Late into the stillness of a Tuesday night, Zach materialized in my room as if nothing had unfolded between us earlier—no trace of remorse, no hint of acknowledgment for the fear I’d felt when he had cornered me. Perhaps his memory was as selective as his kindness; he offered no apology, and I chose silence, unwilling to provoke a confrontation that had left me bruised, emotionally if not physically, before.
Days sheltered inside these cold walls were eroding my clarity. My thoughts swirled in a fog of confusion and dread, making me question my own grip on reality. The quiet was invasive, suffocating; it chipped away at whatever strength I had left. My parents remained distant, their silence a loud condemnation—I guessed they were ashamed of the role their choices had forced upon me, and, truthfully, I didn’t want to see them. Every memory tethered to my past life was a fresh wound, sharper than the last.
Suddenly, a white envelope thudded against the bed where I sat, breaking the oppressive quiet. I turned my eyes to Zach, who reeked of alcohol, his presence as disheveled as his mood. Wrinkling my nose at the pungent scent, I hesitated before gingerly picking up the envelope. Inside lay a plane ticket to Florida, scheduled for departure the following day. My brow creased in confusion—no one had mentioned leaving.
“Why are we going?” My voice sounded foreign to me, hoarse and unused after days of retreating into myself.
His reply was clipped, carrying a cold finality. “We need to get out of the city for a while. Dad thinks the family’s vacation home is the best place—somewhere few know about.”
I nodded, the sense of inevitability settling over me. Our absence was already a topic of speculation at high society events, and the families had concocted enough excuses to cover our unusual estrangement. A retreat to Florida would be a timely pause, a chance for the whispers to die down before we reemerged into the spotlight.
Just as he turned to leave, Zach bent down and picked something up from the floor. Curiosity nudged me forward to the edge of the bed, fingers twisting nervously as he examined the broken pieces of my phone. The screen was shattered; the back dented badly. I’d made sure it was beyond repair—my tether to Noah cut, the numbers erased from memory, as much as my heart ached for him.
He held the ruined device up, eyes searching mine for an explanation. I shrugged, the only truth I could muster. “It fell.”
For a moment, his expression softened as if he wanted to press further, to care about the cracks mirrored in the device and within me. But then his lips pressed into a thin line, and he slipped the fragments into his pocket. “I’ll get you a new one. I’ll hold onto this so they can extract the SIM.”
I was about to protest, to resist handing over any piece of independence, but reason quelled the impulse. I didn’t need to feed his curiosity—not that he was ever generous with his attention. With nothing left to say, he left me in the silence once more.
I flipped on the television, the low murmur of news anchors spilling into the room as I lay back, closing my eyes. I focused on conjuring mental images in response to their stories—distancing myself from the reality of my fractured life. It was a fragile shield, but it stopped the unwanted visions from invading my mind as sleep edged nearer.
The next morning, the household staff swarmed around me, their gentle ministrations an awkward comfort. I was clueless about packing, my mother having always managed such tasks. Mrs. Hotch took charge, sifting through my belongings with practiced ease. Zach, having already prepared, was downstairs, breakfast waiting on him. Normally, I refused to join him, preferring meals delivered quietly to my room. But today, a strange pull urged me to leave my sanctuary and face him.
Maybe the change of scenery, the distance from prying eyes, would soften the sharp edges of our forced union. I wasn’t naive enough to expect affection, but perhaps civility, or at least a truce, could be carved out amidst the chaos.
A timid young voice interrupted my thoughts. “Miss, Mr. Price is downstairs,” the girl said, barely more than a child, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and respect. I smiled at her encouragement and exhaled deeply. It was time to move forward, however uncertain the path.
Descending the stairs, I spotted our luggage already piled into the waiting car. Zach stood near the doorway, foot tapping with impatience, leaning against the frame as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. My heels clicked purposefully against the floor, drawing his gaze. He gave no sign of greeting, merely motioned to the driver to bring the vehicle around before slipping away. I caught the sharp flash of irritation rising within me and bit it back; he wasn’t worth the confrontation.
Once inside the car, his eyes pinned me with a question. “Did you pack everything you need?”
I nodded, turning my face away to avoid the tension in his gaze.
“Are you certain? I don’t want to have to turn the car around because you forgot something trivial like earrings.”
Frustration slipped from my lips before I could stop it, the words raw and unfiltered. “I’m not Olivia.”
His fists clenched at my words. I regretted the sharpness, yet the sting of his resentment had carved deeper wounds than any apology could heal. I bit my lip, swallowing back the urge to soften my tone. I felt no obligation to explain, no reason to smooth the harsh edges of truth.
The remainder of the journey passed in heavy silence. At the airport, Zach assumed control, managing check-in and security as though I were incapable of handling such tasks alone. I wanted to remind him of my independence, the many times I’d traveled alone, but the memory of my earlier misstep kept me silent.
We reached the waiting area, Zach striding ahead by several paces. I trailed behind, focusing my gaze on his retreating back, letting irritation simmer beneath the surface.
Suddenly, I collided with someone, an abrupt interruption to the quiet tension. Her belongings scattered, papers fluttering to the floor with a noisy clatter. Zach groaned, turning his head to see the cause. I bent quickly, murmuring apologies as I gathered the fallen items, my breath hitching when I caught sight of who stood before me.
She was barely twenty-one, her face flushed with shock and something darker—betrayal, perhaps. Her mouth fell open in disbelief, eyes locked on me with a mixture of hurt and rage. Before either of us could speak, Zach approached, his posture flawless in politeness.
“I apologize for my wife’s clumsiness,” he said, nodding toward the laptop clutched in her arms—the very one I had chosen for her birthday, its red casing vibrant and gleaming. She glared at me, the color on her cheeks matching the device’s hue.
His use of "wife" seemed to hit her like a physical blow. I opened my mouth, desperate to explain before her anger spiraled, my voice trembling with unshed tears. “Lexie, please, this isn’t what it looks like.”
Her fist connected sharply with my cheek, the sting igniting tears as they spilled freely down my face. “You bitch!” she spat venomously, raising her hand again as if to strike.
But Zach was quicker, stepping between us with fierce protectiveness, gripping her wrist before she could land another blow.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growled, eyes blazing.
“I’m giving this cheating whore what she deserves,” Lexie hissed, venom dripping from every word.
Zach’s gaze flicked between us, red creeping into his ears as a growing crowd began to watch our heated exchange. Embarrassment and anger warred in his expression as he turned to me. “Arianna, explain yourself. What’s going on?”
My throat tightened, the weight of the moment pressing down. I swallowed hard, knowing lies would crumble under Lexie’s presence. Steeling myself, I met his eyes and said quietly, “I used to date her brother.”
The admission hung heavily between us, a fragile truth amid the chaos. Lexie’s glare softened for a fraction, confusion mingling with hurt. Zach’s arms remained crossed, his protective stance unwavering as the tension thickened around us.
Slowly, I reached out to brush a tear from my cheek. “It’s complicated,” I whispered, hoping that, somehow, this revelation might begin to unravel the tangled threads binding us all in this painful web.