Page 33 of The Words of Us

Evie’s expression hardens, but I can see the confusion creeping in. She glances at me, and I can’t meet her eyes. I feel exposed, like all the walls I’ve built around this part of my life are crumbling, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“Who are you?” Evie asks, her voice edged with anger and a hint of fear.

Gareth doesn’t miss a beat. He looks straight at Evie, and when he speaks, his words are like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“I’m her husband.”

Evie’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back, the shock of his words hitting her like a wave. She turns to me, searching my face for some kind of explanation, and all I can see in her eyes is hurt and confusion. My stomach twists, a sickening mix of shame and panic, and suddenly everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control.

“Sasha,” she whispers, her voice cracking, “is that true?”

I open my mouth to speak, to say anything, but the words get stuck, tangled in the mess of everything I’ve been trying to keep hidden. I feel the world closing in, the weight of Gareth’s presence, the betrayal in Evie’s eyes, and for a moment, I’m not sure what to do. The truth is out, and it feels like the ground has just been ripped out from under me.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. This isn’t how Evie was supposed to find out. But now, standing in the cold, empty street, with Gareth smirking at me and Evie’s hurt gaze piercing through, I realize I can’t run from this anymore. I slowly nod.

17

EVIE

I’m already smiling as I approach the restaurant, the neon glow of Bourbon Wings spilling onto the sidewalk and lighting up the faces of the lingering customers and passersby. I’ve been looking forward to seeing Sasha all day, imagining the way she always lights up when she spots me, the easy grin she saves just for us when we’re alone. It’s been a long shift, I know, but we’ve got the rest of the night, and I can’t wait to fall back into the comfort of our routine—wine on the couch, her laugh filling the room, and the world feeling a little brighter just because she’s in it.

But as I get closer, I see Sasha standing outside, her shoulders tense, her face half-turned away from the entrance. She’s not alone. There’s a man with her, tall and sharp-featured, his posture relaxed, but there’s something coiled in the way he stands that makes my stomach knot. He’s handsome in an obvious, deliberate way—dark hair perfectly styled, clothes that scream money without being flashy. He’s got that kind of effortless arrogance, the look of someone who’s used to being listened to, obeyed. It sets my teeth on edge before I’ even hear him speak.

The way Sasha’s holding herself tells me everything. She’s rigid, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her expression tight and guarded. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I don’t need to; it’s written all over her face—she’s scared, trapped, and I can’t stand to see her like that.

I move closer, my footsteps echoing in the quiet street, and I call out, trying to sound casual but knowing I’m anything but. “Sasha, everything okay?”

She turns, her eyes widening when she sees me, and there’s a flash of relief that quickly dims into something else, something that makes my heart drop. The man shifts his gaze to me, assessing, and his expression flickers with mild annoyance, like I’m nothing more than an interruption. His presence radiates confidence, but not the good kind; it’s smug and calculated, the kind that makes me want to keep my distance.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he says flatly, his voice low and clipped, like he’s barely bothered to acknowledge me. There’s an English accent, smooth and cold, and it fits him.

I step closer, ignoring the warning in his tone. “She’s asked you to leave,” I say, keeping my voice steady even though my pulse is thrumming in my ears. “So why don’t you do that?”

He straightens, crossing his arms, and for a second, I can’t help but notice how effortlessly he commands attention. He’s the kind of man you’d spot in a room full of people—self-assured, sharp-eyed, with a presence that demands space. Everything about him exudes control, from the expensive cut of his jacket to the way he holds himself, like he owns the ground he’s standing on.

“And who the hell are you?” he asks, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s looking at me like I’m some minor inconvenience, an obstacle he can brush aside, and it makes my blood simmer.

“I’m someone who cares about her,” I say, trying to keep my temper in check. “Now leave. She doesn’t want you here.”

There’s a tense silence, and I can feel Sasha beside me, tight as a wire, caught between us. I want to pull her away, to put myself between her and this man, but she’s frozen, her eyes darting between us as if she’s weighing every possible outcome.

The man—Gareth, I think she called him—lets out a short, humorless laugh. “You don’t even know, do you?” he says, his tone dripping with condescension. “You think you know her? You don’t know the half of it.”

I glance at Sasha, my heart pounding, trying to read the panic in her eyes. She looks at me like she’s about to speak, but no words come. I turn back to him, my anger bubbling to the surface. “Who are you?” I demand, each word laced with growing fear. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink. He just looks straight at me with a cold, knowing smile. “I’m her husband.”

The words land like a punch, stealing the breath from my lungs. I blink, trying to process what he’s just said, but the ground beneath me feels like it’s shifted. Husband. It’s a word I’ve never associated with Sasha, something I’ve never even considered. My mind scrambles for any piece of information that makes sense of this, but all I see is Sasha—her wide eyes, her trembling hands, the tightness in her posture.

I turn to her, searching her face for something, anything that will prove him wrong. But she doesn’t say a word. She just stares back at me, her eyes glossy and filled with something I can’t quite name—fear, guilt, maybe even shame. It’s the confirmation I don’t want, the answer I’ve been dreading in the seconds since he spoke, and it hits me harder than I thought possible.

“Sasha,” I whisper, my voice cracking as I try to hold onto the thread of everything I thought I knew. “Is that true?”

She doesn’t need to say it. Her silence is enough. She nods, a small, barely perceptible motion, but it’s like the final blow, knocking the wind out of me completely. I feel my chest tighten, the sharp sting of betrayal cutting through the haze. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I just need to get out of here.

Without another word, I turn on my heel and walk away, each step feeling heavier than the last. My vision blurs, and all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears drowning out everything else. I don’t look back. I can’t. I just keep moving, putting distance between me and the truth that’s unraveling everything I thought I knew about Sasha, about us.

I need to be anywhere but here. Away from the man who claims to own a piece of her, away from the look in Sasha’s eyes that I can’t bear to face. My heart pounds as I round the corner, the city lights blinking above me, indifferent to the storm that’s just ripped through my chest. I feel sick and disoriented, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

---