CHAPTER 8:

Emma thought about Marcus. About Serah. About Lily and her innocent trust. About the mess she had willingly walked into and the price she might have to pay for staying.

But even as doubt crept in, even as fear whispered warnings in her ear, Emma felt something else rising within her. Something fierce and unyielding.

Determination.

She wasn't going to give up. Not now. Not ever. “ Marcus is a liar.” She said to herself.

That night, Emma lay in bed staring at the ceiling, her mind replaying the day's events over and over again. She could still see the look on Marcus's face when he told her about Serah. She could still hear the casual way he mentioned their ongoing phone calls, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

It made her blood boil.

But beneath the anger was something more dangerous: insecurity. What if she wasn't enough? What if Marcus couldn't let go of his past? What if Serah still held a piece of his heart that Emma could never claim?

"No," Emma whispered into the darkness, her voice firm despite being alone. "I won't let that happen."

She turned onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. She had fought too hard to get here, sacrificed too much to walk away now. Marcus was hers, or at least he would be. She would make sure of it.

Whatever it took.

The next morning, Emma woke with renewed resolve. She showered, dressed carefully in one of Marcus's favorite colors, deep burgundy, and made her way to the beach.

The silence in the beach house had become suffocating.

Marcus sat on the deck long after dinner had ended, nursing a beer he hadn't really wanted. The ocean stretched endlessly before him, dark and restless under the moonlight. He'd been keeping his distance, finding excuses to be anywhere she wasn't.

It was the only way he could breathe.

Behind him, the sliding glass door opened. He didn't need to turn around to know it was her. He could feel Emma's presence like electricity in the air.

"Running away from me again?" Emma's voice cut through the night, sharp and challenging.

Marcus's jaw tightened. "I'm not running from anyone or anything."

"Really?" She moved closer, her bare feet padding softly against the wooden deck. "Because you've been avoiding me since yesterday. Since we—"

"Don't." Marcus finally turned to face her, his voice low and strained. "Don't finish that sentence."

Emma stood there in shorts and stared at Marcus, her hair loose around her shoulders. Even now, even dressed casually, she made his chest ache. Her green eyes searched his face, looking for something he couldn't give her.

"Why are you doing this?" She asked softly. "Why are you pretending nothing happened between us?"

"Because nothing can happen between us," Marcus said firmly, standing up. "You know that, Emma. You know exactly why."

"Because of Sarah?" Emma's voice rose slightly. "Or because you're my best friend's father?"

Marcus flinched at the bluntness of her words. "Both. Either. Does it matter? The answer is the same."

"It matters to me," Emma said, stepping closer. Too close. "Because I felt something yesterday, Marcus. And I know you felt it too. Don't stand there and lie to me about that."

Marcus's hands clenched into fists at his sides. Every instinct screamed at him to maintain distance, to push her away, to be the responsible adult in this impossible situation. But Emma was looking at him with those eyes—vulnerable and fierce and impossibly beautiful, and he felt his resolve cracking.

"What you felt," he said carefully, "was a moment. Nothing more. We were both emotional, both—"

"Stop it," Emma interrupted, her voice trembling now. "Stop treating me like I'm some confused child who doesn't know her own feelings. I'm eighteen years old, Marcus. I know what I feel."

Marcus shot back, his frustration finally breaking through. "I'm old enough to be your father. I'm your best friend's actual father. Do you understand how wrong this is?"

"Is it?" Emma challenged. "Or is that just what you keep telling yourself because you're afraid?"

The accusation hit him like a physical blow. Marcus turned away from her, gripping the deck railing so hard his knuckles went white. "This conversation is over."

"No, it's not." Emma's hand touched his shoulder, and Marcus jerked away as if burned. She pulled back, hurt flashing across her face. "See? You can barely stand to have me touch you. Because you're terrified of what you might feel if you do."

"Emma—"

"Is it because of Sarah?" she asked again, her voice breaking slightly. "Am I... am I just her replacement? Someone who reminds you of what you lost?"

Marcus whirled around, his eyes blazing. "Don't you ever say that. You are nothing like Sarah. Nothing."

"Then what is it about me that makes you run?" Emma's eyes filled with tears, and Marcus felt something inside him shatter. "What is it about me that—"

"It's not about you," Marcus interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. "It's about me. It's about the fact that I have no right to look at you the way I do. No right to want—" He stopped himself, closing his eyes. "This is exactly why I've been avoiding you."

"Marcus—"

"Please," he said quietly, opening his eyes to meet hers. "Please, Emma. Let this go. For both our sakes."

For a long moment, they stood there on the beach, the ocean crashing against the shore below them. Then Emma nodded slowly, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Okay," she whispered. "If that's what you really want."

She turned and walked back into the house, leaving Marcus alone with the weight of his choices and the ghost of what could never be.