LOGIN"Owen... you need to cut yourself some slack," she says gently, reaching up to lightly brush her thumb against my cheekbone. "You don't have to be the invincible counselor right now. You just lost your mom, honey. I know how much she meant to you. I know how much you loved her, and I know how hard y
I watch Sydney walk away from me, her spine perfectly straight, her head held high like a queen marching out of a ruined kingdom. Her words—sharp, icy, and dripping with disgust that makes my skin crawl—still echo in the quiet space of the dining room. "While you're busy playing love and playing h
My heart drops into my shoes, a sickening wave of nausea swirling in my stomach. He sharply pulls away after a beat, his hands coming up to grip her shoulders, his face a mix of shock and discomfort. "Camille, what are you doing here? How did you even get past the gates?" "Oh, Owen, I came the sec
I lean in across the dark wood, my jaw tight, waiting for the genius to drop some mind-blowing corporate strategy. Owen slides his glass entirely out of the way, his eyes tracking mine with a sudden, sharp intensity. "The first thing we need to do," he says, leaning his forearms on the table, "is p
I don't wait to hear another word. A blinding, white-hot rush of pure adrenaline and rage explodes in my chest. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my arm whips forward. I throw my phone across the bedroom with every ounce of strength I have left. It hits the far drywall with a sickening smack,
I sit on the edge of the mattress, the silence of my locked bedroom pressing in from all sides. My scalp still burns from where I was aggressively pulling at the tangles earlier, but I barely care. I slowly run a hand through my hair, letting out a long breath that shudders against my teeth. The r
I’m sitting at the massive dining table, feeling like a tiny, insignificant dot, when Owen comes into view. My heart does this annoying little leap at the sight of him, one that I try to control, and as he steadily approaches the table, I realize he’s actually going to sit down. Across from me.
"Are you kidding me? This is a joke, right?" I’m staring at the revised script pages in my hand, and honestly, if the ink weren't still wet, I’d think I’d accidentally picked up a piece of fanfiction. I look up at the scriptwriter and I can feel the vein in my temple starting to throb. "Arthur,
"Yeah." Deckard? Making tea? The Deckard I know wouldn't know how to boil water if his life depended on it, let alone research herbal blends for a recovering patient. He’s a consumer, not a caretaker. Maybe he really was in love with her? But that's out of the question if he's never touched her an
I work quickly, my focus narrowing down to the task. I’m wiping away the blood, trying to be as gentle as possible while my mind is screaming about Lydia and the lever. As I lean in to wrap the white bandage around his forearm, I realize how close we are. I can see the sweat beading on his forehea







