The air inside the country club felt stifling, thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and overpriced cologne. I pushed my lobster ravioli around my plate, barely tasting the creamy sauce that once would have been my favorite.The laughter, the clinking glasses, the effortless chatter of people who had never known real struggle—it used to feel like home. Now, it just grated.Across from me, Cameron reached for my hand, his tanned fingers curling around mine with the same easy confidence he carried in everything he did.Once, that touch had been comforting, like that was all I needed. Tonight, it felt like a weight, a heavy weight."Everything alright, Elena?" he asked, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. He was concerned, genuinely so, and that only made the guilt of my thinking twist tighter in my stomach."I'm fine, Cam. Just tired," I said, pulling my hand away to swirl my fork through the mess of sauce and pasta on my plate.It was a lie, one I had been telling so often late
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