.

Chapter 32

Connor

What the hell was I thinking?

I thought I could be what she wanted.

Her Chris.

But the more time we spent together, the more I wanted her to see me for me.

Connor.

Not a mask or an idea.

So I pushed. Pushed for her to forget Chris. Pushed for her to want me as much as I want her.

And now… now I’ve made a right mess of it all.

Hearing that name on her lips was like a punch to the gut. Because she wasn’t really seeing me at all. Just some fantasy. An illusion I helped create.

I shouldn’t have gotten so angry after she confronted me. Shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. But the thought thatshe might still be hung up on Chris, that she might not really want me at all…

I squeeze my eyes shut, but her words echo in my mind like a torturous refrain ‘I love you, Connor. Not Chris. You’.

Those four words should make me happy. I’ve craved hearing them for so long. Yet her addendum, ‘Not Chris’. Does she really love me, Connor Milton? Or does she only love the fantasy of me being that asshole Chris?

Because let’s be real.

Chris is a goddamn dream for her. The mystery man who swept in, fucked her brains out one incredible night, then vanished like a fucking ghost. The unattainable object of desire who left her yearning for more. I can never compete with the mythology surrounding him.

And that’s the sickest part—I am Chris. I’m the one who blindfolded her and made her come undone with my mouth and hands. I’m the one who left her alone and confused the next morning with nothing but a fucking sticky note. I shattered her trust and abandoned her after taking her virginity.

I’m the piece of shit she should despise, not fantasize about. Yet she clings to that night like it was some magical, romantic encounter instead of the selfish, fucked up violation it truly was.

I want to tell her the truth so badly. To rip off the mask, both literal and metaphorical, and confess that I’m the monster she’s been pining for all along.

But I can’t.

Because once I shatter that illusion, she’ll realize just how twisted and depraved I truly am. She’ll see that Chris wasn’t some idealized lover, but a heartless prick who used and discarded her.

Part of me thinks she’d be better off hating me for who I really am rather than loving the lie of Chris. At least then, she’d be free of the delusion tying her to that night.

To me.

She could move on and find someone worthy of her light, her warmth, her radiant fucking smile.

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