He Knows Where I Live
Almost an hour later, I’m in Knox's car, staring at the imposing building of his parents’ house.
I’m supposed to walk in and end what’s left of my friendship with Finn.
But I don’t move.
Back at the hotel, I’d been so comfortable enjoying the back and forth between me and Knox. It had been easy to pretend the world didn’t exist when it was just us, tangled in bedsheets and breathless moans—Knox, it seems, only needs a few minutes to regain his erection after blowing a load, which had been exhaustingly pleasurable.
But at some point, he announced that his chartered jet was leaving for New York in two hours.
And just like that, reality sank in. No more denial. No more playful distractions. The time had come.
I haven’t been able to say much since the beginning of the drive here. Not since he turned the key and started the engine. My mind’s been a mess of noise and silence, one crashing against the other until all I could do was stare out the window.
I have to do this.
End things with Finn. He deserves that.
But my hand won’t reach for the door.
Knox drums his fingers against the steering wheel, the rhythmic tap pulling me back to the present. I can feel his gaze on me, but I don’t turn my head. I can’t. Not yet. I just keep staring at the house like it might open its mouth and swallow me whole.
“Any day now, Sloane,” he says, his voice low and teasing.
“I…” I begin, feeling the words getting stuck in my throat. “Finn won't take this well.”
“I know. But a deal’s a deal. He got what he wanted. Hunter called off the wedding.”
I jerk my head toward him. “He did? When did you find out?”
He stares at me for a beat, like he’s deciding whether to say more. Then, “Just do what you have to, Bunny. I’ll explain better on the flight.”
“Bunny? Seriously?”
“Bunny's an upgrade from Kitten, don't you think?”
“A kitten grows into a cat, not a bunny.”
“So… you want me to call you Cat?”
I flip him off and push the door open. He’s smiling as I step out.
“That’s the fire I remember,” he says, just before I shut the door.
I take a deep breath and begin the slow walk to the front door, each step heavier than the last. The house looms before me, silent and still. I hesitate at the threshold, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Finally, I push it open and step inside.
Everywhere’s quiet, and I’m thankful for that.
I make my way upstairs, passing my room and heading straight to Finn’s. I knock softly, then push the door open.
And freeze.
Delilah is curled against Finn’s chest, still in her wedding gown, mascara streaking down her cheeks like war paint. Her sobs are muffled, but her pain fills the room like smoke.
“He disgraced me, Finn,” she chokes out.
“I know, cupcake. Cry it out,” Finn says gently, brushing her hair back.
He glances up when he hears the door and meets my eyes. Doesn’t flinch. Just smiles—soft and guilty—and raises one finger like, give me a minute.
I stare at him. Just stare.
And suddenly, I don’t understand why I thought this would be hard.
God. Moments like this are everything.
The last nail in the coffin of years I spent chasing scraps of affection. Years of cleaning up his messes. Of giving, always giving, never receiving a damn thing that didn’t have Delilah’s name written somewhere beneath it.
There was nothing I wouldn’t have done for Finn.
And it took him less than a heartbeat to pick her when his brother gave him the choice.
“Congratulations, Finn,” I say, my voice even. “You got what you wanted.”
Delilah lifts her head, smearing tears over his shirt. Her eyes, rimmed in black, narrow on me.
“What is she doing here?” she asks. “She caused this. She told Hunter. I don’t want her here. Send her away!”
“It’s alright, babe,” Finn murmurs. “I got this.” He turns to me again, eyes almost pleading. “Just for a couple of minutes, Sloane.”
I nod once. “It’s fine. Goodbye, Finn.”
And then I close the door behind me.
The hallway blurs. I don’t even feel the tears at first. Not until one slips warm and slow down my cheek.
I wipe it away and keep moving. Back to my room. To my suitcase. To leaving.
I start pulling my clothes from the drawers and hangers, tossing them in without order. Every motion stings. Every folded shirt, every forgotten sock feels like a piece of me being peeled back.
I hate that I’m crying. But I also don’t stop.
Not until the bag is full, the room empty, and I’m standing in the middle of it all. I take one last look around before heading downstairs.
At the foot of the stairs, I see Victoria by the window, staring out. She turns as she hears me.
