Page 16

This, by far, had to be the worst three months of my life—filled with a lot of pain, bitterness, resentment, and regret.

I thought I couldn’t be more miserable, but I was wrong because nothing was as it used to be.

Everything was worse in all the worst possible ways, and I was trapped in the center of it all.

I woke up gloomier every day, farther and farther away from the life that I wanted for myself, closer to the one Dad had planned for me.

I felt defeated in all ramifications of life, and as the clock ticked by, my zeal to fight dwindled.

It was clear that I had no say in my own affairs, that there was no other way around this.

My father was not backing down on his plans to use me as a tool to secure an alliance with the Bianchi family. His plans were already in motion, and there was no stopping them now. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure I was in the right frame of mind to defy my family.

This alliance wasn’t a fate I wanted for myself, but with all that’s happened with Sergei, I didn’t think that I had a chance at happiness.

It was like the man stole my will to fight, my will to take charge of my life.

His actions and the way he went AWOL since the confrontation drained me of what little mental strength I had left.

He was evil. Nothing but pure evil with a stone for a heart.

How did I let him fool me into thinking he wasn’t the brute and ruthless mafia boss that I knew he was?

How did I let myself fall into his trap?

The worst part of all of this was how much I let myself get attached to him.

Sergei slithered his way into my heart, my soul, and my body.

When he kissed me, I surrendered and gave him all of me. Raw. Unrestrained.

Yet, he did me dirty.

Three months. That’s how long his rejection had kept me stuck in the dark, drowning in my own misery.

Even after all this time, he still didn’t reach out, didn’t make any effort to apologize or even explain what I saw that night.

Despite how much I hated that man, a part of me still craved an explanation. It would be nice to actually know….

Know what…? that bitter voice in my head snapped. Why he let some other woman crawl into his lap and kiss him like that? Or why he just stood there like a damn statue, no explanation, no guilt?

Then came the calmer voice, the more reasonable one: Maybe this is all just some huge mistake.

Oh, just shut up already and stop making excuses for him.

That’s not what I’m doing, I’m just saying that—

Bullshit! It’s been three months already. If he ever cared about me, he’d have at least tried to text or something.

Different people handle grief differently.

Are you being serious right now? the bitter voice growled. What could he possibly be grieving about? I’m the one hurting here.

Yep. I was hurting to the point where I got so comfortable conversing with the voices in my head. Was that even normal, or was I gradually losing my sanity?

I lay there on my bed, hugging my pillow like a lifeline, a mix of emotions coursing through my body. The weight in my chest hadn’t lifted, just like every other morning for the past three months. Empty. Heavy. Joyless.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I smiled or had a good laugh.

My fingers rubbed my eyes, and I sat on the edge of the mattress, my expression blank and flat, drained of anything close to emotions. A few seconds later, something caught my eye—a folded note slid just beneath the door.

I rose to my feet and headed to pick it up. It was a message from my father, neatly written in that cold, slanted script of his. “You missed another important dinner. Again. I’m disappointed. Again.”

My jaw tightened, and I crunched the paper in my palm. That was all he cared about—fucking family dinners and stupid alliances. He didn’t bother to ask how I was doing, not even a “good morning,” nothing.

Classic.

Father of the year.

I headed to the bedside table and picked up my phone, only to receive a voicemail from my sister.

Her voice blared from the phone’s speakers, sharp and dramatic.

“I swear to God, Ayla, if the florist brings peonies again instead of gardenias, I will shoot him in the fuckin’ face.

This wedding is not a joke, and everything’s falling apart.

I just wanna scream!” And yes, the message ended with an actual scream.

Every man for himself, I thought to myself, and tossed the phone on the bed.

I couldn’t care less about her wedding drama—I had enough of my own problems to deal with. Besides, I was pretty sure she was blowing it way out of proportion. Maeve was just like that, a perfectionist.

I felt suffocated, as if the very walls of the room were closing in on me. My chest tightened, and my mind flooded with a million different thoughts. If I didn’t take action regarding this situation, I just might end up in an asylum.

After a few minutes, I decided to take a shower and get dressed in a pair of black pants and a black jacket. I needed to clear my head, and I couldn’t do that trapped in this mansion. There was only one thing that always helped me relax—one thing that eased my stress.

Riding.

I mounted the bike, kick-started it, and the engine roared to life beneath me. I clasped the helmet on, the visor clicking into place, before riding out of the driveway without thinking twice.

The city pulsed around me, cars honking, people crossing, neon signs blinking even in daylight.

Without a particular destination in mind, I tunneled through it all like it didn’t exist. My bike weaved through narrow side streets, dodging potholes and weaving past idling delivery trucks.

The wind whipped at my visor, my heart swelling with adrenaline as the speedometer needle climbed up to three digits.

I rode through the city like a blur, streaking through traffic, letting all my worries and anxiety into the wind. Law school pressure, Father’s controlling expectations, the disarray in my life, and all the bullshit I didn’t ask for. I let them all into the wind.

At last, I decided on a destination, a place to clear my head.

The lake stretched wide and still, a sheet of muted water reflecting the overcast sky.

I pulled up by the ledge, killed the engine, took my helmet off, and then hopped off the bike.

The cold wind brushed against my face, my hair whipped into a frenzy as I squinted my eyes, watching the tiny ripples across the surface.

I glided over to the stone embankment where the faint scent of lake water and damp leaves wafted through the crisp air.

Overhead, seagulls wheeled in lazy loops, their sharp cries piercing the quiet hum of the city around me.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog’s bark mingled with the wailing of a police siren.

I perched on the stone embankment and drew a deep breath with my eyes closed. It was peaceful out here. No walls to keep me suffocated, no one to constantly remind me that I was a failure—a disappointment to the family.

