Romans & histoires Tangled In Real Life

she said, her voice soft and sincere. I hugged her back, feeling grateful for her support. “Thanks, Tasha. It means a lot to have you in my life.” Tasha pulled back and looked at me seriously. “So, let’s deal with this once and for all, what are you going to do about Ralph? Do you think there’s a chance for something more between you two?” I sighed. “I don’t know. It’s all so complicated. But I do know that I want to be with him. I just don’t know if it’s possible.”

“That’s why you have me and Liam ” I bit my lip, embarrassed by the honesty I didn’t usually let anyone see. “I know but then… Liam. He’s… he’s hiding things. Always busy, always somewhere else. And part of me… I feel guilty just thinking about Adrian.” Zara shook her head softly. “Nicole… you’ve got to figure out what you actually want. You can’t let him—or anyone—pull strings over your life.” I let out a long breath, the tension leaving my shoulders just slightly. “I know. I just… I don't even know where to start. Everything’s tangled. Him, Liam, school… my parents…”

he groaned, his grip bruising as he slammed in deeper, ignoring Hayden’s sharp gasp. And as he lost himself in the impossible dream of something he could never have, he tightened his hold around Hayden, burying himself to the hilt, as if he could make it real. Maybe. Maybe, he could.

And whoever was behind this new threat had just made the biggest mistake of their lives. Because Cassian Hale protected what was his—fake, real, or somewhere dangerously in between.

I just lay down beside her, pulling the covers over us. She stirred slightly, her body pressing against mine. I should have kept my distance and reminded myself that she was just another piece in a larger game because this isn't real ,she will wake up the next day and not remember anything. But in that moment, with her curled beside me, fragile in a way I’d never seen before, the game didn’t feel as important. I closed my eyes, the image of her tear-streaked face etched in my mind. But sleep didn’t come easily.

“My name is Isolde Wrenleigh. I was told to speak a truth that wasn’t mine. So here’s the real one.” A pause. In the gallery room above, Penelope’s voice crackled through the comms. “Feed’s active. Global. They’re not blocking it yet.” Dorian: “Keep it moving. She’s rewriting the file headers as she speaks.” Back onstage, Isolde stepped forward. The camera followed. “Velvet isn’t a club. It’s a stage. One that was never meant to free us. Only to train us. My sister didn’t disappear. She was drafted into a war that doesn’t wear medals.

We are real. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, trying to memorize the feel of his skin against mine, the sound of his ragged breathing. This felt like a sacred ritual, a final baptism before we faced the world’s judgment. We were solidifying the memory that would sustain us when the reality of the scandal hit—the memory that proved we belonged together, that we had earned this freedom.

Real. --- My fingers curled slightly against the fabric of my shirt. My breathing uneven again. My thoughts tangled. --- “This doesn’t mean anything,” I said quietly. But the words didn’t carry the same certainty as before. Didn’t feel as solid. As unshakable. --- Because no matter how much I denied it— No matter how much I tried to explain it away— One truth remained. --- I could feel it. --- And if I could feel it— Then it was real.

“Or files.” “Then what?” asked the tech, hesitating. Alex’s eyes flicked to him. “He’s after me.” The silence that followed was heavy. “He’s rewriting reality,” Alex continued. “Changing things that only I’d notice. Numbers that don’t align. Emails that contradict my own memory. It’s not about winning a war — it’s about making me question if I’m even fighting the right one.” He moved around the desk, his every step deliberate, controlled. But beneath that calm exterior, there was tension — a low burn of fury and something deeper: unease.

I scoffed. It all pointed to one unavoidable truth: the Browns weren't just some innocent, happy family caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those lying bastards had skeletons buried deep beneath the polished facade of their life. “You think they faked their own deaths?” Rook asked, his eyes narrowing. “The walls have ears,” I smirked, turning on my heel to walk back toward my bedroom as a familiar, throbbing migraine began to form behind my eyes. “Theo’s party tonight,” he called out as I reached the doorway. “She’s going to be there.”