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Chapter Twenty-Four

Jonathan

“You were watching us, weren’t you?” Calum accuses, his voice low, tight. His fingers grip the edge of the table as if anchoring himself. “The journal—Annabel wrote about someone watching her. That was you, wasn’t it?”

The accusation hangs in the air, sharp as broken glass. I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, but the words sound hollow even to me. “She was... paranoid. You know how she could be.”

“She wasn’t paranoid,” Calum snaps, stepping closer. The firelight dances on his face, highlighting the fury simmering beneath his calm facade. “She was afraid. And now I’m starting to understand why.”

I let out a bitter laugh, crossing my arms. “You think I was spying on you? That I’m some villain lurking in the shadows? Don’t flatter yourself, Calum.”

But he doesn’t back down. “You were always around, Jonathan. Always conveniently nearby. Don’t tell me you weren’t watching. ”

I open my mouth to deny it, but the words catch in my throat. The truth is messy, tangled in the kind of emotions I’d rather bury. I can still feel the rain that night, cold and unrelenting, soaking through my coat as I stood at the edge of the trees, staring at the cottage.

That night flashes back in my mind, sharp and vivid.

The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the leaves, turning the ground to mud.

I could see them through the window, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the fire.

Annabel, draped over the couch like some ethereal goddess, her laughter spilling into the night.

And Calum, sitting too close, his hand on her knee.

I remember the ache in my chest, the bitterness curling in my gut. I told myself I was protecting her, watching to make sure she was safe. But deep down, I knew it was a lie. I watched because I couldn’t look away.

“I didn’t—” I start, but Calum cuts me off, his voice rising.

“Don’t lie to me, Jonathan. I can see it all over your face.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his anger almost physical. “You were there that night, weren’t you? You saw something the night she died, didn’t you?”

My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I consider denying it. But what’s the point? Calum knows me too well; he always has. “Fine,” I say, my voice clipped. “I was there. But not for the reasons you think.”

“Then why?” he demands, his eyes burning into mine. “Why were you there, following her like… some creep?”

“Because of her!” I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “Because I loved her, Calum! I loved her, and she told me—” My voice breaks, and I turn away, raking a hand through my hair. “I couldn’t let her go.”

The confession hangs between us, heavy and raw. Calum exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. “You... loved her,” he repeats, the words slow and deliberate. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yes,” I say, turning back to him. “I loved her in a way you never could. You suffocated her, Calum. You wanted to own her, to trap her in this goddamn house like some fragile little doll.”

“And you think you’re any better?” he spits, his voice venomous. “You think stalking her, watching her from the shadows, is love?”

“It’s more than you ever gave her,” I fire back, the anger surging through me. “At least I saw her for who she was. I didn’t try to make her something she wasn’t.”

Calum’s laugh is cold, cutting. “You’re delusional. She chose me, Jonathan. Not you. She always chose me.”

The words hit their mark, but I refuse to let him see the wound. “Maybe she didn’t have a choice,” I say, my voice low. “Maybe you never gave her one.”

Calum’s expression darkens, his fists clenched at his sides. For a moment, I think he might hit me, the tension between us teetering on the edge of violence. But instead, he turns away, his shoulders heaving with barely restrained fury.

“You don’t know anything,” he says, his voice quiet but laced with venom. “You didn’t know her the way I did.”

“Did I?” I challenge, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like she was terrified of you. Terrified of what you’d do if she ever left.”

Calum whirls around, his face inches from mine. “Shut up,” he growls, his voice trembling with rage. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But I do. I’ve read the journal. I’ve seen the fear in her words, the way she tiptoed around him, always careful, always calculating. And now, for the first time, I can see that same fear in him.

“What are you afraid of, Calum?” I ask, my voice soft but cutting. “That the truth might come out? That maybe, just maybe, you weren’t the perfect couple you like to pretend you were?”

His hand shoots out, grabbing the front of my shirt and yanking me forward. “I said shut up,” he hisses, his breath hot against my face. “You don’t know anything.”

But I do. And he knows it.

The memory of that night claws at me, the rain soaking through my coat, the cottage glowing like a beacon in the dark. I remember watching them, my heart pounding in my chest as Annabel stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the firelight.

All of me wanted to go to her, to pull her away from Calum and his suffocating love. But I couldn’t. Instead, I stood there, drenched and desperate, until the lights went out and the cottage was swallowed by darkness.

“You did this to her–she would still be here if not for you and your love ,” I hiss.

Calum shoves me back against the wall. His face is a mask of fury and grief, his eyes wild. “No, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“It’s not me that’s saying it.” I retort. “It’s all there, in her own words.” I think of the journal. “Your love took from her–it should have been you. Not a day goes by that I don’t think our world would be better if it’d been you that lost your life that night.”

His grip loosens, eyes falling closed as he steps away from me. “I–I…” his eyes lock with mine, fury and pain simmering, “I think that every day too.”

I straighten my shirt, my heart pounding as I meet his gaze. “Fine,” I say, my voice steady. “At least we’re in agreement about something, Calum.”

He walks toward the door, the weight of the conversation oppressive in my small cottage. He opens the door, salty air blowing in a gust as he goes as one thought lingers in my mind.

The truth may not bring her back, but at least we agree, his love drowned her.