Page 19 of Trail of Betrayal

He flushes. “I never asked you to.”

“You didn’t have to,” I say. “That was the design.”

Isabella moves for the hall. Lawrence catches her wrist.

“Iz—”

She frees herself with one clean motion. “Don’t touch me. Don’t call. Don’t send a midnight apology when you’re lonely.”

He sags. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” She studies him, a flicker of pity and disgust. “You said she didn’t understand you. That I was different. I wasn’t. I was convenient.”

He flinches. His shoulders cave.

“I loved you both,” he tries. “In different ways.”

“No,” I say. “You loved what we gave you—validation, admiration, cover.” I twist my watch once. “Love tells the truth.”

Isabella reaches me at the doorway. Our shoulders almost touch. Her hand brushes my arm. It’s brief, but has surprising solidarity.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Me too,” I say, and mean it.

Lawrence makes one last lunge of words. “Veronica—new start—therapy—anything—”

“It’s over,” I say, soft, final. “Your things will be with the concierge tomorrow. Don’t call. Don’t text.”

He hesitates at the threshold, searching my face for something to save him. There’s nothing left to find. He steps out, shoulders hunched. Confidence gone.

“Goodbye, Lawrence,” I say, and close the door on the last echo of him.

Silence. Not empty—mine.

I cross to the glass. The city’s not a haze anymore; lights sharpen into a map I don’t need him to navigate. On the kitchen island: my laptop bag waiting for class, a course syllabus clipped under a magnet. On the counter: a set of new keys I’ll swap for the old locks in the morning. By the door: running shoes I haven’t used in months. I will.

I twist my watch—once, twice. Not a superstition anymore. A choice.

Then I slide the curtain along its track, clean and sure, and let the room go dark on its own terms. The window still throws a thin line of city light across the floor, like a runway.

Tomorrow I’ll file the receipts, change the passcodes, send one email that doesn’t shake. Tonight I stand in the quiet and feel the space expand to fit me.

Game over. Freedom, confirmed.