Page 66 of Covetous

I’m not mad at you. I’m pissed at Ian. He deserves to have the shit kicked out of him. But I won’t let that happen because I don’t want Victor to get in trouble. I need to call Quentin for reinforcement. He’ll know what to do.

Normally, I’d freak out at the thought of her dragging their older brother into this, but I’m past that. Whatever keeps Victor out of the drama—my drama—I’m all for.

Me

Thanks, Is.

My phone slips from my grasp, clattering against the countertop. I lean over the sink as I imagine the potential fallout of Victor’s actions. I want to shield him, to stop him from doing something he’ll regret, and I’m terrified of what might happen if he confronts Ian. Guilt eats away at me.

“Did he say something to you on his way out?” Yasmine’s voice is sharp now, protective.

“He’s a jerk,” I say, my weak attempt at humor falling flat. The lie rolls off my tongue, smooth and automatic, but it tastes like poison. When all this is over, and I’m ready to face it, I’ll tell her how fucking amazing Victor is. That he’s the love of my life.

“Yeah, I gathered that.”

I grip the countertop, struggling to keep my voice even. “But I’m fine. Now, can I please have some privacy?” I need her to let me be, just for a moment, needing the space to slow my spinning world.

“Take your time. My boobs are killing me. I’m going to go feed Liam.”

“Okay. He had a bottle about three hours ago,” I say through the door that separates us.

“Perfect.” Another beat of silence follows. Yasmine’s voice softens, probing gently for the truth. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m…on my period,” I say, the lie easier to tell than the truth.

Yasmine hums a sympathetic sound. “Cramps?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I have some Midol in my purse. Want some?”

“No, I’m good.” Another attempt at a laugh falls from my lips.

“I brought you a pumpkin spice latte. But do you want some tea? I can make some for you.”

The corners of my mouth twitch upward for the first time in hours. “No. The latte is perfect,” I say, a genuine note of gratitude warming my words. But even as I try to find comfort in the small gesture, my mind races with the guilt and fear of what’s to come.

“’Kay. I’ll leave it in the kitchen,” she says, her footsteps receding.

“Thanks, Yazzy,” I call out, making sure my voice carries through the door, past the walls I’ve put up, letting her kindness seep through the cracks just a little.

Emerging from the bathroom, I try to smooth out my expression, to wash away the signs of my breakdown. The living room’s stillness is a relief, offering a moment to steady myself. Yasmine must still be upstairs with Liam, oblivious to the storm that’s just torn through my life.

The gleam of the discarded ring catches my eye, now a harsh reminder of a path I’m no longer walking. Sliding it onto my finger feels like slipping into a costume, a role I once auditioned for. I grab a bridal magazine from the coffee table drawer and flip through it. The pages are thick with futures that seem like they belong to someone else.

Yasmine returns holding Liam, her new pixie cut catching my eye. “Oh, hey,” I say with a genuine smile. “I love your hair.”

With a grin, she plops down next to me. “Thanks.”

Pasting on a smile, I step into the role I’ve made for myself. We fall into a familiar rhythm, and for a moment, I can almost pretend everything’s normal. Our chat shifts to dress choices, to futures that once seemed so certain.

As we talk about the wedding and the life I just set ablaze, Esme breezes in through the front door, her voice cutting through our conversation. “Traffic was ass today. I swear to God, everyone needs to stop moving to Texas.”

I blink, caught off guard by her sudden presence.

“Uh, hey,” Yasmine says, her pitch an octave too high, and I can see the gears turning. She thought Esme was upstairs because why else would Victor have been here?

Esme doesn’t miss a beat, complimenting Yasmine on her hair and fawning over Liam with her effortless charm. “Welp. I’ll be upstairs.” And just like that, she’s gone without ever acknowledging me. Not that I acknowledged her.

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