“I deserved that punch. I won’t hit you back,” he said, breath ragged. “But it’s the truth. If you hadn’t said those things, I wouldn’t have brought the phone to her. I thought you didn’tlove her. You made it look like she was nothing but a burden. We all thought you didn’t feel anything for her.”
He stepped forward, his expression twisted in frustration.
“You acted cold, distant,” he said, jabbing a finger toward Lucas’s chest. “You never showed her any sort of affection in front of any of us. You made everyone believe she meant nothing to you. If you didn’t treat her like she was nothing compared to Amelia…do you really think any of us would’ve dared say something to push her away from you?”
Lucas’s body buckled, knees giving out as he clutched the edge of the bar to stay upright. His chest heaved. He couldn’t catch his breath. His legs trembled violently, and he bent forward, gripping the counter with one hand while the other clawed at his thigh as if holding himself together.
His body was shutting down. His thoughts were collapsing.
Taylor rushed to his side. “Hey—Lucas! You need to sit down.”
But Lucas didn’t respond. He wasn’t breathing right. His chest was rising in sharp jerks, his face drained of all color. It was like his body wasn’t listening anymore—paralyzed under the weight of guilt, heartbreak, and fear.
The pain was everywhere.
“I… You’re right,” Lucas choked, his voice cracked with guilt. “I’m the one who deserves to burn in hell. I should be the one getting beaten. I deserve every worst thing in the world… not Emily…”
He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
He choked on a sob and crumpled forward, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. The tears fell freely now, hitting the floor in silence.
His body was stiff, trembling, barely able to move. He looked like a man completely shattered.
After what felt like forever, Lucas straightened with a deep, ragged breath. He wiped his face, eyes still glazed with agony, and started walking toward the exit.
Taylor chased after him. “Where are you going? Lucas—you can’t even walk straight! Where the hell are you going like this?”
Lucas didn’t look back. “To fix what I broke.”
***
The shimmer of lights always bothered Emily. Flashing bulbs, neon glows, bars with flickering brilliance that made her dizzy.
But tonight, sitting alone, she craved them. Because right now, those blinking lights were the only proof her eyes still worked.
Everything else was pitch black.
She sat stiffly in a dim corner booth, surrounded by clinking glasses and murmured conversations but she couldn’t hear or see any of it. Everything was a blur. Her fingers trembled as they curled around another vodka shot.
She reached for another vodka shot—her ninth. Or was it her tenth? She didn’t care.
She lifted it with slow, mechanical movements and downed it, the burn sliding down her throat like punishment. But even that couldn’t drown out the ache surging in her chest.
Her knuckles tightened on the empty glass.
She didn’t want to feel anything. She was trying not to.
But the pain kept clawing its way up, tearing her apart from the inside.
Those memories felt like they were happening all over again.
How he’d left her bleeding on the street. How he’d said “Let me know when she dies.” How he'd ignored every terrified call. How she’d been hit, broken, and still reached out... only to be discarded like nothing.
Every second played on repeat in her mind like fresh wounds ripped open, making her question everything. Her heart, her love, her worth.
How could Lucas leave her to die like that?
She had spent five whole years loving him. Blindly. Fiercely.
