Page 48 of Never Enough

I should be used to this charade, but it gnaws at me every damn time.

I cross my arms, leaning back against the cool marble countertop. Celeste flutters about, the red fabric of her nightie flashing with each movement. She’s a flame in a room full of moths.

I’ll ask again: what am I doing here?

Alex’s world is a constant show of opulence. I’m an outsider, a secret tucked away in his pocket. This game we’re playing is wearing me down. The lines are blurring.

Footsteps clamber on the staircase. I don’t raise my eyes, but I know it’s him. Alex descends with his father as their voices weavethrough the air. They talk about stocks, acquisitions, and things I can barely grasp. From the corner of my eye, I notice how engaged Alex is with his father. Alex doesn’t give me a single glance.

While cracking eggs in the pan, Celeste giggles. “Look at me, all domesticated for Alex,” she boasts, loud enough for the entire room to hear.

I wince.

Alex’s gaze never strays from his dad. He doesn’t notice. It’s like I’m not even here. I’m invisible.

I silently press my lips together. His world and mine don’t mesh. I can feel it. Self-doubt creeps in. Every second I stand here, it gets clearer.

With Alex being so aloof right now, I’m tempted to believe that his entire point of bringing me to his million-dollar mansion was to show me just how much we don’t fit. It’s as if he has to rub it in for me to finally comprehend what the universe has been screaming. Wouldn’t be the first time. Mom once screamed it at me as she dunked my head under the water.

His father laughs in what sounds like a cackle, and Alex joins in. They’re in their element, a world where I’m merely a visitor. I keep my head down and wish that my hair was longer than my chin so I could hide behind it. Maybe if I can’t see them, the achewill fade.

A strong odor of burnt eggs permeates the kitchen. Seeming to not notice, Victoria swans through the doorway. If I had been cooking, I’d bet my favorite tit that Victoria would have commented on the smell. She doesn’t, though, because it’s Celeste standing at the stove. Meanwhile, Celeste pouts as the eggs sizzle and blacken under her watch. She should have thrown them out a full minute ago at this point. You can’t unburn eggs.

Victoria grins before snatching the spatula with a manicured hand. “Give me that. That’s why we have chefs, silly!”

I’m perched on a stool, now with my elbows digging into the counter. The laughter, the easy camaraderie—it all swirls around me, but never touches me. I’m an island in the midst of their high-society sea. Shit, I’m too angsty even for myself.

I’m not a kid anymore. If I’m unhappy, I can leave.

So, I will.

Since I’ve been invisible all morning, I use silence as my shield. No one notices as I slip off the stool, nor do they notice my feet padding softly across the floor and up the stairs. Upstairs, the hallway is empty, forgotten. My bag sits by the door as if it’s waiting for me. As if it knew I didn’t belong here.

I take a last look around, a quick inhale of this world that’s not mine.

The longer I stay here, the longer I crumble. I went to bed upset and woke up upset. It’s not good for me. Not for anyone. Cementing the decision, I pull up the Uber app and order a ride.

I feel bad for running away, but honestly, it might take Alex hours to figure out I’m not here.

Once I confirm my Uber, I leave the guest room and close the door behind me.

No one notices as I go downstairs.

No one notices as I open the front door with my bag in tow.

Each step takes me further as the Whitmore mansion shrinks away with each step I take. Soon, the morning haze will swallow up the mansion, and I will become nothing but a ghost in Alex’s house.

Well, he can think about Celeste and how happy he’s making everyone else but me.

Chapter eighteen

Daphne

Alex must have realized I left his home at some point because he’s spent the rest of the morning texting and calling non-stop. Needing space, I haven’t answered him.

Much how I’m ignoring Alex, I’m also ignoring this lunch salad. I push a cherry tomato around my plate, leaving every leafy green untouched. It’s impossible to eat. Not while thinking of Alex’s bright and carefree laughter. Only, as I imagine it in my head, he’s with Celeste and not me.

Even in my imagination, he’s with Celeste.

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