TWISTED PROMISES (Twisted Path Book 2

Chapter 8

Shane

When I end the call, I just stand there, staring at the screen of my phone, like if I wait long enough, her voice might come back to fill the silence.

I hate that I had to hang up first. Hate that I'm here, surrounded by polished floors and polished liars, while she's back in her apartment alone, trying to pretend she's not breaking too, just like I am.

A dull ache pounds behind my ribs. Grief, guilt, fury—all of it twisting so tight it feels like it might crack me open. Because I know what's coming for her. The headlines. The photos. The perfect fucking lie we're about to feed the world.

And she'll have to see it all. She'll have to endure it. There's no way around it, but at least for now, I know she'll be safe from the gossip. And when I'm finally with her again, we'll sit together, go through everything they're saying. I'll hold her hand, answer her questions, and remind her that no matter what the world thinks, my heart only belongs to her.

I press my thumb to the phone screen, over my favorite picture of her, like I can somehow reach through and touch her. It was taken in front of our little tree, right after I gave her the Andromeda ornament. She's always beautiful, but that night, even more so.

Her rosy cheeks. That rare, uninhibited smile she only ever shows me. The glassy look in her eyes as she stared at the tree in awe.

The memory makes me exhale, shaky and slow. The love and grief inside me fuse together into a cocktail of anger and pain that damn near chokes me.

I'm so sorry, pretty girl.

I'm so goddamn sorry.

But then her words echo in my mind, soft and certain, wrapping around every fractured piece of me: Don't let them break you, Shane.

My throat closes.

And then my own voice, raw and quiet, answers her memory: They can't, anyway. I'm not theirs to break. I'm yours, Becca.

God, I needed that. To hear her voice. More than air. More than my next breath.

The grief is still here. So is the rage and the ache so deep it feels like it's burrowed into my bones. But under all of it, cutting through the storm like a single bolt of clarity, is her. The only real thing I have left in this life of smoke and mirrors.

I draw in a slow breath and let it fill every corner of me, chanting the words over and over, cementing them as truth:

I'm not theirs to break.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

By the time I turn toward the mirrored wall across the room, I've already buried the wreckage. I've swallowed the storm whole and forced it down deep, where no one else can find it.

My spine straightens. My jaw locks in place—serious, but relaxed. And my hands, which seconds ago were trembling, are now still. Steady. Confident.

I look like a Montgomery.

I move like a Montgomery.

But inside, I'm Perseus.

Because no matter what my parents think they're seeing tonight, this isn't obedience. I'm not walking into this night to get engaged to Amanda Kline. I'm walking in to put an end to their games, to face the monster, to bring it to its knees.

This is war.

And tonight marks the beginning of their end.

I won't be their pawn anymore.