Page 97 of Her Soul to Own

I don’t ask him to explain. I don’t want to hear more than I already have.

I’m tired—bone-deep and soul-worn tired. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. It’s the kind that comes from being used, watched, and played like a piece on someone else’s board.

I don’t want more truths. I just want a moment where nothing explodes.

We leave the café together, but I walk ahead, needing air. Needing space. Needing…

Zara.

She’s trying to slink off, heading toward the valet line like she can escape the fallout.

“Hey,” I call out sharply.

She freezes, but she doesn’t turn around or speak.

I close the distance in boots that click like gunshots. “You knew.”

Finally, she turns, and her face is a mixture of guilt and excuses. “E—”

“Don’t,” I snap. “Just don’t. You knew Harper had an NDA with my father’s firm. You knew she sold me out.”

Her face goes pale. “I didn’t know everything, I swear. I knew she was meeting someone from his team, but I didn’t realize it was related to Mirage until… until it was already happening.”

I step closer. “Until what? Until my humiliation was trending on fucking Reddit?”

She winces. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” My voice cracks, and I hate it. “Why didn’t you say anything the second you even suspected?”

“Because you were already breaking,” she says, her voice rising. “I didn’t want to be the one to push you over the edge.”

I stare at her. “You don’t get to decide what I survive.”

She flinches, blinking too fast like she’s trying to blink the tears back before they fall. I shake my head in equal parts disbelief and disappointment.

Then, I turn and walk away.

There’s no door to slam, and no dramatic finale. There’s just the hollow ache of betrayal echoing in my boots as I leave her standing there like a stranger I used to love.

XXX

The door clicks shut behind me.

It’s late. Too late for apologies and too early to pretend nothing’s broken. The wine glass in my hand is still full, my fingers curled around the stem like it might anchor me. My bedroom is dark, save for the low amber light from the corner lamp, which is flickering like it’s debating whether to survive the night with me.

I’m barefoot, wrapped in a robe I don’t remember putting on. Everything feels numb, like I’m not really here, just watching some girl from a distance as she walks circles around her own ghosts.

And God, there are so many now.

My feet drift across the floor with no destination in mind. I pause at the window, but the curtain’s already drawn. Good. I can’t stand the world watching me come apart right now.

My thoughts buzz like static, no volume control or off switch.

My father. Evander fucking Vane. Power broker, politician, puppet master, and probably the man who threw me to the wolves. Did he sell me out? Or did he just look away and let someone else do it?

Elijah.

Still smooth, too clean, and fucking slick. He’s still carrying secrets in a pressed suit and half-smile. Why is he here now after all these years? Is it because the Feds finally realized I was more useful broken? Or is there something else?

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