64: Cellophane
“Didn’t I do it for you? Why don’t I do it for you?” - FKA Twigs
...
Alissa Blake
I didn’t want to be there.
Honestly, from the moment I stepped into that hotel, every part of me screamed to turn around and disappear. But I didn’t have anywhere to go back to. Not after Morgan. Not after my own story collapsed in my hands like a structure they pretended was solid all my life.
I sat at that bar more out of habit than intention. I didn’t know if I wanted to drink, to think, to run. Maybe all at once. The place was small, with music too good to waste, and for a second, I thought maybe the universe was trying to comfort me.
Until I looked to the side.
And saw him.
Holden.
My entire body froze. I tried to look away and pretended I was just another stranger, but it was impossible. My chest ached, my fingers trembled on the empty glass, and every cell in my body told me to run.
But I stayed. Stupid, masochistic, whatever. I stayed and watched when some woman approached. Just some random. Blonde, smiling too easily. The kind who only smile with their eyes, ‘cause their mouth’s already busy saying shit too dirty to repeat.
I saw her get closer and let his arm slide around her waist like he was just leaning on a wall.
And then came the kiss. Too long and desperate.
The kind of kiss you give to forget someone.
The scene was grotesque, like watching a car crash happen and not being able to look away.
I got up immediately. Felt the blood drain from my face, the air vanish, and I walked toward the elevator with tears threatening to fall but refusing to let them. Not there. Not in front of anyone.
I hit the elevator button like my life depended on it. The numbers took forever to light up. Everything felt slow, dragging. But the universe had to be cruel enough that when I looked sideways, I saw Holden heading upstairs with her.
They walked down the hallway like nothing else existed. She laughed. He could barely see straight.
And I just... stood there. Watching. Punishing myself.
I don’t know why I did it. Why I kept watching even knowing how much it would hurt. Maybe because, deep down, I still had that stupid hope he’d look back. That he’d notice. That he’d feel what I was feeling.
But he didn’t look.
The elevator came. I got in. Swallowed the tears, the pride, everything. And went to my room. Each step felt heavier than the last. Memories crashed over me like a warning: nothing about this would go unscathed.
When I opened the door, I tossed the backpack onto the armchair, kicked off my shoes without even looking, went into the bathroom, and splashed water on my face. It didn’t help. The taste of disappointment still stuck to my tongue.
I walked back into the room, a towel pressed to my face, and froze.
Someone was there.
And it wasn’t just anyone.
"Good evening, Alissa." The voice came out cold, composed...
I froze.
Denver Young.
Sitting in the corner chair like that fucking place was his personal office. Legs crossed, suit immaculate, looking at me like he’d dropped by for tea.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, voice shaky, body tense.
He smiled. That disgusting smile that always gave me chills. The same one I saw years ago when everything fell apart the first time.
"I came to make sure you’re comfortable. No one wants you feeling threatened, Alissa. Not Holden. Not Cyrus. And certainly not me."
I widened my eyes. Wanted to laugh.
"Threatened? You’re sitting in my hotel room. In the dark. That sounds more like a threat than kindness."
"I understand your distrust. But let’s be direct. You came back for a reason. And you’re here because you’re good for my son."
His words sank slowly, like poison.
"You…" I paused. Tried to process. "You’re behind this."
He didn’t answer. Just rested his hands on his knees like he was about to get up. But he didn’t. He just stared at me like he owned the fucking world.
"Holden needs balance. And as much as it pains me to admit it, you give him that. You’ve always stabilized him."
I laughed humorlessly.
"And since when do you give a damn about his emotional well-being? Or mine, for that matter?"
"What happened in the past was necessary," he said. "Young people make mistakes. Parents correct them."
I wanted to throw something at him. Anything. But I didn’t.
"You paid my parents to send me away. You destroyed me and Holden."
He didn’t deny it.
"And now you’re back. You’re here. With a chance to do things differently. To do something useful."
"Useful to you," I snapped. "For your damn empire, your perfect family facade. You don’t care about Holden. You care about the image he sells."
He stayed silent for a few seconds. Then stood up slowly, like the whole thing was wrapping up.
"Use this time wisely, Alissa. I’m not here to control you. But don’t forget what’s at stake."
"Morgan," I whispered.
He made a vague gesture with his head, like acknowledging it without admitting it.
"You’re smart. You’ll know the right decision to make."
And he left.
Left the room just as quietly as he came in. Without asking permission. Without a second thought.
I just stood there, the scent of his cologne still clinging to the air. That disgusting, toxic presence.
So that was it.
Cyrus wasn’t on my side. He was on Denver’s.
The whole time.
My knees gave out, and I slid to the floor, back against the wall in the hallway of the suite.
My breath came short. My chest ached. And all I wanted was to go back in time and stop all of this from happening.
But it was too late.