جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 40

It’s been almost a month since my father’s last business trip. Not that it matters much anymore. I haven’t missed him.And I’m not sure why that doesn’t surprise me. In the past, I’d have spent those long weeks thinking about his return, counting the days until he came home to fill the house with that strange, overpowering joy of his. But now, it feels more like a distant memory—something I once knew, but no longer feel.Maybe it’s because, back then, I wasn’t living in this constant state of low hum, where everything and everyone seems a little out of focus. Maybe it’s because, back then, the house was different. Mom was still here. I didn’t feel like a stranger in my own life.Whatever the reason, I find myself barely registering his absence, just as I don’t exactly feel relief at the thought of his return. The way things are now, with me and Oliver and everything else, I don't know how to fit it all together anymore.I’m standing at the checkout, when the front door swings open. He

They leave the restaurant just past seven.Isabella’s laugh echoes faintly through the night air as she walks beside him, her hand brushing against his arm like it belongs there. Like he belongs there.I signal the driver to stay low and move forward, careful not to lose them.They don’t get back in her car. Instead, they stroll—slowly, intimately—toward a side street where a sleek black vehicle is parked. He opens the door for her. She laughs again, tucks her hair behind her ear, and slides in.The car pulls away.I nod toward the driver. “Follow.”He doesn’t ask questions. Just pulls into traffic, trailing the couple at a safe distance.Ten minutes later, we’re outside Le Cygne Blanc—a discreet boutique hotel nestled between tall hedges and soft-lit trees. Elegant. Private. The kind of place that doesn’t ask too many questions if the last name on the reservation doesn’t match.I sit forward, heart in my throat, as the car rolls to a stop on the opposite curb.Isabella and her myster

Campus feels louder today.Too loud.Too bright.Too full of the kinds of things I can’t run from. People, voices, the press of conversations I don’t want to hear. My headphones are in, but no music’s playing. It’s just silence. My version of armor.I’m halfway across the courtyard when I see him—Zane.He’s leaning against a tree in that annoyingly casual way he has, as if nothing in the world ever affects him. Except now, the crutches ruin the illusion. One under each arm, the weight of recovery showing through the defiance in his stance.And then he sees me.His face lights up, and he starts limping forward with awkward urgency.I can practically hear his voice already: “Jude, wait! Just a second. We need to talk.”God.I don’t have the energy for this.Not today.I pivot on instinct, cutting a sharp turn around the edge of the student center. He calls my name—I don’t turn. I don’t look. I don’t owe him that.But the universe, apparently, thinks I deserve a little extra chaos.Becau

Alan doesn’t smirk when he speaks—he sneers. Like he’s been waiting for this moment.“So we graze where the grass is green, huh?” he says. “When Zane shines, you're with him. When Oliver shines, you abandon Zane like a shipwreck, left to rot at the bottom of the sea while you hop aboard a brand-new boat. And tomorrow, if Oliver stops shining, who will you choose next? The new captain, perhaps?”A few students nearby pause mid-step, ears twitching, catching the tension like static.But I don’t flinch.I meet Alan’s eyes, calm and cutting. “Is that how you live, Alan? Jumping from one spotlight to the next because you’re too scared to stand still in the dark?”His jaw tightens, but I go on.“You talk like you know me, like you ever had the right. But here’s the thing—you weren’t the storm. You were the wreckage. And I’ve already picked who I am, and who I’m not going back to.”I step closer, voice low and sharp. “So here’s your answer: I don’t need a captain. I’m the damn ship.”Alan bl

My father’s month of punishment couldn’t have come at a worse time—right in the middle of exam season. But I didn’t argue. I didn’t complain or plead my case. Maybe I was too tired. Maybe I didn’t want to hear how much more disappointed he could be. Or maybe… maybe silence felt safer than being told, again, how much I’d let him down.Besides, what would be the point?He wasn’t listening anymore.And Isabella? She’s watching. Every step I take now is under her microscope.But that’s fine.If I want to beat her, I can’t charge in like I did last time. I need to play the long game—earn her trust, get close, and wait for her guard to slip. Because I still believe she’s hiding something. And now, with Oliver still by my side, even after everything, I know I won’t have to do this alone.So I start with the trash.Every bin in the house—kitchen, bathrooms, laundry room. It’s disgusting, humbling work. My palms sting from the sharp edge of a broken mug I didn’t see, and the garbage bag leaks