Page 172 of Sinful Lies

I threw the car in park, slammed the door, and walked toward the entrance. I crawled under the yellow tape, my heart pounding as I glanced around.

The area was eerily quiet, the kind of stillness that felt off.

I kept walking, determined, until I reached the old picnic area at the edge of the lake.

There, just where I expected her to be, was Stella. Sitting alone by the lake, her back to me, looking like she was trying to disappear into the scenery. Like the world could swallow her whole, and she wouldn’t care.

I stood there for a second, taking in the scene, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat.

Seeing someone you love in pain was a kind of agony that gnawed at your soul. It was the kind of ache that stretched deep, because you knew, no matter how much you wished it were different, there was nothing you could truly say or do to make it better.

I took a step closer, my voice barely a whisper as I called out, “Stella?”

She didn’t answer, just stared out at the water, the tears still there in her eyes, even though she was trying to hide them.

I sat down next to her, the cold of the ground seeping into my jeans.

“I messed up, Jadie. I thought he was different,” she whispered. “I thought he was it. And now… he’s gone. I feel like I’m falling apart.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, flipping my hair over my shoulder, playing the part of the older sister who had everything figured out—which, let’s be real, I totally didn’t. “Look, honey, love is like high heels. You think it’s going to be all elegant and fun, but then your feet start hurting, and you realize you're just doing it for show. And I’m sorry, but sometimes the guy you thought wasthe perfect fit turns out to be the guy who’s about to break your toes.”

She chuckled a little, but the weight in her eyes didn’t go away.

I leaned in, tapping the butterfly pendant around her neck. The one Mama had gotten her for her birthday a few years ago. “You know, you’re like this little butterfly,” I said, my voice softening, but still laced with that biting edge. “You’re meant to fly, not be stuck in some boy’s messy web of drama.”

Her eyes flickered up at me, confused, unsure.

“You can’t wait for someone else to make you happy,” I continued, tracing the curve of the pendant. “You control your own wings. You control your own flight. No one else can cage you, not unless you let them.”

She looked at the pendant, her fingers brushing over it. “What if I don’t know who I am without him, Jadie?”

I sighed, my voice a little softer than usual. “Stella, you’re sixteen. You’re still figuring it out, and that’s okay. You’ll have a lot of versions of yourself—some you’ll love, some you’ll hate, and some you’ll barely recognize. But that’s part of growing. This boy? He’s just one tiny piece of the puzzle. The rest of it is all you, and it’s yours to figure out.”

Stella let out a soft sob, her blonde hair sticking to her tear-streaked cheeks as she suddenly launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around me in a tight hug.

“Happy birthday again, Jadie!” she choked out between sobs. “I’m so sorry I missed your cake, and I haven’t even given you your present.”

I squeezed her back tightly. “It’s okay. Let’s go home.”

We walked around the land, bulldozers not too far off, trucks scattered around like forgotten toys. It was a Sunday, so the place was ghostly empty.

Stella stopped dead in her tracks, her hands flying to her hips. “Did you know?” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “A big company from New York bought the whole damn lake—and the twenty acres around it! They’re turning it into fucking useless hotels, casinos, tourist traps. Everything I love about this place? Gone.”

“Language, Stella,” I muttered.

She whipped around, practically on fire. “Sorry, Jadie, but I’m so fucking mad! I hate billionaires and how they don’t care about anyone but themselves! All they care about is more, more, more—taking and taking until there’s nothing left! They can’t even let nature be!”

I stood there for a second, watching her rage, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her.

We’d spent so many summers here—swimming in the lake until our fingers were pruny, tossing together picnics on the grass, riding our bikes through the forest, and pretending to be explorers.

This place wasus. It was everything.

And now it was getting sold off, like some meaningless piece of property.

“You know—” I started, trying to say something to calm her down, but before I could finish, a shout cut through the air.

“Stella! Please, I need you! Stella!”

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