All Chapters of LOVE ME LIKE A CURSE: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

I don’t remember much of the walk back home. The city blurred into muted colors, all concrete and streetlamps, and faceless strangers. My heels clicked against the pavement like a ticking clock, every step reminding me of the folder still clutched against my chest. The envelope had weight—far more than a bundle of paper should carry. Weight that pressed into my ribs, into my lungs, until I wasn’t sure if I was breathing normally at all. — "maybe I was hallucinating!" By the time I pushed open the front door of our apartment, the smell of fried onions and garlic hit me. Rhea’s doing, obviously—she always tried to cook when she was anxious, and she’d been chewing her nails all morning because of my interview. Elias’s voice drifted from the living room, rising above the hum of the small table TV. “Finally!” he called before I’d even shut the door. “I thought they’d kidnapped you.” I rolled my eyes, dropping my bag on the console table. “Hi to you too.” “You’ve been gone for hours,

The taxi ride home was quieter than I expected. The city buzzed outside the window—horns, chatter vendor's calling—but inside the cab, there was only the hum of the engine and the steady weight of the box on my lap. I held it carefully, as if the fabric inside might bruise. The ID badge, already clipped around my neck, rested cool against my chest, swinging gently with every bump in the road. I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up with a wall of notifications. Rhea (12 missed calls). Rhea (7 messages). Elias (1 message, unread). I sighed, scrolling through them quickly. Bella, where the hell are you??” “You left without waking me up?? Not even a note??” “Do you have a death wish???” “Seriously answer me before I come hunting you down.” “You better not be dead, I swear to god—” “Pick up, Arabella. PICK. UP.” “Okay, fine. If you’re dead, I’m selling your brother.” I couldn’t help it—I laughed softly, biting my lip. That last one was classic.. Rhea: Love disgui

“You’d get used to her, It’s just a matter of time,” the girl murmured, eyes on her screen, fingers flying. Her voice carried that flat, practiced calm of someone who’d learned to survive by not reacting. I swallowed, the echo of Mrs. Lanchester’s heels clicking in the back of my skull. “Does anyone actually get used to her,.. is she always like this?” I asked, keeping my voice low enough that it wouldn’t travel. A half-smile tugged at the girl’s mouth, there and gone. “Define ‘used to. "I’m Maya, by the way. Desk 5C.” She nodded toward the long row to the left. “You’re by the window—5B. That stack of binders is yours.” I looked at the stack. There were five of them, each the size of a small brick, neatly labeled in silver on charcoal: STYLE GUIDE, VERSION CONTROL, BRAND ARCHIVE, CLIENT INDEX, REQUESTS & REVISIONS. “Thanks,” I said and slid into my chair. The cushion gave a prim, unsentimental squeak. “For the record,” Maya added, still not looking at me, “she meant it abou

SCENE CON'TD --- Cassian’s jaw hardened, but he did not rise. His voice was measured, even as fear, trembled beneath it. > “Threats, Malrath’Thorne, are the weapons of those who can not argue with reason.” Kaelith took another step forward into the circle of light, crimson eyes fixed on him like brands pressed against flesh. > “And reason, Cassian, is the coward’s shield when his courage fails him.” The court stirred. Elder Nyx’s lips curved faintly, as if savoring the sparks that ignited between them. Valerian’s massive hand clenched the arm of his throne, and even Seraphine tilted her head, eyes glittering. Druvien’s laughter came then, soft. > “Three convocations, you say? Tell me, Virell—what truth has been spoken in our absence? What secrets crept through these halls while our chairs were left to gather dust?” Cassian’s eyes narrowed. > “Do not twist absence into accusation. If you had stood among us, you would know.” > “Then speak,” Druvien pressed, his s

The hallway smelled faintly of old wood polish and lavender cleaner, that lingering mix Rhea insisted on spraying every morning as if scent alone could keep the apartment feeling fresh. Arabella paused outside the door, her keys tight between her fingers. She had texted earlier—I’m coming home—but her phone battery had been low, and when she slipped it into her bag, she hadn’t checked if the message was delivered, Maybe Rhea saw it. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it didn’t matter. The truth was, Arabella felt heavy all over again, as if each step up the stairs had been dragging chains behind her. She wanted nothing but the false comfort of her bed, the dim quiet of her room, She turned the key, pushed the door open, and at first, it was just sound that met her. A low rhythmic thud. A muffled gasp. then laughter. Male. Careless. Arabella froze in the entryway, her bag still slung over her shoulder. For a moment, she thought maybe Rhea had friends over, Maybe a movie or music was on too lou