Chapter 26 Betrayal Tastes Bitter

Chapter 26 Betrayal Tastes Bitter


I spend the next three days becoming a ghost. Not the invisible kind, though—I still show up to classes, still sit where I’m supposed to, still laugh at the right moments so no one suspects. But inside, I’m a shadow of myself. My body moves, but my mind is somewhere else. Back in that courtyard. Back in the heat of his mouth on mine. Back in the stupid, reckless choice that left me raw and aching.

And Jace notices. Of course he does.

He’s everywhere suddenly. In the halls, leaning against lockers like he owns the air I breathe. In class, turning his head just slightly so I feel his gaze burning into me. At lunch, across the cafeteria, his stormy eyes locked on mine like he’s daring me to look away.

I always do.

The thing is, I can’t face him. I don’t trust myself to. One look and I’ll remember how it felt, how he made me forget everything I swore I’d hold onto. And if I forget again, I’ll lose more than control—I’ll lose the mission, Noah, everything.

So I dodge.

When he lingers by the science wing, I slip out through the art hall. When he waits at my locker, I pretend I left something in the library. When his shadow darkens the cafeteria door, I grab my tray and vanish before he even makes it to the table.

It’s pathetic, but it’s survival.

The third morning, I’m walking fast toward English when a hand slams against the wall in front of me. My heart stutters, and I don’t have to look up to know whose hand it is—broad, strong, veins just visible under skin marked with faint bruises.

“Ava,” Jace says, low and sharp.

The way he says my name makes me flinch. Not because he knows—he doesn’t, not yet—but because he says it like it’s his, like he has the right.

I force myself to meet his eyes. Mistake. They’re blazing, restless, caught between anger and something else I don’t want to name.

“I don’t have time,” I snap, trying to duck under his arm.

He blocks me, shifting closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

I laugh without humor. “Not everything revolves around you, Langston.”

He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “The kiss does.”

My stomach twists. He’s not wrong, and that makes me hate myself more.

“Forget it happened,” I whisper. “It meant nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, his voice rough. “You felt it. Same as I did.”

My chest tightens, but I lift my chin, masking the panic with coldness. “You’re imagining things. Must be convenient—thinking every girl wants you.”

His jaw flexes. For a moment, I see the boy from that night—the broken one, the raw one—but it shutters fast. He steps back, giving me space, but his eyes never leave mine.

“You can run all you want,” he says quietly. “But you can’t hide from what’s between us.”

I turn on my heel and bolt before the tremor in my hands gives me away.

The rest of the week turns into a game of cat and mouse. He corners me in hallways, brushes too close in crowded spaces, sends looks that make my skin burn. Every time, I find a way out. Every time, I tell myself I won.

But each escape leaves me emptier.

By Friday night, exhaustion clings to me like a second skin. I collapse onto my dorm bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I still have control. That I’m still Ava Carter, girl with a plan, not Eva Sinclair, girl unraveling under a boy’s touch.

I’m almost asleep when my phone buzzes. Unknown number.

Stop running. Meet me. Courtyard. Now.

My throat tightens. I don’t need a signature to know who it’s from.

I throw the phone across the bed, roll over, and squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t. I won’t.

But the buzzing won’t stop. Another text. Another. Another. Until the sound drills into my skull.

Finally, I snap. I grab the phone, shove it into my pocket, and storm down the hall.

The courtyard is dark when I push open the door. The night air bites my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the sharpness of his gaze when I find him waiting.

Jace is leaning against the fountain, arms crossed, moonlight catching the angles of his face. He looks untouchable. Unbreakable. And yet his eyes—God, his eyes—are pure chaos.

“Took you long enough,” he says.

I fold my arms, mirroring him. “Say what you need to say. Then I’m leaving.”

He studies me, his silence heavier than words. Then he pushes off the fountain and steps closer, one deliberate stride at a time.

“I don’t care what you tell yourself,” he says finally. “But I care what you’re telling me. So stop lying, Ava. Stop pretending you don’t feel this.”

My throat goes dry. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then look me in the eye,” he challenges, voice like gravel, “and tell me you didn’t want that kiss.”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. The words I need—the lies I’ve rehearsed—die on my tongue.

He sees it. He knows.

Jace exhales, running a hand through his hair, and for a second he looks almost lost. “I’m not asking for forever. I just… I need to know it wasn’t just me. That I’m not losing my mind.”

I should tell him no. I should crush whatever fragile thing is flickering between us before it grows teeth. But the way he looks at me—with desperation, with honesty—undoes me.

So I do the only thing I can. I turn away.

“It doesn’t matter what I felt,” I whisper. “Because it changes nothing.”

The silence that follows is brutal. I hear his breath hitch, then steady.

“Fine,” he says, his voice colder now, harder. “Run, then. Keep pretending. But don’t think I’ll stop chasing you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. The words sting because a part of me wants him to chase. A part of me wants to be caught.

But I can’t.

So I walk away, my legs trembling, my chest aching, the bitter taste of betrayal heavy on my tongue—not his betrayal of me, but mine of myself.

And as I slip back inside, I know one thing for sure: this war isn’t just about revenge anymore. It’s about survival.

Of my plan. Of my secrets. Of my heart.

And I’m not sure which one will give out first.