Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Because the healing process isn’t quick. It isn’t clean.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, I forgot to insulate me and Emily from the burns first.
I let the fire touch everything.
And now I don’t know what’s left to salvage.
36
COLE
The apartment smells like fresh primer and open windows.
Sunlight cuts across the hardwood floors, scattered with drop cloths, paint trays, and half-finished canvases. It’s the only kind of mess I don’t mind living in—the kind that makes silence feel earned.
I’m standing in front of a five-foot canvas when the front door swings open without a knock.
“So—” Taylor steps inside like she owns the place. “Are any of the rumors true?”
I almost ask how the hell she found me—but I already know. It’s all over the news.
She’s dressed in expensive athleisure, her hair twisted up in a too-perfect bun, face flushed like she power-walked her rage across the city just to get here.
“The ones about my dad are facts,” I say flatly. “At least, most of the ones I’ve seen.”
“I’m talking about the one where you’re fucking Emily—your stepsister.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Is that true?”
I pour another shot of bourbon and toss it back without flinching.
“It’s a simple yes or no, Cole.” Her voice hardens. “Are you having incest sex?”
“No,” I say. Then I pause. “Not like that.”
Her shoulders drop, just slightly.
“Okay. Good. I know the rumor mill gets wild as hell, but that one’s a bit—”
“I’m in love with my stepsister,” I interrupt. Quiet. Unshaken. “But I loved her before our parents ever got married.”
She blinks. Takes a full step back.
“Would you like to join me for a shot?” I ask, already pouring another.
“There was never a chance of you and me?” she asks. Her voice has thinned.
“No, Taylor.” I glance at her. “I don’t see you like that. You’re like family.”
“Then shouldn’t you see me like that?” she snaps.
“Get out.”
“I told you I was falling for you.”
“I never said it back.”
“You made me think you liked me.”
“How?” I finally turn to her. “I’ve never returned a single advance. Never touched you. Never kissed you. Never misled you.”
“I told Emily I liked you.”
“She told me.”
“She was supposed to be my friend.”
“She still is,” I say gently. “That’s why she didn’t have the heart to say anything. None of this was about hurting you, Taylor. I promise. There was no malice in it.”
She glares at me. Anger, then something else—something hollow—passes through her expression.
“Okay,” she says, voice low. “Taking me out of it... why would you do this to your dad? After everything he’s done for you?”
I don’t answer.
Instead, I turn back to the canvas and dip my brush into a muted blue. My strokes are controlled, deliberate. Because right now, this is the only thing I know how to hold.
When I finally look over my shoulder, she’s gone.
And for the first time all day, I let myself breathe.
36A
EMILY
My mother is sitting on the edge of my dorm room bed with her arms crossed like a judge ready to hand down a sentence.
I have no idea how the hell she got in—or who let her in—but I’m already bracing for the inevitable crowd that’ll gather outside my door. Drama spreads fast in shared hallways.
I drop my bag to the floor and close the door behind me. No words. Just a stare. I wait for her to draw first.
“From here,” she says, eyes dragging over me like I’m a dress she regrets buying, “you almost look like a woman I was proud to call my daughter.”
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
“I don’t know if you were dating him just to spite me, or if you actually slipped and fell on his dick and decided to keep riding it, but I am utterly ashamed of you.”
“You knew how much he meant to me,” she hisses. “He was the love of my life. My one.”
“Every guy is your one,” I snap, the words out before I can stop them. “Like, be fucking for real.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“He was number twenty-one.” My voice cracks. “Twenty. Fucking. One. And I guess I should be grateful we’ve only moved half as many times, right? Small wins.”
“Emily—”
“You want to talk about betrayal?” My breath shakes. “You want to ask me how I could do this to you?”
Her mouth twitches. Defensive. Ready to twist the story in her favor, like always.
“It wasn’t about you.” My voice rises. “Everything isn’t always about you and whatever new guy makes you feel twenty again. I didn’t betray you—I chose you.”
She blinks.
“I loved him.” The words scrape out of me, ragged and raw. “Before you ever got your hands on him, I loved him. And when you moved in, when the wedding happened, when you paraded him around like he was some prize—I let it all go. For you. I gave him up. I swallowed it and I smiled through every family dinner and every fake holiday photo and every time you called him baby.”