Chapter 30 Chapter thirty
I froze.
It wasn’t the kind of freeze that comes when you’re startled or unsure what to say; it was the kind that takes over every cell in your body, that pins you in place while your mind races in ten directions at once. My chest tightened, my throat closing up as if the air had suddenly turned thick and unbreathable. I could feel my pulse hammering in my wrists.
He’d heard.
Claus had heard, at least, that’s what I thought for a moment. The sound of my own name, spoken by him, made my heart skip in panic. I’d been so careful, so painfully careful, to keep that secret buried, to make sure no one not even Roger knew the full truth. And yet here we were, and Claus was looking at me with that quiet, unreadable expression of his.
But then he spoke, and his tone wasn’t sharp or accusing, it was calm, almost gentle.
That was when I realized: he hadn’t heard everything. Maybe not even much. Relief fluttered up my chest like a bird that had been trapped too long. But before I could grab hold of it, before I could open my mouth and say something Roger jumped in.
“It’s nothing serious,” he said, his voice smooth, confident, almost lazy. He laughed like the whole thing was a joke, like we were just a group of friends sharing some harmless gossip.
I could see the act immediately. I’d seen Roger pull it before, this careful performance of ease and charm. He did it when he was lying, when he wanted to steer the narrative before anyone else could.
“Ellie just had a small wish,” he went on, flashing that grin that never quite reached his eyes. “And I thought I’d tell you, since she’s too shy to say it herself.”
I wanted to stop him. My body even moved slightly forward, my lips parting to protest, but no sound came out. The weight of the room pressed down on me. I was hyper-aware of Claus standing a few feet away, of the faint hum of conversation from the hallway outside, of the low buzz from the fluorescent light above us.
Claus raised a brow. “A wish?”
He sounded amused, curious not suspicious yet. That almost made it worse. Because I knew what was coming. I knew Roger well enough to sense when he was about to twist the knife.
Roger nodded, the grin on his face widening, his eyes glinting with something sharp. “She wished you will convince Sylvia to fully marry his new mate, Julian.”
For a split second, I didn’t understand. The words entered my ears but didn’t land right. And then, slowly, like ice spreading under skin, they sank in.
He was lying.
No, worse than lying, he was weaponizing the truth, bending it just enough to hurt.
My breath caught. I felt it snag in my throat, jagged and painful. My hands started to shake, and I tried to hide them by folding my arms tightly over my chest.
I stared at Roger, disbelief flooding through me so fast it made me dizzy. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing.
His grin widened as our eyes met. There was triumph in it, cold, deliberate triumph.
For a heartbeat, everything around me seemed to disappear. Claus, l the sounds, all gone. Just Roger’s smirk and my own pulse roaring in my ears.
He’d found the perfect way to expose me without saying the real thing outright. He’d taken my private words, the ones I’d whispered one stupid, unguarded night when I thought I could trust him, and twisted them until they were something cruel. Something humiliating.
My stomach turned.
I could feel the heat rising up my neck, that awful prickling burn that meant I was about to cry. Not here. Not in front of them. Please, not here.
Claus was watching me now. His expression had shifted, no longer amused, not quite confused, either. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to piece something together.
“Is that true?” he asked quietly.
His voice wasn’t accusing, but the question hit like a blow. I wanted to explain, to tell him that wasn’t what I’d said, that Roger was twisting things, that it wasn’t about Sylvia or Julian or any of that, it was about something deeper, something I hadn’t even admitted fully to myself.
But my tongue felt heavy. My mouth wouldn’t cooperate.
Roger filled the silence, as he always did. “You know how Ellie gets,” he said lightly, looking at Claus instead of me. “Always thinking about everyone else’s happiness, even when it’s not her place. It’s kind of sweet, actually.”
I could have screamed.
Because that was the real cruelty of it, he made it sound harmless. Like he was protecting me. Like he was the considerate one, smoothing things over, when really he was peeling my skin back in front of someone I cared about.