Blurred Edges

I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe. Dad and Isabella are still talking, but their voices blur into white noise. Oliver stands there like a goddamn ghost, completely unfazed, like we’re strangers.

Like we’ve never met.

My fingers twitch at my sides. I can feel his eyes flick to me, but there’s nothing there—no recognition, no reaction. Just cool indifference.

Is he pretending? Or does he really not remember?

I barely register Isabella’s voice until her hand touches my arm. “Jude? Are you okay?”

I force a nod, throat tight. “Yeah. Just—long night.”

She smiles like she understands, but she doesn’t. None of them do. Dad watches me like he’s expecting something—an attitude, a fight, a reason to start another argument—but I can’t deal with that right now. Not with Oliver standing there, acting like we’re total strangers.

“I’m gonna go to my room,” I mutter, already moving past them.

"Jude! Come back here." Dad calls after me, but I don’t stop. I take the stairs two at a time, push into my room, and shut the door before my hands start shaking.

I throw myself onto the bed, trying to relax—trying to breathe—while everything around me spirals. Seriously, Dad’s letting another woman move in. Just like that. Like Mom was a chapter he couldn’t wait to tear out. And now they’re parading through the house, hauling boxes like it’s no big deal, stomping all over what’s left of my story without a second thought.

I press my hands over my ears, desperate for silence, but it’s no use. I still hear them in the hallway—her heels against the floorboards, their laughter echoing through the walls, like some cruel joke at my expense. As if they’re mocking me. Claiming the house like it never belonged to anyone else.

Later, when the house has settled, there’s a knock.

I swing the door open—and freeze.  

Not Dad. Not Isabella.  

Oliver.  

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “You gonna keep avoiding me?”  

My spine stiffens. “Avoiding *you*? Seriously?” The words come out sharper than I intend. “And you have the nerve to show up here like nothing happened.”  

He steps forward, forcing me back into my own space as if he owns it, then closes the door behind him with a quiet click.  

“Figured you’d want answers,” he says, way too casual for the storm brewing between us.  

My laugh is sharp, but devoid of humor. “You think? Try this—how the hell did I end up in that hotel room, completely naked?”

Oliver exhales, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s already tired of this fight. “You were wasted, Jude. Like, blackout drunk. You threw up all over yourself, and your friends bailed. I just made sure you didn’t choke to death in your sleep.”  

I narrow my eyes. “No. Not my friends. They wouldn’t leave me like that.”  

“Yet they did.” He shrugs, but there’s no apology in it. “Don’t know what kind of loyalty you think you have with them, but you should be careful.”  

A sliver of doubt worms its way in, but I lock it down. “And stripping me was part of your heroic rescue?”  

His jaw tightens. “Your clothes were soaked. I washed them, left them to dry. Believe whatever you want, but I didn’t touch you.”  

I study his face—the steadiness of his gaze, the lack of a tell. The blank spaces in my memory claw at me, twisting my gut. “Convenient how you’ve got an answer for everything. Must’ve rehearsed this before showing up.” My voice hardens. “But tell me one thing—why were you even there?”  

Oliver doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t answer.  

I step closer, heat rising in my veins. “Right. That part, you won’t explain.”  

He holds my stare, unreadable. “It doesn’t matter.”  

A bitter laugh escapes me. “Yeah. It does.”  

The silence between us grows thick, suffocating. Finally, Oliver moves—backing toward the door like he’s done fighting.  

“I didn’t hurt you, Jude.”  

Then he’s gone.  

I stand there, fists clenched, my room suddenly too big and too empty. The only thing louder than his absence is the echo of his words—and the questions still screaming in my head.

But all things considered, I don’t believe him.

Not for a second.

I lie back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Oliver’s words loop in my head, but they don’t add up. In the end, of me wants to believe him—the part that feels exposed, unsettled, desperate for some kind of clarity. But my gut won’t let me. Something doesn’t sit right.

I sift through the night again, chasing memories that slip away like sand. Jace and Lea, the drinks, the bass thudding through my chest. And then—him. The guy in the corner, watching me like he already knew how the night would end. But what did he see? What the hell did I do?

With a sharp exhale, I push myself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. My fingers tighten around my phone as I scroll through unanswered messages, searching for anything that might fill the gaps. But the more I look, the emptier it all feels. Just a hollow space where the truth should be.

I shake off the hesitation and start typing.

Me: Jace, Lea—what the hell happened last night?

Lea answers first.

Lea: Shit, Jude, you good? I had to leave early. You were with Jace when I left.

Jace takes longer. When he finally replies, I wish he hadn’t.

Jace: Dude, you were trashed. Some guy offered to get you a cab, and you left with him. Figured you were good.

A wave of dizziness hits me. My grip tightens around my phone.

Me: A guy? Who?

Jace: Idk. Tall, dark hair. You seemed to know him.

I inhale sharply.

Tall. Dark hair.

Could it be Oliver?

A slow burn of anger rises in my chest.

Me: You let me leave with a stranger?

Jace’s response is instant.

Jace: You said you were fine! He wasn’t dragging you off or anything.

I close my eyes, breathing through the frustration. As much as I want to tear into Jace, I know he wouldn’t have let me go if he thought I was in danger. But still—

The contradiction between Oliver’s version and my friends’ makes my stomach churn. Oliver said my friends bailed. Jace said I left with Oliver. If Oliver is lying, then I need to find out why. But if my friends are the ones twisting the truth…

Then Oliver showed me a kindness I didn’t deserve. And that thought? It unsettles me more than I’d like to admit.

I shake my head, pushing the thought away. There’s no way Jace and Lea would lie to me. Oliver is the unknown variable. And I don’t trust variables.

My phone vibrates again, another message flashing across the screen.

Zane: Forgive me, my love. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right. I know I messed up—I'll admit it. That’s why I want to see you tomorrow. I have a surprise for you. Text me back, and I’ll tell you where to meet me.

My breath stutters. Since when does Zane own up to his mistakes?

I stare at the message, fingers hovering over the keyboard. This could be a turning point. A real apology, maybe even a chance to make him see that I wasn’t just something he could toss aside and come back to whenever he pleased.

Or it could be just another game.

I exhale slowly, my mind tangled between the past

and the present, between ghosts and strangers, between trust and suspicion.

Do I answer him?

Or do I finally let him go?