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Chapter Fifty-Two: Heavy Rain and Broken Glass

مؤلف: Diva.dazzel
last update تاريخ النشر: 2026-08-03 00:06:22

​The world blurred into a terrifying haze of speed and static.

​I didn't take a cab. I couldn't wait for traffic, couldn't sit still in a backseat while my chest felt like it was caving in. My phone was blowing up in my coat pocket—notifications from campus blogs, fashion forums, and random followers freaking out over Malik’s Instagram story—but I ignored every single chime.

​My lungs burned, my legs ached, and tears stung my eyes as I practically sprinted the five blocks toward Dom’s high-rise
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  • nineteen and unravelling    Chapter Fifty-Two: Heavy Rain and Broken Glass

    ​The world blurred into a terrifying haze of speed and static.​I didn't take a cab. I couldn't wait for traffic, couldn't sit still in a backseat while my chest felt like it was caving in. My phone was blowing up in my coat pocket—notifications from campus blogs, fashion forums, and random followers freaking out over Malik’s Instagram story—but I ignored every single chime.​My lungs burned, my legs ached, and tears stung my eyes as I practically sprinted the five blocks toward Dom’s high-rise apartment building.​Please don't shut me out, I prayed silently with every frantic step, my boots slamming against the pavement. Please, Dom. Don't build a wall I can't break down.​I burst through the glass doors of his lobby, completely ignoring the surprised look from the doorman, and slammed my hand against the elevator button. The ride up to the top floor felt like an eternity. When the steel doors finally slid open, I practically ran down the carpeted hallway, stopping outside his door.

  • nineteen and unravelling    Chapter Fifty-One: Cold Closure and Hot Smoke

    ​I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the wooden floorboards, my hands shaking so violently I couldn't keep them still. I hadn't slept a single second. The cold, flat echo of Dom’s voice—the devastating distance in his dark eyes when he said "I see you"—was playing on a relentless, agonizing loop in my head.​The front door of the loft opened, and a second later, Chris and Bianca walked into my bedroom. Chris was carrying two hot iced lattes, but the moment his eyes landed on my blotchy, tear-stained face, he nearly dropped them on the rug.​"Oh, sweetie, no," Bianca breathed, setting her bag down and rushing to sit beside me on the mattress. She pulled me into a soft hug, while Chris dropped to his knees right in front of us, taking my trembling hands in his.​"What happened, Kels?" Chris asked gently, his usual sassy flair melting into pure concern. "Did you and Dom fight about the Malik gig?"​"I ruined it, guys," I sobbed, the tears burning down my cheeks all over again

  • nineteen and unravelling    Chapter Fifty: Bitter Soup and Honest Scars

    ​The scent of scorched garlic and burnt peanut paste was thick enough to choke a horse. ​I stood in the center of Dom’s sleek, marble-topped kitchen, holding a massive wooden spoon, staring down at the bubbling, dark-brown tragedy inside his expensive Dutch oven. It was supposed to be a warm, cozy weekend morning—just Dom and me hiding out from the world in his high-rise, taking a break before the impending madness of styling Malik. ​Dom was leaning against the kitchen island, dressed in low-slung grey sweatpants and a white tank top that showed off every sharp line of his shoulders. He held a small silver spoon, dipping the very tip into the pot before lifting it to his lips. ​He swallowed. His dark blue eyes went wide for half a second, his jaw locking tight as he tried to process the taste. ​"So?" I asked, resting my hands on my hips, looking up at him expectantly. "Be honest." ​Dom slowly set the spoon down on the counter, taking a long, deliberate sip of his ice water befor

  • nineteen and unravelling    Chapter Forty-Nine: Frequencies and Shadows

    ​The backstage room at the Grand Regency Ballroom was a maze of garment racks, rolling mirrors, and hums of nervous energy. ​When Dom had called that morning to tell us his band had been booked to perform at a high-society birthday gala, I hadn't expected the scale of it. It was an elite, star-studded affair, and Dom—knowing The Archives was looking for every opportunity to build our portfolio—had insisted that our brand be the ones to handle the band's styling and wardrobe for the night. ​"Keep still, Harrison," I murmured, stepping close to adjust the lapels of his custom dark charcoal suit jacket. ​Dom stood on the low wooden pedestal, letting my hands work over his chest. He wasn't wearing a tie; the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, giving him that effortless, dangerous edge. ​"You're making me nervous, Vance," Dom drawled, his low voice vibrating right against my knuckles as I smoothed down his shoulders. ​I looked up, meeting his dark blue eyes. Up clo

  • nineteen and unravelling    Chapter Forty-Eight: The Harrison Estate

    ​"If this is what your 'starter home' looks like, I’m quitting fashion to become a full-time Harrison," Chris breathed, his mouth practically hanging open as the Jeep rolled past the massive, wrought-iron gates.​The drive to the Harrison estate hadn't even taken an hour, but the second we crossed onto the private, tree-lined estate, it felt like entering a completely different country. A sprawling, modern-classic stone mansion stretched out against the clear blue sky, framed by manicured lawns, marble fountains, and floor-to-ceiling glass windows that practically screamed old money.​Dom glanced in the rearview mirror, a small, amused smirk playing on his lips. "It's just the family house, Chris. Don't embarrass me."​"Embarrass you?!" Bianca squeaked from the back seat next to Chris, her phone already pulled out and aimed at the windshield. "Dom, this isn't a house, this is a five-star resort! Look at the lighting over that courtyard! Kelsey, move your head, I need an aesthetic stor

  • nineteen and unravelling    Chapter Forty-Seven: The Four-Letter Word

    ​The late afternoon sun spilled into my bedroom through the high loft windows, painting the wooden floor in warm, honey-gold light. The smell of paint thinner and coffee still lingered faintly in the air, but for the first time in days, the suffocating knot in my chest was completely gone. ​I sat cross-legged on my bed, leaning against a pile of plush velvet pillows, with my laptop resting on my lap. The screen chimed as the FaceTime video call connected, and my mom’s familiar, warm face popped up in crisp high-definition. ​"There’s my big star!" my mom greeted, grinning warmly from her sunny kitchen back home. "Or should I say, my favorite little fugitive?" ​"Mom, please don't call me that," I groaned, laughing softly as I hid my face in my hands. "It was an administrative dismissal. No criminal record, I promise." ​"I know, honey. I’m just glad you’re safe," she said, her expression softening into that deep, maternal affection that always made me feel ten years younger. "And I

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