Sequel to T H E M. Cannot be read as a stand-alone
THEM IS NO LONGER ON WATTPAD OR ANYWHERE ELSE. THIS BOOK IS NOT 'THEM' SEQUEL.
|Them and Her. For now and Forever|
One brilliant artist. Three dangerous men.
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
"Have you ever been in love, Olivia?" Tamara asked me during a random Saturday night, drunk out of her mind and with a martini clutched in her hand.
I took a sip of my whiskey. "Do I look self-destructive?" I muttered.
"Yes."
I laughed. "You won't even remember this conversation."
She shrugged, her black curly hair fluttering along her dainty shoulders, her dark sharp eyes looking at me with interest. "You never talk about New York," she accused. "Don't tell me you had a bad break-up!"
I shook my head, looking down at my Rolex to see the time. Twenty minutes to the new year.
"Something like that," I said when she kept looking at me. Tamara had this quality to get shit done just by looking at people. That explained why she was such a respected and rich businesswoman.
She raised an eyebrow at me, her dusky complexion shining in the bar lights. She was too fucking beautiful. "Did he break your heart?"
"Multiple times," I muttered.
"Did you break his heart?"
I bit my bottom lip. "Once. Yes."
She tilted her head. "What did you do, Oli?"
"I left them."
She frowned. "Them? Pronouns?"
I chuckled, taking a sip of my whiskey. "Not pronouns. Nope. There were three of them."
A grin came upon her lips. "Oh, you naughty naughty! Why did you leave them?"
"To come here." The only reason I was telling her this was that I was sure she was not going to remember any of this. "Five years back."
She hummed, drumming her pong acrylics on the table. "For the internship, I presume. Why did you not go back after two years?"
I looked down at my hands. "You know why," I muttered.
"Oh, honey." I heard her sigh. "It wasn't your fault."
I blinked the tears away. "I figured they'd not want me now, you know, with so much baggage."
She looked at me, smiling sadly. "It was not your fault."
"Everyone said that yet I'm the one with blood on my hands."
She kept her hand over mine. "Not your fault, Oli. Not your fucking fault, you hear me?"
It was. It was my fault.
I killed the only person who ever truly cared about me.
