Page 30 of Muse (The Forbidden Hearts #1)

SOPHIE

I can barely see the road through the blur of my tears, my fingers clenched around the steering wheel so tightly they ache. My chest rises and falls in sharp, shallow bursts, panic prickling along my skin.

I can't believe this is happening again. I can't believe I let myself fall for the lie a second time . First Cole, now Theo. Both of them were smiling in my face while they invited someone else into the parts of themselves they promised were mine.

My mind replays it on an endless loop. The wine glasses. Her laugh. The way they sat there, comfortable together, and the look in his eyes when he saw me through the window. Shock. Guilt. Panic. I saw it. I know I did. You can't fake that kind of look, not if you're innocent.

I press the gas pedal harder, my car leaping forward as if speed could save me from the crushing weight in my chest. My phone buzzes on the seat next to me, and instinctively I glance down. Theo.

His name lights up the screen, almost mocking me.

I hit the side button and silence it, then yank my hand back to the wheel.

I don't want to hear his voice. I don't want to hear whatever lie he's already preparing to feed me.

I don't want to give him the chance to spin this into something that makes me question what I saw with my own two eyes.

I pull into the driveway, tires screeching slightly, and sit there for a moment in the suffocating silence. My body shakes. Rage, betrayal, heartbreak… they all twist together inside me, a violent knot I can't even begin to untangle.

Another buzz, another text. My hand trembles as I shove the phone into the glove compartment and slam it shut like it can lock away all my stupid, bleeding hope with it.

I feel like I’m fifteen again, standing outside that locker room, clutching my books to my chest, pretending I didn’t hear the way Cole laughed with his friends about the girl he hooked up with over the weekend. Pretending I didn’t understand the smug look in his eyes when he caught me listening.

Back then, I'd blamed myself for everything. For not being enough. Not pretty enough, not fun enough, not wild enough to keep him interested. I thought if I loved him harder, gave more, forgave more, he would choose me the way I'd already chosen him.

I was naive. And he knew it. He used it against me. Chewed me up and spit me out and smiled like he was doing me a favor. His narcissistic love-bombing got me good.

Now, sitting alone in the dark in my car, I wonder if anything's changed at all.

But then something worse happens.

I start to miss Theo. Grieve him.

Not just the big stuff, the kisses, the late-night texts, the thrill of being wanted. But the small things. The quiet moments I never told anyone about.

Like the way brought me treats without me asking. The way he’d notice when I was cold and wordlessly pull a blanket over my legs. The way he’d lean in when I spoke, eyes locked on mine like nothing else existed in the world.

Or how he’d keep me on the phone talking long after he should be asleep, just to make me laugh one more time.

The way his hand would twitch toward mine like he couldn’t help it, like it was just instinct.

God, it's those little things that kill you.

Not the betrayal.

Not even the heartbreak.

It’s the absence of being seen.

I climb out of the car, legs shaky, stomach rolling, and force myself to walk inside like nothing's wrong. I grab my phone on my way, but don’t turn the screen on. I can’t.

My parents are seated in the living room, the glow from the TV painting their faces pale and flickering. They barely glance at me.

“You're home early,” my dad says without looking up.

“I was tired,” I answer, my voice flat, foreign even to my own ears.

He grunts, turning back to the screen. Good. I don't have the energy for anything else.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, my hands numb and clumsy, and head upstairs. Every step feels like dragging a body twice my size up the wooden stairs. When I finally make it into my room, I close the door, lock it, and crawl onto the bed.

For a moment, I just lie there, trying to catch my breath. My body aches in a way that has nothing to do with physical exhaustion. I feel like my heart cracked open at the seams, something ugly and raw pouring out.

I want to call Sal. I want to hear her voice tell me it's okay, that I didn't imagine it, that I'm not crazy. But she's out tonight, living her life. I don't want to be the sad, broken girl who drags everyone else down.

Instead, I yank the comforter over my body and grab the remote, queuing up Grey’s Anatomy .

Season one, episode one. I don’t need to pay much attention.

I know every line, every scene. I don’t want to see something new, I want to watch something familiar when everything around me feels like it's crumbling.

