Page 33 of Marking Mia

Kane’s expression remains impassive, except for a slight tightening around his eyes.

“I did my best to keep it anonymous,” Kane says finally, meeting my gaze without a hint of shame.

The words hit me like a physical blow. My stomach drops, and the air seems to vanish from my lungs. A strange coldness spreads through me, starting in my chest and radiating outward until even my fingertips feel numb.

“You?” I whisper, unable to process what I’m hearing. “You put money in my account?”

Kane nods once as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “I thought you might need it.”

Tears spring to my eyes, hot and sudden. The restaurant around us blurs as my vision swims. I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life, not even when Justin called me fat in front ofhis friends, not even when my foster father told me I was nothing but a paycheck.

“I’m not a charity case,” I choke out, my voice breaking on the last word. “I was only looking for friends.”

Jace reaches for my hand. “Mia, it’s not like that…”

I stand up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. Several heads turn in our direction, but I barely notice. All I feel is the burning shame and the desperate need to escape.

“I’ll bring your money back first thing tomorrow morning,” I say, my voice shaking with the effort of holding back tears. “I can give it to Finn at the café, and he can return it to you.”

Kane’s expression darkens.

“It’s your money now,” he says quietly, but with an undercurrent of steel that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate. “I don’t want it back.”

His arrogance only fuels my anger. Who does he think he is, tossing money at me like I’m some kind of pet project? Some broken thing he can fix with his wallet?

“I don’t want your money,” I insist, grabbing my purse from the back of the chair. “I don’t need your help.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. I desperately need help. I need to escape from Justin and start over somewhere new.

I turn and walk away, ignoring Jace calling my name. My eyes blur with unshed tears as I weave between the tables, past the concerned hostess, and out into the frigid night air.

The cold hits me, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. Ice crunches under my boots as I step away from the restaurant, with no clear destination in mind.

I need to get away, to think, to breathe.

“Mia!”

The voice sends ice through my veins.Fuck my life.I turn slowly, already knowing who I’ll see.

Justin stands a few feet away, his blond hair tousled by the wind, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. My heart sinks to my stomach as I realize he must have followed me here.

“Why are you dressed like a whore?” he sneers, closing the distance between us.

I flinch at the familiar insult. I know I’m not a whore, but Justin has always had a talent for making me feel dirty and exposed.

“I’m not,” I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds.

He reaches out, his thumb smearing the lipstick I’d carefully applied before dinner, leaving a streak from my bottom lip to my chin.

“Who were you with?” he demands, his breath hot against my face, the smell of beer sharp and sour on him.

“No one,” I reply, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can hear it. “Just some friends from work.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist in a painful grip. I gasp as his fingers dig into my skin.

“Friends?” he laughs coldly. “Now I understand why you wanted to end things.”

“Let go of me,” I say, my voice firmer than I intended.

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