Chapter 41: Wreckage

I didn’t even know how to feel when I saw him standing there. Somewhere between relief and heartbreak, between wanting to fall into his arms and wanting to hit him for every unanswered text, every empty space he’d left behind in my chest. The happiness of seeing him—of knowing he was real and not just another ghost in my head—was short-lived. The sadness swallowed it whole before I could even breathe.

“They’re married,” I heard myself say, my voice almost too calm for the way my heart was spiraling. I wasn’t even sure who I was talking to—him or myself. “Our parents are finally married and there’s nothing we can do to ruin it all.” The words tasted bitter. Like defeat. Like some cruel joke that life was playing on me.

“Abby…” Kevin’s voice was low, hesitant. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, that familiar touch making my stomach twist. It was gentle—too gentle—and I hated that it still made me feel something.

I pushed him away before I could think about it. Harder than I meant to. “Where the hell were you?” My voice cracked, sharp and trembling. “Huh? You were so busy carrying out her orders that you didn’t even care to reach out. Am I that insignificant to you?”

He looked taken aback, like he didn’t expect me to confront him, like maybe he thought I’d just melt at the sight of him.

He tried to step closer again, and my body tensed. “Stay the hell away from me!” The words came out like venom. I was shaking now, my hands balled into fists, my breath coming in uneven bursts. “From being rude to me, to yelling at me, you didn’t even know that Stephen has a recording of us both from that night at the club and he’s used it on me like a freaking leash?”

His brows shot up immediately, confusion flashing across his face. “What?”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “What did you both even talk about, huh? Everything happening is obviously about the both of us, but why do I feel like I’m the one in this bind alone?”

“Abby, listen—”

“No!” I cut him off before he could say another word. The dam finally broke, and my voice wavered, tears spilling freely down my face. “What the fuck do you have to say to me? You’re never around! You’re never there when I need you!” My throat burned with every word. “You always show up whenever it pleases you like a fucking prince—but where does that leave me?”

My sobs came harder now, raw and unfiltered, and I hated how weak they made me sound. He just stood there, watching me, his jaw clenched, his eyes full of things he wasn’t saying. He ran his hands through his hair, pacing a little, like he was trying to find the right words but none were coming.

And then—before I could stop myself—I asked it. Quietly. Desperately. “Do you even love me?”

The question hung in the air between us, heavy and trembling. His body froze instantly, and for a second, I thought he might actually answer. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at me, and that silence… that silence felt like the cruelest answer of all.

I nodded slowly, the weight of the silence pressing down on my chest like a stone. “So you don’t?” My voice came out small, cracked, barely a whisper. “At least not as much as I do?” I searched his face, desperate for something—some flicker of emotion, a denial, anything that would contradict the fear gnawing at me—but there was nothing. His eyes stayed downcast, his lips parted but useless, and the quiet between us grew unbearable.

It felt cruel. All of it. The way I’d built this love in my head, piece by piece, only to watch it crumble right in front of me. I’d believed him once, believed in us—believed that what we had was something real, something rare. But in that moment, it all felt like a lie I’d told myself just to keep breathing.

I blinked back the tears threatening to fall, but they burned anyway, heavy and hot behind my eyelids. My body felt drained, like every ounce of energy had been sucked out of me, leaving only this hollow ache in its place. “So what did you intend to tell me in the first place?” I asked finally, my voice dull and tired, like I was already bracing for another blow.

He didn’t answer. He just stood there—hands shoved into his pockets, his jaw tense, eyes flickering away from mine like he couldn’t stand to look at me.

“Why the hell are you not saying anything?” I snapped, the anger cracking through the grief. My chest heaved as I glared at him. “You… you wanna break up with me?” I added more quietly, almost afraid of the answer. My voice trembled at the edges, betraying me.

He exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. “I did everything I could to make sure our parents wouldn’t get married,” he said, finally, his voice raw and low. “But I failed and I…” He trailed off, his words collapsing mid-sentence.

“You what?” I pressed, my throat tight.

He lifted his gaze then, and for the first time, I saw it—the pain, the guilt, the conflict that was eating him alive. His lips parted, trembling slightly. “I wanna end things between us,” he said. Just like that. Flat, final. “Let’s just… stick to being step-siblings and pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. My stomach twisted, sinking as if someone had reached inside and crushed whatever was left of my heart. My breath hitched, and for a moment, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. I just stood there, frozen in the wreckage of his words.

Something deep inside me—something soft, hopeful, foolish—died right then. And all I could do was stand there and feel it burn.