Chapter 88 Chapter eighty-eight
Lena’s POV
The door clicks shut behind me, and the silence rushes in like it’s been waiting.
For a moment, I just stand there, my back pressed to the wood, my fingers still curled around the handle. Somewhere down the hall, I hear muted voices — security changing shifts, the house settling into night. Everything sounds normal. Safe.
I should feel relieved.
Instead, my chest feels too tight, like there’s something inside me pressing outward, demanding space.
“Get it together,” I whisper to myself.
My voice sounds small in the quiet.
I cross the room slowly, my footsteps muffled by the rug. The lamp on my bedside table glows softly, casting warm light over the neatly made bed, the folded throw at the foot, the open book I haven’t touched in days. Avery’s been hovering since everything ended, trying to make my life look gentle again.
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands.
They’re steady.
That’s what scares me.
Because everything else feels like it’s vibrating.
My phone buzzes.
I flinch before I even realize I’m doing it, my heart jumping into my throat. Then I see the name on the screen.
Avery
I hesitate, then answer.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Did I wake you?” she asks.
“No. I wasn’t sleeping.”
There’s a pause on the other end, the kind that means she knows exactly what that means.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
I let out a breath. “Define okay.”
She sighs. “He left already?”
“Yes.”
“How did it go?”
I think of Sebastian’s voice earlier — calm, controlled, careful. The way he framed everything as protection. The way his hand rested on mine, warm and sure, like he believed we were finally past the worst of it.
“It was… good,” I say. “Really good.”
“That doesn’t sound like relief.”
I close my eyes.
“Avery,” I murmur, “what if the danger wasn’t the hardest part?”
There’s another pause, heavier this time.
“Lena,” she says gently, “what aren’t you saying?”
I look around my room, at the walls that have heard too many of my secrets already.
“I’m tired,” I say instead. “I just needed quiet.”
She doesn’t push — not yet.
“Okay,” she says. “But I’m right here. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Promise you’ll sleep.”
“I’ll try.”
We hang up, and the silence rushes back in, thicker now.
I lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift as the air conditioner hums softly. My mind drifts backward without my permission, like it always does when I’m too still.
Wes’s laugh echoes in my memory — unfiltered, reckless.
“You overthink everything,” he’d said once, nudging my shoulder. “Just let it happen.”
I’d rolled my eyes at him. “Some of us like knowing where we’re going.”
“And some of us like the crash,” he’d replied, grinning.
I swallow hard.
We were young. We were careless. We were never meant to last.
But we mattered.
I sit up abruptly, my breath shallow.
“Stop,” I tell myself out loud.
This isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about consequences.
Sebastian’s face flashes in my mind now — not angry, not cruel, but exhausted. The man who carried guilt like a second skin. The man who finally apologized without excuses.
No more lies, he’d promised.
And I believed him.
That’s the problem.
I reach for my phone again, scrolling aimlessly until I stop on Sebastian’s name. The last message sits there, simple and unassuming.
Sebastian: Rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I type a reply, then delete it.
Type again.
Delete.
What would I even say?
By the way, I used to love your son.
The words feel radioactive just sitting in my head.
My phone buzzes again, and this time I don’t jump.
It’s Sebastian calling.
I freeze.
For a second, I consider not answering. But that feels like a betrayal of everything we just agreed on.
I swipe to accept.
“Hey,” I say.
“Did I interrupt?” His voice is low, familiar, careful in that way that makes my chest ache.
“No,” I lie. “I was just… thinking.”
He exhales softly, like he understands too much already. “I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
He hums quietly. “That wasn’t what I asked.”
I close my eyes.
“I’m safe,” I correct.
“That part matters,” he says. “But I meant you.”
I picture him wherever he is — probably standing by a window, city lights reflecting off glass, one hand in his pocket, carrying the weight of too many things.
“I’m just tired,” I say.
“Then sleep,” he replies gently. “You don’t have to hold everything together tonight.”
I almost laugh.
If only he knew.
There’s a brief silence, comfortable but dangerous.
“Wes called earlier,” Sebastian says casually.
My heart stutters.
“Oh?” I manage.
“Yes. He’s still on his trip. Complaining about hotel food.”
I force a small smile into my voice. “That sounds like him.”
“He asked about you,” Sebastian adds.
The room feels smaller.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“That you’re doing well,” he replies. “That you’re safe.”
My fingers dig into the sheets.
“And?” I prompt.
“And that some things aren’t his to worry about.”
I don’t know whether that should make me feel relieved or terrified.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m listening.”
Another pause. Then, softer, “Lena… if you ever feel like something’s too heavy to carry alone—”
“I know,” I interrupt quickly. Too quickly. “You told me. No more lies.”
He hesitates, like he’s weighing something.
“Yes,” he says finally. “That’s what I said.”
We end the call shortly after, neither of us pushing further. When the screen goes dark, I stare at my reflection in it — my face pale, my eyes too bright.
I swing my legs off the bed and pace the room, my thoughts spiraling.
How did I end up here?
Between father and son. Between past and present. Between truths that refuse to stay buried.
I didn’t choose this.
But I’m choosing to keep the secret.
For now.
I stop in front of the window and look out into the night. The city glows, indifferent and endless. Somewhere out there, Wes is living his life, unaware that his past is standing in his father’s bedroom, unraveling quietly.
Somewhere else, Sebastian believes the worst is over.
I press my forehead to the glass.
This truth will come out.
I don’t know when.
I don’t know how.
I only know that when it does, it won’t feel like survival.
It will feel like impact.
And this time, there won’t be an enemy to arrest or a threat to neutralize. Just choices. And consequences. And people who won’t walk away unchanged.
I wrap my arms around myself, breathing slowly, grounding myself in the quiet.
“I survived the man who wanted to destroy us,” I whisper into the empty room.
“I don’t know if we’ll survive the truth.”