Chapter 40: On Edge

That silence hung in the atmosphere till the day of my father's wedding to Nina.

The applause that followed the kiss felt like a thousand tiny needles pressing into my skin. Everyone stood, clapping, smiling, taking pictures—faces glowing with joy, laughter spilling into the air like confetti. But I just sat there, hollow. The sound was too loud, too bright. I felt like I was sinking in slow motion, my body present but my mind somewhere else entirely.

That silence I’d been holding onto for weeks suddenly roared inside me. The one that began the night Stephen found out about Kevin and me. Since then, everything had gone quiet—too quiet. I hadn’t seen Kevin, hadn’t even tried. At first, I told myself it was the right thing to do, that maybe time apart would help me breathe again. But the longer the days stretched, the more that silence started to ache, like a bruise that refused to heal.

Stephen’s presence had become a shadow that followed me everywhere. I tried, more than once, to get to his phone—late at night, when I thought he was asleep, or in moments when he’d left it carelessly on the table. But he always caught me. Always with that knowing smirk that made my stomach twist. It was like he enjoyed watching me squirm, reminding me that he held the leash, and I couldn’t run. After a while, I stopped trying. What was the point?

So here I was, watching my father marry Nina—the woman who was now my stepmother.

Every word of their vows felt like a knife turning deeper into me.

‘Till death do us part.’

I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t. The words echoed like a cruel joke.

Sarah sat beside me, her perfume sweet and dizzying, her fake smile perfectly composed for the cameras. We looked like the picture of grace, like two supportive best friends witnessing love. But underneath that surface, there was a storm brewing. It was even more obvious she wanted Kevin too.

I could feel it in the way her body tensed when someone mentioned his name.

Still, her desire wasn’t the same as mine. Hers came from infatuation, mine from something darker, deeper, something I couldn’t even name without feeling sick. And yet, even knowing how wrong it had always been, I couldn’t stop wanting him. That was the cruelest part of all.

I could feel eyes on me. Jordan’s. From somewhere behind. His stare burned against the back of my head like he was trying to pull a confession out of me without saying a word. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to.

When the priest announced the marriage official and my father kissed Nina, a wave of nausea hit me so strong I thought I might actually faint. My father’s happiness should have been enough to make me smile, but all I felt was loss. Because in that moment, the last thread of denial snapped. Kevin was truly my stepbrother now. There was no undoing it, no pretending we could find our way back to what we were before.

I clapped anyway. I smiled for the crowd, the cameras, I smiled until my face hurt, until my chest ached with the effort of pretending.

When it became too much—when the applause became a blur and the lights too bright—I slipped away. My heels clicked softly against the marble floor as I made my way toward the restroom, my breath catching somewhere between my ribs. I told myself I just needed a moment, a few minutes alone to fix my face, maybe touch up my lipstick.

But the truth was, I just needed to cry.

To let the tears I’d been holding back for weeks finally spill out, quietly, where no one could see.

I pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside, letting it close behind me with a dull thud. The air was cooler here, softer, muffled. I gripped the edge of the sink and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup was perfect. My hair was perfect. I looked like someone who had everything under control.

But I didn’t even recognize the girl staring back at me.

I felt the weight of it all pressing down—Stephen’s threat, Kevin’s absence, my father’s wedding, Sarah’s jealousy, Nina’s smile. It was too much. Too many secrets, too many lies layered over one another like thin sheets of glass. One more touch, and everything would shatter.

So I did the only thing I could. I let myself break quietly, where no one would hear.

When I stepped out of the restroom, the air in the hallway felt heavier than before—thick with perfume and champagne and that muffled hum of celebration that somehow made everything feel lonelier. I just wanted to slip away, to breathe, to disappear from all the smiling faces pretending love was a simple thing. But of course, the universe never grants mercy when you need it most.

Jordan was there. Standing just a few feet from the door, waiting like he’d been rehearsing it. His face was tense, his hands shoved into his pockets, his jaw set like he’d been psyching himself up for this conversation. I instantly felt that familiar wave of irritation rising through me. Not anger, exactly—just exhaustion. The kind that settles deep into your bones when you’ve run out of patience to give.

I tried to walk past him, pretending not to notice, but he stepped right in front of me, blocking my path. His cologne hit me first—sharp and expensive, but cloying in a way that made me want to recoil.

“I know you don’t want this marriage arrangement between us,” he said, his voice low, uncertain, “but at least, can we be friends?”

That word—friends—landed like a dull thud in my chest. I didn’t even think before I replied. “No, we can’t.” My tone came out flat, colder than I intended, but maybe that was the point. I didn’t want to give him space to hope.

I tried to move past him again, but he shifted with me, desperate now. “It sounds stupid and sudden,” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “but I have feelings for you. Since we can’t go with your parents’ arrangement for us both, I just… I just want to be friends. I really want to be friends with you.”

He sounded so earnest, so vulnerable, and for a split second, guilt pricked at me. But it passed. Because underneath all that pleading, I saw what he didn’t say—the quiet entitlement, the belief that persistence would wear me down.

I turned to face him fully then. He looked at me like he was waiting for me to change my mind, like I’d suddenly soften. But I didn’t. “We don’t really know each other,” I said quietly. “We’re pretty much strangers.” I shook my head, my voice catching slightly. “I don’t think I need any friend at the moment.”

His mouth opened like he wanted to say more. “But—”

“Goodbye, Jordan.” I cut him off before he could finish, because I knew if he kept talking, I might lose my calm.

I walked away quickly, my heels clicking against the marble floor, echoing in a rhythm that matched the pounding in my chest. My eyes stung, but I wasn’t even sure why. Maybe it was everything—the pressure, the pretending, the mess I’d built around myself that felt like it was closing in and that made me suddenly miss my father's quiet reassurance whenever I felt on edge but I couldn't possibly confide in him about my forbidden affair with Kevin, his stepson.

The hallway stretched ahead of me, lined with soft lights and gold frames, but I barely saw any of it. My heart raced for no clear reason—some instinct maybe, a pulse of panic that grew louder with every step.

And then, before I could even make sense of it, a hand shot out of nowhere and yanked me into a dark room. My body collided with something solid, the door slamming shut behind us.

I gasped, half in shock, half in fear, until I looked up—and saw him.

Kevin.

My breath caught instantly. The world narrowed to that single moment, to him standing there, eyes dark, intense, unreadable. He looked different—more disheveled, more dangerous, and yet so painfully familiar that my chest ached just looking at him.

“Hello, Abby,” he said, his voice low, rough around the edges, the kind of tone that sent chills crawling up my skin.

He reached back and turned the lock with a slow, deliberate click.

My heart went wild in my chest, pounding so hard it hurt. My eyes burned, and I didn’t know if it was from relief or fear or everything in between.

After all this time—after the silence, the distance, the ache of pretending I didn’t miss him—he was right here again.