Chapter 11: Eyes That Lie

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• The One I Can't Escape   Chapter 49: Through the Lens

  I stand frozen, breath caught in my throat, the photo still clutched in my hand as Isabella disappears into the night.A part of me wants to follow her—right now, right this second.But something anchors me in place.The photo.That smile.That girl.And the undeniable fact that Oliver kept it hidden.I lower the picture slowly, glance at his desk, and that’s when I see it—a shoebox, tucked just beneath the edge of the bookshelf, half-buried under an old hoodie.I hesitate only a second before crouching and pulling it out.The lid isn’t taped. Just gently resting on top like someone planned to come back for it soon.I open it.And everything changes.Inside are more photos.Stacks of them.Some printed in color, some in grainy black-and-white, like they were taken from surveillance footage or grainy websites. Most of them show Isabella—at different ages, with different hair colors,. Sometimes smiling, sometimes crying, sometimes unrecognizable under heavy makeup.But it’s her. Over an

• The One I Can't Escape   Chapter 48: Under the Surface

  By the time I leave the café, the world outside feels… wrong.Too bright. Too loud. Too normal.Lea’s words follow me like a shadow. I knew she wasn't someone clear, but I can’t shake. She’s so dangerous. He’s in serious danger.The taxi ride home is a blur. I don’t remember the driver’s face or the way the city crawled past the window. All I can think about is that string of headlines. Those dead men. The name Isabella D. Rivers printed clearly under the insurance record. And my father—oblivious, kind, vulnerable—caught in the middle of it all.When I finally reach the house, the gate creaks open with its usual whine, but it sounds almost… foreboding today.The living room lights are on.I take a breath and step inside.And there they are.Dad and Isabella.Sitting on the couch like nothing in the world could touch them. She’s curled into his side, red nails stroking the back of his hand in lazy circles. He’s smiling softly at something she just said. The kind of smile I haven’t seen

• The One I Can't Escape   Chapter 47: Ugly Headlines

  Sleep doesn’t come easy.Not after everything.I toss and turn for hours, thoughts clawing at my brain—Zane’s words, Oliver’s silence, my mom’s hand flying across Isabella’s cheek. It all plays in loops, like some cruel highlight reel I can’t shut off.And the dreams?Worse.Zane and Oliver blur together, twisted versions of themselves, arguing in a burning room I can’t escape. One calls me selfish, the other calls me his, and somewhere in the middle, I’m reaching for the door… only it’s gone.I wake up breathless, tangled in sheets, the morning sun already pushing through my window like it owns the place.I groan and reach for my phone, blinking blearily at the screen.29 new notifications.I scroll through them: memes from Cole, a voice note from West, a new playlist from someone I barely talk to, and three event invites I’ll definitely ignore.Then I see it.Lea:Hey. Can we meet? Like—today if you’re free. It’s kind of urgent. Nothing bad, promise.My heart tugs at the word “urgen

• The One I Can't Escape   Chapter 46: still burning

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Zane says, voice too flat to be innocent. He shifts his weight between the crutches under his arms, breathing a little harder from the effort. “I just… wanted to talk to Jude. For five seconds.”Oliver stiffens beside me. “Of course you did.”I step forward, trying to shield the space between them. “Zane, not now.”“No—when, then?” he snaps. “Because I’ve been waiting all day. I thought maybe after what happened earlier, you’d at least reply.”Oliver lets out a short, bitter laugh. “What happened earlier was a mistake.”Zane’s grip tightens on the crutch handles. “Funny. It didn’t feel like one when his lips were on mine.”Oliver surges forward.I react fast, grabbing his arm, holding him back. His body is coiled like a spring, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t move further.“Stop,” I say, voice sharp, heart pounding. “Both of you.”They freeze. Just glaring at each other across the small space between us. I can practically hear the rage humming in the air.“I

• The One I Can't Escape   Chapter 45: No Winners Here

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Zane says, voice too flat to be innocent. He shifts his weight between the crutches under his arms, breathing a little harder from the effort. “I just… wanted to talk to Jude. For five seconds.”Oliver stiffens beside me. “Of course you did.”I step forward, trying to shield the space between them. “Zane, not now.”“No—when, then?” he snaps. “Because I’ve been waiting all day. I thought maybe after what happened earlier, you’d at least reply.”Oliver lets out a short, bitter laugh. “What happened earlier was a mistake.”Zane’s grip tightens on the crutch handles. “Funny. It didn’t feel like one when his lips were on mine.”Oliver surges forward.I react fast, grabbing his arm, holding him back. His body is coiled like a spring, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t move further.“Stop,” I say, voice sharp, heart pounding. “Both of you.”They freeze. Just glaring at each other across the small space between us. I can practically hear the rage humming in the air.“I

• The One I Can't Escape   Chapter 44: What I’m Not Letting Go

  We walk in silence at first.The kind that doesn’t feel awkward. Just full. Heavy with everything that wasn’t said back at the house.The afternoon sun filters through the trees, dappling the sidewalk with gold. A breeze picks up, brushing against my face like a cool hand.We pass familiar streets. The park. The corner store that never updates its window display. Everything’s the same.But not us.Not now.“Sorry you had to see that,” Mom says finally, hands tucked in her coat pockets. “I didn’t come to fight. I swear I didn’t.”“I know,” I say, though my voice sounds smaller than I want it to.She glances at me, her features softening. “It’s just… seeing her there. So comfortable. Like she belongs. It rattled me.”“Did you really keep the house?” I ask.She nods. “I couldn’t let go of it. Not just for me—because of you. You grew up in that house. Your height marks are still on the bedroom doorframe.”I smile faintly. “I forgot about those.”“I didn’t,” she says. “I measured every inc