The first few minutes blur past as my chest tightens and my throat burns. Tears spill over, silent and endless, soaking into my pillow. I let them fall. Fighting them would take strength I don't have.

I grieve the relationship I thought I had. Grieve the future I let myself imagine. One where Theo stood beside me, proud and certain, where I didn’t have to hide my heart anymore.

The show continues to play, the background noise filling the space that Theo usually occupies inside my head.

It’s so stupid, really. I should’ve known better. Should’ve known fairy tales aren’t real. Love is just a game men play when they want something from you. They build you up, fill you with hopes and dreams, then tear the ground out from under your feet the moment you trust them enough to stand.

I don’t know how long I cry before the exhaustion drags me under. I fall asleep that way, crumpled under my blanket, the flicker of the TV washing over my tear-streaked face.

I wake the next morning to the stiff ache of muscles curled too tightly for too long. For a moment, I lay still, floating in that hazy space between sleep and waking where everything is numb.

Then it all comes crashing back. Theo. Evelyn. The wine glasses. The expression on his face. I roll over, squeezing my eyes shut, willing it all to disappear.

My phone sits on the nightstand, silent and dark. I know if I turn it on, I’ll see a dozen missed calls, a hundred texts. Maybe even apologies. Explanations. Or, even worse, maybe nothing at all.

I don't care. I can't care.

Because caring means opening the door to being hurt again. And I can't survive that. Not again. Not from him.

Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffle toward the bathroom. I look like hell. Puffy eyes, tangled hair, T-shirt hanging off one shoulder. I splash cold water on my face until the sting wakes me up enough to move.

Downstairs, Bells is already in the kitchen, humming under her breath as she makes a bagel. She looks up when I enter, her eyes narrowing.

“Morning, zombie.”

I grunt in response, slumping into a chair.

“Bagel?” she offers.

I nod, too tired to answer properly. She grabs another from the bag and tosses it into the toaster.

“You look like shit,” she says casually.

“Thanks,” I mutter, rubbing my hands over my face.

She watches me for a moment longer, unspoken words passing between us, before she finally says, “You okay?”

No. But I nod anyway.

She doesn't press, and I’m grateful. She just slides the toasted bagel onto a plate and pushes it toward me, her version of a peace offering.

We eat in silence, and I let the numbness settle over me like a second skin. When we’ve both finished, she digs through the pile of unopened mail and pulls out an envelope, waving it at me. “This came for you yesterday.”

I reach for it… then I freeze.

The return address says SCAD. Savannah College of Art and Design. My heart jumps into my throat.

Fumbling, I tear it open, my hands shaking so hard I almost rip the paper inside. My eyes blur, and for a second I can't make out the words. Then I see it.

Congratulations.

I blink hard, sure I’m imagining it. But no. There it is, clear as day.

I got in. I actually got in!

A laugh bubbles up my throat, sharp and giddy, and I clutch the letter to my chest. Happy tears sting my eyes, different from the night before.

I jump up and throw my arms around Bells, hugging her so hard she yelps. This is exactly what I needed today.

She hugs me back, laughing. “Damn, Soph. I'm proud of you!”

I grin through the tears. “Thank you! Thank you. I can't believe it.”

She beams at me, her face full of real, uncomplicated love, and for a few precious moments, the hole inside me doesn’t feel so wide. Hope flickers to life inside my chest.

It’s small, and it’s fragile. But it’s there. And right now, it’s enough.

“How are you going to tell mom and dad?” Her voice comes out soft, tentative.

I cringe. “No idea, but for now, I’ll let it be.”

My mind jumps to Theo before I can stop it, the impulse to grab my phone, to call and share the news, crashing through me like a tidal wave.

For half a second, it’s easy to picture his reaction. His voice lighting up with pride, the way he’d pull me into his arms, tell me he always knew I could do it. The two of us, together in the city, chasing dreams, building a life full of color and love and possibility.

It would’ve been perfect. It should have been perfect.

But you know what they say about dreams. They’re just stories we tell ourselves until reality wakes us up. And sometimes, reality breaks your heart wide open and leaves you bleeding on the floor.

I press my lips together, shove the acceptance letter back into the envelope, and force myself to move. Because dreams don’t save you. Only you can do that.