Page 114 of Cruel When He Smiles

“I know, and I love you for that,” I whisper.

We sit there in that heavy quiet, both of us knowing the line’s been crossed now. There’s no going back. No resetting this part of our friendship to what it was before Liam got inside my head and rewrote the way I breathe.

Sage exhales and doesn’t look at me when he says, “Just promise me you’ll know the difference between comfort and control before it kills you.”

I nod slowly, not because I believe I’ll ever really be able to separate the two, but because it’s the only thing I can give him.

And maybe it’s not a promise at all.

Maybe it’s just a lie he needs to hear so he can keep loving me, even when he hates who I’m choosing.

Nate

Thehospitalroomistoo quiet after Sage leaves. There’s no more fire in the room, no sharp voice anchoring me to reality, just silence and the sound of the machines beside me humming with indifference. The kind of silence that makes my thoughts too loud.

I sink deeper into the pillows, the stiffness of the mattress biting at my spine through the paper-thin sheets, and I stare up at the ceiling tiles that never seem to form any real pattern.

The headache hasn’t eased since I came to, nor has the pressure behind my ribs. It doesn’t help that every damn thought I try to push down claws its way back up, chewing through the walls I’ve built, until it’s just Sage’s voice circling over and over in my head.

“Do you even realize what he’s doing to you?”

“You told me he gaslights you.”

“He looks at you the way Luca looks at me.”

I grit my teeth, jaw tight, and drag a hand down my face. My fingers catch on the bandage near my temple, and for a second, I press against it too hard just to feel. It’s not pain I need to escape—it’s what Sage said everyone apparently saw: Liam snapping when I went down.

Liam never loses control. He’s ice wrapped in charm, the devil’s son dressed in designer guilt. He’s the boy who learned to hide his rage in a smile and his obsession in a whisper. He plays people like a symphony, conducting chaos while pretending he’s just another spectator. Every move he makes is with purpose, every word measured, every glance designed to disarm.

So, what the fuck does it mean that he came undone because of me?

It shouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t change anything. He’s still who he’s always been. He still messes with my head, and still owns every inch of my reactions and doesn’t even need to ask permission anymore.

Maybe it does matter. Maybe it changes everything. Maybe the fact that he lost control means I’m not just another pawn in the game he’s playing.

So, I do what I always do when my head gets too loud—I try to shut it off. I close my eyes and pretend none of it matters.

But the moment the door opens, the quiet shatters.

I don’t have to look. I know it’s him, and of course he would be granted access after visiting hours. The second the latch clicks and the air shifts, I know. That presence is unmistakable. I feel it in my chest first, the way my lungs go tight, then my pulse skipping a beat as his gaze hits me without warning.

He’s leaning against the door with the kind of ease most people would mistake for indifference, but I know better now. I see past it. I see the coil in his shoulders, and the twitch in his jaw. I see the way his eyes flick to every part of me, checking fordamage with that calculating gaze of his before he lets his face fall into the familiar mask.

I see the sliver of worry he doesn’t want me to notice before it’s gone.

He steps into the room with one hand shoved into his pocket, his pace slow, like always. He tilts his head to the side and flashes that crooked smirk I’ve seen a hundred times before, the one that’s supposed to meanI’m untouchable, I don’t give a fuck, everything’s under control.

I know better now.

It’s not armor, it’s a shield.

He stops at the foot of the bed, posture loose and casual, like he hasn’t just spent the day circling this room. “Miss me, Pup?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t stop the way my lips twitch. “Not even a little.”

He chuckles, stepping closer, and his eyes scan me from head to toe again. It’s not sexual—not overtly—but it’s intimate in a way that makes my breath stutter.

I sigh, shifting against the pillows. “I’m fine, Callahan.”