Page 46 of When Hearts Collide

He nods before slinging his messenger bag over his shoulders and walking out of my office, leaving me in blessed silence.

I flip through the pile of exams, wanting to see what my little lark has come up with.

My lips tilt in a smile as I take in the familiar feminine script, beautiful like art, on one of the papers. Of course, she’s one of the top scorers. A thrill sweeps through me, and I eagerly grip the pages and begin reading. Every answer is immaculately thought out. I can feel her passion in her words. God, she’ll become a damn good educator someday.

Setting aside her test, I take the next exam in the stack, noting the name Jocelyn Song. Interesting. Jocelyn hasn’t been doing well in the class. I wonder if Millie helped her friend study.

My eyes skim over the responses—some are clunky, but the correct sentiments are there. Nonetheless, I’m impressed, since this is a significant improvement compared to her past assignments and exams.

I’m about to set the exam aside, but something stops me…something small and insignificant but raises my hackles.

Frowning, I pick up Millie’s test once more. I scan through the answers, noting the phrase that prickles my mind.

One must consider individual happiness in order to achieve happiness in the group.

She made a similar sentiment in her first paper, the one I read on the plane while traveling back to New York for Dad’s birthday dinner.

Flipping to the same question in Jocelyn’s exam…there it is.

Verbatim.

A breath lodges in my throat as the warmth inside my chest quickly roils and churns, changing flavor. The thumping in my heart becomes a chaotic riot.

Sweat gathers on my upper lip as I review their exams side by side, including the multiple-choice questions. There are differences, a few questions Millie gets right that Jocelyn doesn’t, phrasing of sentences that are slightly different between the two of them. But they express the same sentiments, the same opinions.

I shake my head in disbelief and fall back into my chair.

The furtive glances between her and her friend. Her sitting in the back of the room. Every little innocuous move from this morning. The complete one eighty in Jocelyn’s performance on this test.

Something is off. This doesn’t make any sense.

My lungs ache. My breathing comes in heavy pants. I can only come to one conclusion in my mind.

Cheating.

The word echoes in my mind. But it can’t be. She can’t be a cheater. She can’t be the same as the others. She can’t be the same as her.

“You’re a fucking cheater, Sydney.” I staggered back as I stared at the beautiful girl in front of me, the girl of Maxwell’s dreams…and of mine.

“Ryland, please. You don’t understand. I…I love him too. But we married too young. I don’t think I realized, but I’ve learned it’s possible to love two people at the same time. I can’t get you out of my mind, Ryland.” She stepped forward, each movement a betrayal to my brother, her husband, the man she eloped with after high school graduation.

I’d never seen Maxwell so happy before. The sparkle in his eyes. His usually rare smile not leaving his face. It was like he stepped into the sunlight from the shadows, and he was warm for the first time.

He told me the other night, before we went back to our rooms at the estate, “I’m so happy, Ryland. This curse is bullshit. Look at us, we’re still standing. Sydney is still alive and well. We beat the curse. And one day, in a few years when I’m older, I can tell Dad. I’ll tell him I don’t need to marry some girl I don’t know. I already have a wife I love, and everything is fine. All fucking superstitions.”

Tears fell from her lush green eyes, marring the soft cheeks I’d admired from afar. She stood an inch before me, my back plastered against the wall in front of my bedroom, which was right next to Maxwell’s room.

“I’ve thought about it. Long and hard. And I realize, if I have to choose, it’ll be you. All along, it has always been you, Ryland. You were the one I first saw at the art exhibit. I remembered losing my breath over you, at the way you smiled at the patrons and gestured to the art. I thought you were Maxwell, that it was your exhibit.”

“Then why did you start a relationship with him?” My heart slammed against my rib cage and I wanted to throw up.

I could’ve loved you. Her sweet smiles, her kind heart. The way she brought light back into the house. The way she’d tease me and make me smile when I had a bad day. The way she was a sore loser when we played Scrabble. How she’d laughed when I brought her a bowl of ice cream as penance. Then Maxwell started losing on purpose, doing everything he could to please his angel.

They were all fucking lies. A disguise hiding an ugly, corrupted heart.

There was no satisfaction in her confession. I’d thought about it before, in the middle of the night, when images filled my mind of the only girl who made my heart skip a beat, even though it wasn’t the thrashing against the rib cage sensation I’d heard about. But it was happiness, a coveted taste of joy. What if she was with me instead? And then the heavy guilt would eat at me, a corrosive acid burning a hole in my gut. Maxwell was so happy with her. He found the happily-after-ever he wasn’t supposed to have. How could I feel this way?

And now, as she stared at me with the eyes I used to love, the tears which should’ve torn my heart into shreds were turning my stomach with revulsion instead. No. This was not what I wanted. I shook my head. I was absolutely disgusted.

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