Page 10 of Sins of Autumn

Lucian wasn’t just someone to watch out for, he was someone you couldn’t afford to look away from. Tall and solidly built, with a sharp angular jaw and jet-black hair that always gave him an effortlessly commanding air, he didn’t have to assert his authority. He simply was. He was ice-cold and calculating, the embodiment of control. Beneath that icy surface was an absolute loyalty.

His unwavering dedication to our inner circle wasn’t something anyone else would dare to question. He didn’t say much, but when he did, every word mattered. I knew we weren’t just going to make it right.

We were going to make it how things should have been and needed to be.

“How do you want to play this?”

I turned back toward the window, my gaze fixed on the city lights below as they blurred into an indistinct haze, offering no clarity. “I’m not sure yet.”

Lucian didn’t press, didn’t push for answers. He just stood there, his presence steady, grounding me in a way I didn’t acknowledge aloud. My chest tightened as my thoughts drifted back to Autumn, to the way she’d looked at me before she left. The pain in her eyes had gutted me.

I had to do this just right.

She was mine, and nothing, not even her own doubts was going to change that. She fit into my life so seamlessly, it felt like she’d always been meant to be there. My family adored her, and my friends did too. What she didn’t realize yet was the lengths I’d go to, to keep her by my side.

It was time she understood.

Long past time

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CHAPTER FOUR

My suitcase was open on the bed, meticulously organized with perfectly folded clothes I was still undecided on. The dryer buzzed downstairs, signaling the last load, and I made a mental note to grab it when I was finished. My fleece robe clung to my still-damp skin, the soft fabric a small comfort as I paced back to the closet, trying to figure out what else to pack.

It shouldn’t have been so hard to pick out a few outfits for a single weekend, but Daniella wasn’t all that descriptive about what we’d be doing. She was a nature girl, so if she wanted to go hiking and I only had leggings and slipper boots, that would be a problem. Whatever she had in mind, I desperately needed this little getaway.

The past two weeks had been a relentless battle to avoid any possible run-ins with Wilder or his friends in our small-ass city.

Despite not crossing their paths once, he was still everywhere, in every corner of my head and deep inside my chest. What surprised me most was that he hadn’t shown up at my house. In fact, he’d made zero effort to reach out. He had to know he was blocked, and there hadn’t been a single peep unless you counted flowers. Each arrangement was different and accompanied by a note that the florist had probably debated reporting to the authorities or at least a shrink.

My sister and Ella were starting to see just how obsessive Wilder was. They’d always joked about it, teasing me over his intensity, but it was another thing entirely to witness it play out the way it was. While I didn’t want to give his actions any space in my mind, I couldn’t stop myself from reading between the lines of every note and each chosen bloom. It was as if he was speaking directly to me through them.

I didn’t miss their looks of concern when the flowers arrived, especially from my sister.

They didn’t say much, but I knew what they were thinking. After I got a little too overprotective, snapping at them for making it into a bigger deal than it was, I think they silently agreed to keep their opinions to themselves.

I didn’t mind the notes.

If I weren’t so fucking angry and hurt, I might’ve been a puddle on the floor reading them. That was the worst part—knowing that, despite everything, Wilder still had a hold on me. The cards were simple but devastating, the kind of obsessive, unhinged shit that left no doubt about what he thought.

"Every night without you feels like dying. Come home."

"You can block me, but you can’t run from me. You’re mine. Always."

"I would burn this city down to have you in my arms again. Say the word, Mint, and watch me do it."

One of them had been nothing more than a single sentence."Tell me who to kill to fix this, and I’ll do it with a smile if it makes you happy."

Each time, I told myself to throw them out without reading, but I couldn’t because as much as they terrified me, they also made my heart twist in a sick, needy way I hated. The flowers were beautiful, of course. Wilder didn’t do anything half-assed. Roses, lilies, orchids—blooms I couldn’t even name, their meanings layered and deliberate. Once, he sent me a bouquet of asphodel and yarrow, which my sister had googled.

"Asphodel means eternal regret and yarrow is for healing wounds," she’d explained, her voice hesitant. "That’s… a lot."

Yeah. A lot.

That was Wilder, though.

Even in his silence, he was still finding ways to invade my life, leaving me reeling in the aftermath of him.

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