I let the fire touch everything.
And now I don’t know what’s left to salvage.
36
COLE
The apartment smells like fresh primer and open windows.
Sunlight cuts across the hardwood floors, scattered with drop cloths, paint trays, and half-finished canvases. It’s the only kind of mess I don’t mind living in—the kind that makes silence feel earned.
I’m standing in front of a five-foot canvas when the front door swings open without a knock.
“So—” Taylor steps inside like she owns the place. “Are any of the rumors true?”
I almost ask how the hell she found me—but I already know. It’s all over the news.
She’s dressed in expensive athleisure, her hair twisted up in a too-perfect bun, face flushed like she power-walked her rage across the city just to get here.
“The ones about my dad are facts,” I say flatly. “At least, most of the ones I’ve seen.”
“I’m talking about the one where you’re fucking Emily—your stepsister.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Is that true?”
I pour another shot of bourbon and toss it back without flinching.
“It’s a simple yes or no, Cole.” Her voice hardens. “Are you having incest sex?”
“No,” I say. Then I pause. “Not like that.”
Her shoulders drop, just slightly.
“Okay. Good. I know the rumor mill gets wild as hell, but that one’s a bit?—”
“I’m in love with my stepsister,” I interrupt. Quiet. Unshaken. “But I loved her before our parents ever got married.”
She blinks. Takes a full step back.
“Would you like to join me for a shot?” I ask, already pouring another.
“There was never a chance of you and me?” she asks. Her voice has thinned.
“No, Taylor.” I glance at her. “I don’t see you like that. You’re like family.”
“Then shouldn’t you see me like that?” she snaps.
“Get out.”
“I told you I was falling for you.”
“I never said it back.”
“You made me think you liked me.”
“How?” I finally turn to her. “I’ve never returned a single advance. Never touched you. Never kissed you. Never misled you.”
“I told Emily I liked you.”
“She told me.”
