Page 112

Yes, the conversation was pleasant, but I have to stay alert. The man wrapped me around his finger once before. I can’t let him take control of my life again.

And yet there’s a quiet voice in the back of my head: What if he’s changed? Luke was attentive and careful not to pressure me. He even defended my privacy in front of a paparazzo.

What are the odds he saw me with Aran in the tabloids?

Luke is capable of anything.

He’s calculated and always determined to stay in control. He rarely leaves anything to chance.

But actually, I should consider myself lucky. I’ve analyzed every side of Luke. I know how he operates, and that gives me a sense of control.

Not like with Aran.

Tonight showed me he’s not who I thought he was. He’s a powder keg, and that makes him impossible to predict.

I still don’t understand how he made me stop hating him.

Or did I make him stop hating me? After all, when he first moved back in, he couldn’t stand me.

No matter how hard I try to look at our… whatever this is… with cold detachment, I can’t. The image of him stumbling into the apartment earlier, supported by Fox, keeps flashing in my mind. Or how he struggled to keep it together during the interview with that glassy look in his eyes.

Levi was right. Aran was on drugs.

Why the hell does he do that?

Why?

Did the pressure get to him?

Is he maybe not as strong as he pretends to be?

For the last few months, I’ve worked hard to build a stable, structured life. Routine is important for my mental health.

Or have I just convinced myself I’ve regained control?

I don’t want to abandon Aran. I’ve grown too attached to him. But to protect myself, I have no choice but to accept him as he is.

Or am I just telling myself that? Am I even capable of accepting Aran the way he is?

He dragged me out of my shell, but I still feel trapped again in that damn cage of guilt and fear.

I force myself to breathe slowly. “Everything’s fine. You’re in control,” I tell myself, but my stomach is in knots, and my skin feels too tight.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I know I should ignore it, but I can’t.

“It was great seeing you. L”

The letters blur in front of my eyes. A deep, dark roar rises in my head, warning of disaster.

My fingers shake. That familiar pulling sensation stretches like wires through my body.

It’s too much. Gasping for air, I fling the phone on the bed and head to the bathroom.

Breathing raggedly, I brace myself on the sink and stare at my reflection. I’m being swept away by the storm.

All the blood has drained from my face. I’m white as the wall behind me. My stomach clenches.

How did the evening take such a turn?