Page 107 of Oliver
I pushed back from the desk, the chair legs scraping against worn linolium, the sound painfully loud in the apartment's stillness.
Not quiet. Not peace.
Just an eerie emptiness.
My phone pinged once. The sound was for an email, not a text.
I flipped it over with an exasperated sigh, reading the preview on the screen. It was from Ryan’s business email.
Subject line:Deed Transfer Complete.
A bark of laughter escaped me, harsh and unfamiliar in the quiet room. Perfect timing. The universe's cosmic joke at my expense.
I'd won.
After all these years, all the sacrifices, all the planning—I'd won. The house my grandfather built, the one my parents had let rot out of spite, was mine. The evidence Davidson had compiled had been enough to force a private settlement rather than risk exposure of their embezzlement scheme. No drawn-out legal battle, no public scandal. Just a quiet capitulation and a deed transfer.
I should feel triumphant. Vindicated.
Instead, I felt hollow. Empty in a way that defied scientific reason.
I wandered to the kitchen, running my hand along the laminate countertop, feeling its cheap texture beneath my fingertips. Everything in this apartment was temporary, chosen for function rather than attachment. I'd lived here for eight years and owned nothing I'd miss if it disappeared tomorrow.
Except for the red ceiling stain in my bedroom that looked like Jupiter's Great Red Spot. That, absurdly, I might miss.
I pulled a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water, and drank it standing over the sink, staring at nothing. The water tasted metallic and bitter. Like the taste of failure.
I'd failed Emmet, placing my vendetta above his needs. Failed Zahra, manipulating her trust for my own ends. Failed my grandparents' legacy by turning their house into a weapon rather than a home.
Failed myself by becoming exactly what I'd sworn I'd never be—someone who used others as a means to an end.
Just like my parents.
The glass slipped from my fingers, clattering in the sink, but miraculously not breaking. I gripped the edge of the counter,breathing hard through my nose, and fighting the wave of nausea that accompanied the realization.
Stillness. Just like at Davidson’s house.
His wife gone, his children estranged, nothing but regrets and the dying echoes of a life that used to have meaning.
Emptiness. Hollowness. Loneliness.
Was that my future? Was that what I was building toward with each carefully calculated decision, each emotional withdrawal, each refusal to evolve beyond the rigid structures I'd created to survive?
I pushed away from the counter and walked to the bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light. The glow from the streetlamp outside was enough to navigate by, casting long shadows across the floor, stretching reality into distortions.
I flopped down on the bed fully clothed, staring up at my stain. In the dim light, it looked more like Jupiter's Great Red Spot than ever—an atmospheric storm that had raged for centuries, a constant in a system of change.
Alyssa used to joke that it was the only reason I stayed in this drafty apartment—for my celestial blemish on the ceiling. My good luck charm, she’d call it, and I’d answer that it brought her to me, to my bed, to having these conversations into the night with the most amazing woman.
She'd laugh, roll her eyes, and say,“You and your perfect words.”
In many ways, Alyssa was my ideal match—her love of sci-fi and space operas, her genuine interest in my work, her lighthearted and easy acceptance of my quirks. But she was just another person I acted out a part for.
In the end, it was why she left.
I hadn't understood then. Or maybe I hadn't wanted to understand. Because those perfect words? I’d used them just aseasily on every woman who’d booked me after Alyssa walked out of my life. Until Zahra.
I could never bring myself to play a part for Zahra. For her family, for Ryan, even for Emmet, sure. But once it was just me and her, all pretense was stripped.
