Page 130 of Merry Fake Bride

Like he’s struggling to hold it together.

“I need you to stay here.”

“What?” Gazing up at him, I reach for Kairo’s hand but he steps out of reach before I make contact. “Where are you going?”

“I need to fix this.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just stay here, Devon. Okay? Don’t call anyone, don’t talk to anyone, just stay here.”

I know he speaks from a place of concern, but each command for me to stay here fuels my urge to leave. “I should go home.”

“No.” Kairo spins to face me, blocking the entranceway to the door. “You’re to stay here, understand? You can’t leave. I’ll sort this.”

“Kairo—”

“Stay!” he barks at me like it’s some kind of order, and I freeze as a pulse of alarm shoots down my spine.

“You can’t keep me here,” I snap back, heat licking at my words. “You have to tell me what you’re going to do. Kairo, please. Wait, Kairo, what are you…?”

He’s two steps ahead of me.

While I’m talking, he strides down the hall, opens the door, and then firmly closes it behind him.

I reach it just as the lock clicks into place.

“Kairo! You can’t lock me in here! What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s for your own good.” His voice drifts through the door. “This way, I know you’ll be safe. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Kairo! Don’t you dare! Kairo! Kairo, open the door! Kairo!”

My words fall into the silence on the other side of the door.

The hinges rattle and the doorknob squeaks slightly, but other than a slight shift in the wood when I put my whole weight against the door, it doesn’t budge.

What the hell is he thinking?

Locking me up like some kind of prisoner as if what I’ve done deserves that kind of treatment.

Backing away from the door, I clutch my chest as the air grows thin and in a blink, I’m back in my old L.A. apartment with Axel on the other side of the locked bedroom door telling me he won’t let me out until I apologize, despite the numerous apologies I’d already given him.

This can’t be happening.

I’m supposed to be past this.

A new life.

A new me.

But Kairo’s just the same, apparently.

Locking me up because he knows best?

My fingers rake through my hair, tugging on the ends as I pace back through the lounge and wrestle with the nausea churning in my gut.

Two days ago, life was perfect.