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CHAPTER THREE

ALLY

I step into the kitchen the next morning, where even the silence seems to bristle with electricity, my every step echoing against cold tiles. The stagnant air feels charged with a storm of frustration, wrapping around me like an unseen weight that I can no longer ignore. In the muted morning light, Rhys leans casually against the marble counter, his posture relaxed yet betraying subtle tension as his shoulders stiffen the instant our eyes meet.

I swing open the refrigerator door, the blue light inside reflecting off a row of well-organised shelves. My hand reaches for a water bottle, and I twist off its cap with a force that speaks louder than I intend. In a tone both brittle and mocking, I announce, “So Ashley’s staying? That’s fantastic. Love that for all of us.” The words hang heavily in the stillness. I know I’m being bitter.

Rhys exhales slowly, his voice catching as he begins, “Ally—” but before he can finish, I cut him off.

Shifting my weight, I lean against the opposite side of the counter and say sharply, “No, it’s fine. Really. It’s not like I was expecting anything to change.” Beneath these words, I am painfully aware of my own exhaustion—a single hour of sleep has left my thoughts scattered and my head spinning. Rhys has always known how I’ve felt, although we’ve always tiptoed around discussing it.

“It’s not like that,” Rhys mumbles, his eyes narrowing to slits, his expression hardening.

I tilt my head and offer a challenging smirk. “Oh? Then enlighten me, Rhys, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still busy playing house with your ‘fake’ girlfriend.”

With deliberate force, he sets his coffee mug down on the counter, the heavy thud punctuating his insistence. “You know it’s not like that.”

I fold my arms tightly, a declaration of defiance. “Do I? For years, I sat by and watched you with her, keeping quiet as I convinced myself it was all just an illusion—that you never truly wanted her. And now, when the chance to leave it all behind finally presents itself, you still choose her.”

Rhys takes slow, measured steps forward, closing the gap between us until his presence is almost overwhelming. “It isn’t that simple,” he murmurs, his voice low and conflicted.

I arch an eyebrow and snap back, “Isn’t it?” I can feel the sting of my own harshness. I hate that I’m letting this anger spill over like a bitter poison I can’t control.

With a frustrated sigh, Rhys runs his hand through his dark brown tousled hair; the motion is both weary and desperate. “Ashley may still be in danger. Just because her dad’s gone doesn’t mean she’s safe. We can’t afford to be reckless, Ally. There are eyes on us—people watching.”

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me as I reply, “People have always been watching. Since when did you start caring about what they think?”

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his face contracting as he confesses in a low, raw tone, “Since I realised just how much I want you.”

His words strike me hard—like a sudden gust of wind stripping the breath from my lungs, leaving my heart skipping in a frenzied rhythm.

And yet, even this confession does little to resolve the churning turmoil inside me.

“Then prove it,” my voice scarcely audible over the pounding of my heart. I’m playing with fire.

In that charged moment, Rhys’s dark eyes lock onto mine, and something mysterious ignites behind them.

In an instant, he is nearly pressing against me, his warmth enveloping me like a second skin, and his familiar scent infiltrates my senses. Slowly, almost reverently, his hand lifts; his fingers trace the line of my jaw with a touch that sends sparks racing along my skin.

Time itself seems to slow as I lift my chin in anticipation, my lips parting with the desperate hope of a kiss that I have craved for far too long. But then, reality crashes in with brutal clarity—I jerk away, my breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

“I can’t,” I murmur, the words heavy with unspoken regret.

For a heartbeat, Rhys flinches as if struck by an invisible blow. “Ally—” he begins, his voice trembling.

I shake my head and step around him, each movement deliberate and pained. “I need space.” Without protest, he lets me leave.

My hands tremble as I retreat, and with a forceful slam, my bedroom door closes behind me.

Alone in the cramped solitude, I pace back and forth; every footstep echoes the lingering sensation of his touch, and every nerve thrums with the memory of how precariously close I came to surrender.