Out here, I had a taste of what freedom actually felt like.

I hugged my jacket tighter, my breath curling visibly in the chill of the air. Smoothing my hair back, I watched the sailboats—looking like paper cutouts—tip with the wind, their white sails stark against the dull sky.

My phone chimed in my pocket, and I reached for it, my thumb scrolling absently through the lit screen. A new Facebook notification had popped up, and now, while browsing through social media, all I saw were engagement photos, pastel bridal showers, blah, blah, blah.

As if that wasn’t enough, I saw my classmates’ posts on their internship offers— smiling in front of corporate logos with hashtags like #NextChapter.

It looked to me as though the fuckin’ Facebook algorithm was out to ruin my day. Why show me the very things that made my life a living nightmare? What was next on my FYP? True love?

I hadn’t even given that much thought when a photo of a smiling couple flashed on my screen after the next swipe.

I recognized the girl in the photo: Nina Langley, another classmate, future trophy wife, and certified Pinterest addict.

She stood barefoot on a beach, cradled by some stock-photo-worthy finance bro in a white shirt.

With the way both of them grinned, one would think they’d never heard the word heartbreak.

The caption read, “ Found my better half—my forever baby. #OneTrueLove #HeAsked.”

“Argh!” I groaned, rolling my eyes in frustration so hard that I saw stars.

I hit the power button and tossed the damn thing aside, burying my face in my palms. What the hell was happening to me? Since when did I become this bitter woman with jealousy in her heart? This wasn’t me. I was better than this.

But it hurt that everyone else had their whole lives figured out while I was still stuck in a life that felt borrowed.

A sharp, feminine voice cut through the stillness, drawing my attention to a couple standing near the railing across the path.

They seemed to be involved in some sort of argument, their voices low with a hint of frustration.

The woman was busy ranting about something, her hands gesturing animatedly.

The man, whom I presumed to be her husband or boyfriend, just stood there, watching her with slightly slumped shoulders.

His posture, his silence, and the way he looked at her like she was mistaken sort of reminded me of Sergei. He had the same look on his face the last time we met. And in the frustrated woman, I saw a glimpse of myself that night.

“If you would just listen to me,” he said to her, his voice calm, laced with a hint of pain.

“It doesn’t matter, Erick,” she cut him off, lips trembling, eyes misted. “You’re never there when I need you. You don’t show up for me. What’re we even doing?”

“Why do you always do this?” the man snapped, his voice overshadowing hers.

She paused, shocked by his reaction.

“Why do you jump to conclusions and make rash decisions just because you think you’re right about something?

” he began, his voice dripping with frustration, like he’d taken enough of that attitude.

“Things are not always black and white, okay? And stop viewing every scenario from your perspective only.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush.

His last statement struck me like an arrow to the heart. Maybe if Sergei were as outspoken as this man, he’d have said the same thing to me. But I knew what I saw. Right?

Reflexively, my lips curled into a smile when I watched the man pull the woman into his arms. I wasn’t sure how they moved from yelling at each other to sharing a tight, intimate hug. I must have missed something. However, it was beautiful to watch.

By the time the couple walked away, hand in hand, smiling, the small grin I’d managed to muster gradually vanished as my sad reality dawned on me.

Later in the evening, I headed back home, tired and sore, unwilling to face anything productive.

I ordered Thai food, put on my favorite playlist, and abandoned my phone like it was toxic.

Even when Ester called, I let it ring and go straight to voicemail.

The last thing I needed was for her to convince me to step outside for my own good again.

I still hadn’t recovered from the outcome of our last adventure at the club.

I picked up a book I’d half-read about a year ago and curled up on the couch, determined to finish it before the night was over. I didn’t have anything better to do anyway.

The book turned out to be quite an interesting read, and it had me glued for hours. I felt sad at times, angry at times, and happy at times. I must admit, the author did a great job of playing with my emotions.

A few pages before the end, my phone chimed on the side stool—an incoming notification.

At first, I wanted to ignore it, but this time, my curiosity got the best of me.

So, I reached out, picked it up, and glanced at the message on my screen.

My eyes widened, and I didn’t realize when I sat up until it was too late.

It was a text from Sergei, and it read, “Still awake?”

My heart paused for a moment, my pulse quickening as I stared at those two little words.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this—how to feel or react.

Should I be mad that he had the effrontery to reach out?

Should I be relieved that he actually did?

Or should I be pissed that it took him three fuckin’ months to send a two-worded text?

Told ya people handle grief differently, that cool, sensible voice in my head spoke, a bit excited.

Ignore it, the bitter voice said, firm and stern. He doesn’t get to ghost you for three long months and then come back acting like nothing happened, like no time has passed.

I stared at my screen, my hands subtly trembling as a mix of emotions flooded my mind.

Delete the message and pretend you never saw it, said the bitter voice.

Don’t do it, Ayla. Yes, it took him three months, but the most important thing is that he did reach out, the other voice said, calm and gentle .

Can’t you see? It’s a trap. He’s already fooled you once. Are you really in such a hurry to get used and dumped again?

I drew a deep, long breath, drowning the voices in my head. Both of them were right, but the decision was mine to make, and honestly, I was curious to find out what he was up to.

My fingers moved rapidly, rattling across the keyboard before my mind could catch up. “Yes. What do you want?” My thumb hovered over the send button for a moment before I hit it.

The three dots on my screen pulsed with anticipation, signaling he was typing. My heart raced in my chest as I watched the digital heartbeat of his reply.

Then, it came in. “I just wanna talk. That’s all. Can we meet?”

I glanced at the wall clock. It was almost midnight, but I could still make it if I wanted to. Besides, knowing him, he was probably hanging around somewhere nearby.

I typed and sent the simple question, “Where?”

Seconds later, he sent me an address: a diner just a block away.