Page 17

Quinn

I woke up to the smell of something warm and sweet filling the house. Pancakes. It was surreal, how normal it felt after the night before. My body ached in a way that wasn’t just physical, the exhaustion pressing down on me like I’d been crushed under the weight of something heavy. And maybe I had. Maybe I was still suffocating beneath it.

My throat felt raw, my face stiff from dried tears. I should’ve stayed in bed. I should’ve curled up under the covers and let the world disappear for a little while longer. But the gnawing hunger in my stomach pushed me forward and forced me to move even when every part of me felt stuck at that moment. The moment I realized North had used me. That he’d humiliated me.

That I had cared for him even for a second.

The thought made me sick.

I walked barefoot down the hallway, my movements sluggish. The kitchen came into view, and for a split second, I expected to see my mother, even though she hardly even cooked. Maybe I just needed to believe someone still cared about me. Maybe I needed my mother like most girls did after their first heartbreak. Regardless, she wasn’t the one standing at the stove. Instead, dressed in a casual sweater and leggings, flipping pancakes like she did this every morning, was Evie.

Perfect, untouchable Evie.

The sight was so jarring, that I almost turned around and walked right back to my room.

She looked up, smiling at me like nothing about this was strange. Like she hadn’t found me sobbing on the floor last night, broken in ways I still hadn’t pieced together.

“Morning,” she said easily, her voice soft. “I made breakfast.”

I hesitated, standing there, unsure of how to react.

Evie and I weren’t close. We were step-sisters, sure, but that had never meant much. She was the golden girl, Mark’s favorite, the one my mother adored, the one who had everything handed to her on a silver fucking platter.

A silver Audi for her graduation, an apartment in California near college—my mother married Mark before I even got to high school, I think I must’ve been thirteen or fourteen. Evie was a year older than me, but she’d been brought along for every single one of Mom’s trips to see me. I never liked her back then, and I was struggling to like her right now—even with how nice she was. Or rather, because of it.

Because, when I was only thirteen years old, my mom had lavished all her attention on Evie instead of her own daughter. It only got worse from there—I guess you could say that’s the real reason we stopped talking instead of the fact that she’d married my father’s best friend.

“You don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry,” Evie said as she continued to dish up. “But it’ll probably be best considering everything.” She gestured toward me, and I hated to say it, but I must’ve looked really ridiculous in the torn dress from the night before and a pair of pajama pants she’d pulled from my cupboard.

“No, that’s alright,” I answered just as quietly. “I’ll eat.”

I hesitated for another beat before shuffling to the table and sliding into one of the chairs. She moved effortlessly, setting a plate in front of me, then a glass of orange juice. I stared down at the food, unsure if I could even stomach it, despite the emptiness in my gut.

Evie sat across from me, cradling a cup of coffee, her sharp eyes studying me over the rim. She didn’t say anything at first, just watched, letting the silence stretch between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy, either.

After a long moment, she finally spoke. “You were upset last night.” Her voice was even, patient. “Do you want to talk about it?”

My fingers tightened around my fork. I should’ve lied. I should’ve brushed it off, made some excuse about being tired, about drinking too much at the party. But I knew Evie wouldn’t buy it. She’d seen me. She’d heard me say his name.

North.

My stomach clenched. The mere thought of him sent nausea rolling through me.

I shook my head, forcing myself to take a small bite of pancake. It tasted like nothing.

Evie stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “You mentioned North.”

The fork slipped from my fingers, clattering against the plate.

Evie noticed.

“What did he do?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with anger. Not at me. No, not when she’d followed me to my bedroom and helped me into bed last night. I’d been in tears, barely able to function, and she’d acted like she knew me. Like she was my friend.

Unlike Summer.

Unlike North.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight and burning. The memories from last night hit me like a wrecking ball. The way he touched me. The way he made me feel wanted and needed. And then—the laughter. The jeering voices. My own fucking voice, playing over and over again for everyone to hear.

I felt sick.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. “It was a setup,” I whispered. “All of it. He—” My voice cracked. “He recorded us. He let them all hear it. He—”

The words died in my throat, but Evie didn’t need me to finish. Her coffee cup hit the table with a dull thud, her jaw tightening, her knuckles white where they gripped the handle.

“He did what?”

The words were sharp, barely restrained. Her fury radiated from across the table, making my chest tighten. “He humiliated me in front of everyone,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. “North recorded us together, and he played it in front of everyone at Victor’s party. I came out of the room, and they were laughing. Everyone was laughing, Evie. And he… he just left me there.”

The tears I thought I’d exhausted last night came back with a vengeance. I gritted my teeth, forcing them back, but my breath hitched anyway.

Evie exhaled through her nose, long and slow, like she was trying to hold herself together. When she spoke again, her voice was low and lethal. “That bastard.”

I stared at her, surprised by the venom in her tone. “You’re not… defending him?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes burning into mine. “Why the hell would I defend him? What he did was disgusting. I don’t care if he’s my brother—he had no right to treat you like that.”

I blinked at her, disoriented. This wasn’t how I expected this conversation to go. I thought she’d brush it off. Tell me it wasn’t that bad, that North was just being North. But instead, she was looking at me with something close to protective rage.

She stood abruptly, pacing the length of the kitchen, running a hand through her sleek brown hair. “I can’t believe him. He’s always been selfish, but this?” She scoffed. “This is low, even for him.”

Something inside me cracked. “You believe me?” My tone was laced with a mixture of relief and suspicion. “Why the hell would you believe me over your own brother?”

“Of course. I know you.” Evie stopped pacing, her expression softening just enough. “And yes, I do believe you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because everyone thinks my father’s a murderer,” I laughed, the sound derisive.

“What your father did has nothing to do with you.” She hesitated, then walked over, placing a hand on my shoulder. “And if North and his friends concocted some stupid ass scheme to get back at you for it, then I’m going to kill him. No one deserves that, Quinn. Especially not you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because no one had ever said them to me before. Maybe because, for once, I didn’t feel alone in this.

She squeezed my shoulder, her grip firm. “You’re not alone in this. He doesn’t get to win.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. “So… what do we do?”

Evie’s lips curled into something dark, something determined. “We’re going to visit an old friend.”