Yet I know I can’t— not yet.

Not while everything remains tangled in complexity.

For years, I had convinced myself that quietly longing for Rhys from afar was enough—that my hidden desire was a secret burden I was meant to bear alone.

And now?

Now that he’s here, standing before me, saying the words I’d dared only dream about, I feel utterly lost.

A gentle, tentative knock shatters the whirlwind of my racing thoughts. “Ally,” comes a hoarse, hesitant call from the other side—Rhys’s voice, raw and unsteady.

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool wood of the door, and sigh, “Go away, Rhys.”

“I can’t,” he replies softly, the earnest vulnerability in his tone unmistakable.

A shaky exhale escapes me as I demand, “Why not?”

“Because you’re it for me. And I need you to know that,” he declares, his words laden with honest, aching truth.

I swallow hard, bitterness rising as I retort, “You don’t get to say that now.”

“Why not?” he presses, his tone both pleading and defensive.

A laugh, bitter and laced with sorrow, escapes me as I shake my head, though he cannot see. “Because you’ve had years to say it—and you never did.”

After a long, charged silence, his voice breaks the stillness, soft and regretful: “I couldn’t.”

Slowly, I grasp the cold metal of the doorknob and twist it just enough to crack open the door. There he stands in the dim light, his face a guarded mask, though his eyes betray a vulnerability I’ve never seen before.

“And now you can?” I ask, my voice softening into a tentative hope.

Rhys exhales, his chest rising in a measured rhythm. “Yes.”

Despite the part of me that desperately wants to let down all defences, to throw caution aside and fall completely into him, a deeper fear holds me back. I am paralysed by the thought of merging our lives—of surrendering to a relentless cycle of longing and retreat that has defined us for so long.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admit in a hush, the words barely more than a confession.

His gaze softens further, his tone laced with gentle reassurance. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

I let out a slow, measured breath, my fingers clenching the door’s edge as if to hold on to a fragile hope. “I need time,” I confess, each word heavy with uncertainty.

He nods, his eyes searching mine until he finally whispers, “Okay.”

After a pause filled with unspoken promises, I add, “But don’t stop trying.”

A flicker of hope dances in his eyes as he responds, “I won’t.”

This time, I close the door with tender care, pressing my forehead against it as I lean in for a moment of solitude.

My heart still pounds wildly, and my skin remembers every electric caress from moments before, yet for the first time in ages, the ache in my chest feels almost bearable. Maybe, just maybe, this isn’t the end.

Perhaps it’s merely the beginning of something undefined yet full of promise.

Moments later, another knock sounds at the door—softer, more hesitant this time. “Ally? It’s me and Ella,” comes Yasmin’s gentle voice through the wood.

I sigh, knowing that once they come in, I won’t be left alone with my tangled thoughts.

Opening the door, I watch as they step inside my room without hesitation. Yasmin sits quietly at the edge of my unmade bed, while Ella stands, arms folded, glaring.

“We heard you guys in the kitchen and hallway,” Ella states bluntly, “That was intense.”

“No kidding,” I murmur with a rueful smile, running a tired hand over my face as I sink down beside Yasmin.

She offers a gentle nudge with her shoulder and softly asks, “Are you okay?”

I shrug, my voice low and uncertain. “I have no idea. He claims he wants me, but everything is a mess. It’s always complicated.”

Ella tilts her head, her expression earnest as she asks, “And do you believe him?”

I pause, the silence heavy before I admit, “I want to.”

Yasmin reaches over, her hand warm as it squeezes mine reassuringly. “Then maybe that’s enough for now. You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

Ella lets out a long, weary sigh. “But you do need to figure out what you want, Ally. Because if you run every time he gets close, you’re going to lose him.”

I swallow hard as her words settle within me, a heavy truth I can’t easily deny. And the scariest part? I’m not sure I’m ready to stop running.