“Sloane, dear,” she says. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes.” I descend the last step. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you for the hospitality. I’m really going to miss my stay here.”
“You’re always welcome,” she says coolly. “Is Finn not going with you?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got work tomorrow. Mondays and all.”
“Right.” She tilts her chin toward the window. “Well, have a safe flight—although your choice in companionship is… questionable.”
I don’t need to follow her gaze to know she’s talking about Knox. Whatever history or tension exists between them, I’m not ready to untangle it—not now. Right now, the only thing I am ready for is to get out of here and go home.
I smile faintly. “Thanks again, Victoria.”
I head to the door, but the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs stops me. I look up to see Finn’s father descending, his face red with anger.
“Honey,” he says, not even glancing at me, heading straight for Victoria, “are you aware that Finn snuck that vile woman into this house?”
Victoria’s brows lift. “What vile woman?”
“That Delilah girl.”
“She’s here?”
“In his room.” He growls. “I’ve told that boy what I’d do if I ever saw her in my house. I’m going to set that bed on fire if he doesn’t get her out.”
He starts back up the stairs.
“Sweetheart,” Victoria calls, lifting the hem of her robe as she hurries after him. “Don’t do anything too hasty. Let me talk to him first.”
I hesitate, almost tempted to stay, to see the fallout.
But no. I have a flight to catch.
I step outside and walk toward Knox’s car. He rolls down the window as I approach.
“You’re not even going to change your outfit?” he calls. “Maybe wear something longer?”
“Why?” I shout back. “I love the shorts.”
“Yeah, and now everyone’s going to see the legs that belong to me.”
I roll my eyes and head to the back of his car, tapping the trunk with my knuckles. When Knox opens it, I toss my bag in.
Then I hear it—footsteps pounding across the porch. I turn to see that Finn has burst out of the house, his hair a mess, Delilah trailing behind him in her wedding gown.
“Sloane!” he yells. “What the hell? Where are you going?”
I don't answer. Just open the passenger door, slide into Knox’s car, and slam the door shut.
My hands tremble slightly as I click the seatbelt into place.
Finn is yelling something again, something unintelligible.
Knox glances at me. “You didn’t tell him you were leaving?”
“No.”
Knox shifts into gear but waits. Finn's sprinting toward us now. He reaches the car just in time to slap the side mirror and grab the locked door handle, rattling it like it might give way.
“I’m coming for you, Knox!” he shouts. “You won’t get away with this!”
Knox rolls his eyes. “Very original.”
He presses the gas, and we lurch forward. In the rearview mirror, I watch as Finn kicks a hedge in frustration and Delilah just stands there, arms wrapped around herself, looking like a broken doll in silk.
My phone starts ringing.
Finn.
I silence it and stare out the window.
“You’re going to have to confront him, you know,” Knox says.
“I don’t want to.”
“I didn’t think you were capable of ghosting anyone. Let alone Finn.”
“Well,” I murmur, “you don’t know me very well.”
“But I will, Bunny. Or should I call you Cat?”
“Just drive, Knox,” I say, smiling despite everything.
The phone rings again. And again. Message notifications come next. I don't open a single one.
Finally, I power it off.
We drive in silence for a while, winding through the edges of Asheville, until we get to the airport. We pass through the private terminal and onto the tarmac. The jet awaits, and after a few minutes of processing, we're boarding.
Inside, I come face-to-face with Hunter.
He's sitting by one of the windows, knocking back whiskey like it’s water. When he sees me, he freezes.
“Hunter—” I start, mostly out of exclamation rather than actually having something to say.
“Don’t,” he says. “I’m only on this flight because I need to leave this place immediately. And Knox had already paid. So we’re just passengers. Nothing more. You two sit there. I sit here. No communication.”
I nod.
Knox mouths, “So sorry,” as he leads me to the seats near the rear. I settle into one by the window, and he takes the one beside me, keeping one of his hands on my lap.
Hunter glares at us for a moment longer, then looks away. His gaze is fixed firmly out the window now, jaw clenched, knuckles white around his whiskey glass.
This is going to be a long, awkward flight.
But what is even more unsettling is the thought of what happens when Finn comes back home. He knows where I live. He knows where I work. He has the contact information of everyone in my life, and I know how relentless he can be when he wants something. What if he decides not to let me go?