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I don't look at him as he drives. A desolate silence falls and stretches in the little space between us, and it's full of everything I want to say but can't. I suspect he feels the same way.

The car is dark except for the faint glow of passing streetlights, each one flickering across his face in fleeting glimpses. His jaw is set, his hands clutching the wheel like if he lets go, he's going to drown.

I could break the quiet. I could joke about how this fake dating arrangement has officially spiraled into a Shakespearean tragedy. Maybe tell him that if I had a dollar for every time we make a mess out of our lives, I could buy a plane ticket to somewhere far away, where none of this matters.

But I don't say anything.

Because for the first time in a long time, I don't want to make light of the situation.

I let Vanessa's words sink in. I let my insecurities take root, twist, and warp the way I see Liam—the way I see us. And now I'm sitting in this car, retreating like a coward, when I should be fighting for him. For us.

A slow, aching weight unfurls in my chest, creeping beneath my ribs, settling deep. But the doubt—the insufferable, relentless doubt—refuses to let go.

Because Liam… Liam is everything, almost a decade older, and a man—steady where I waver, certain where I second-guess. The kind of man who feels like a daydream, too perfect to ever be real in my world. And yet, somehow, impossibly, he is.

I exhale, pressing a hand lightly to my ribs, as if I can soothe the quiet unraveling inside me. But it doesn't stop the truth from sinking in. Now that this is happening, now that it's no longer just a thought I could tuck away, all I can see are the edges where I fray—my inexperience, my immaturity, the ways I fall short.

And the thought tightens around me like a whisper I don't want to hear.

What if he sees it too?

I've always been the kind of person who runs straight into the fire, no hesitation. I don't stop to weigh the risks, to think about what happens when the flames catch up to me. But I'm starting to understand the price of that recklessness.

Because tonight, I got burned.

I was so quick to believe that Liam had been keeping things from me, so quick to doubt him because the idea of him choosing me—really choosing me—felt too impossible. And maybe that's the worst part of all. That I didn't need much convincing. That deep down, some part of me already believed that love—real love—isn't meant for me.

And if that's true… if I can't even trust it when it's right in front of me…

Then maybe I'm the one who isn't ready for this.

The thought makes my throat tighten. I press my forehead against the window, watching the city blur past. The neon glow of a bar sign flickers against the wet pavement. A couple walks down the sidewalk, laughing, oblivious to the storm unraveling in my chest.

I wonder what it would be like to love someone without fear. Without questioning whether they'd still be there in the morning.

The car slows to a stop in front of my building, but Liam doesn't shift into park right away. His hands stay locked around the steering wheel, fingers flexing once, twice, before tightening again. His jaw is still tense, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the windshield.

He hasn't looked at me. Not once.

I unclip my seatbelt, waiting for him to say something—to do something—but he just sits there, silent and unmoving. The weight of it presses down on me, suffocating.

I don't think I can take this.

The distance. The quiet. The way he's shutting me out like I don't deserve to know what's going on inside his head.

Like I haven't spent the last few weeks trusting him with everything.

Vanessa's words slither back into my mind.Do you actually believe he'll choose you in the end?

I swallow hard, forcing myself to push past the doubt clawing at my ribs. And I need them now.

"Come inside."

Liam finally turns his head, his eyes snapping to mine. "Ava?—"

"I'm not asking." My voice comes out stronger than I expect, even as my fingers tighten around the strap of my purse to keep them from shaking. "I need to talk to you. And I don't want to do it out here."

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. He just studies me, his expression unreadable.