Page 110

“I… no. That can’t—there’s no way.”

She says something about accuracy and follow-up appointments. Something about options, support, and resources.

But my mind is spiraling.

Because this wasn’t in the plan.

Because nothing’s in the plan.

Because somehow, in the middle of pretending to date Liam for press optics and sneaking around with him like we were teenagers with secrets—we made something very real. Something irreversible.

I nod and sign something I don’t read. I accept a prescription I don’t hear the name of.

I don’t remember leaving. Just the sound of my footsteps echoing down the hallway like someone else is wearing my shoes.

Outside, the sun is blinding. Too bright. Too normal.

Like the world didn’t just tilt on its axis.

I slide into the car and just sit. Engine off. Keys in my hand. Seatbelt forgotten.

What the hell do I do now?

I press my forehead to the steering wheel and try to breathe. But my chest won’t open. My ribs feel like they’re made of steel.

I’m not ready. I don’t even know what ready would look like.

My hands shake as I try to start the car. The keys slip twice before I get them in the ignition. Even then, I just sit there, engine running, AC blasting air that feels too thin to breathe.

A couple walks past my window, holding hands, laughing about something only they understand. They look so young. So sure of their place in the world. I want to roll down my window and ask them how they do it—how they move through life without constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The phone rings. I flinch like I’ve been slapped.

“Layla?”

“Kat? What the hell is going on?”

Of course, Griffin called her.

I laugh, sharp and hollow. “Depends on how you define ‘going on.’”

“What happened?”

“Griffin found out about Liam.”

Pause.

“You what?!”

“Yeah. That’s… just the beginning.”

“You slept with him?”

“Remember the guy from the club?”

“No way.”

“Way.”