Page 28 of Valentine's Miracle

Talk about a two-faced man. “You?”

“What about me?” she asks, briefly turning to me until the content of the email becomes more interesting.

“Were you with him?” I have to ask. This is the moment that I have been waiting for and the answer from her lips takes too long to come out.

“Once,” she replies.

My heart throbs painfully. The hand around her wrist pinches her skin, and she yelps in pain, and I loosen it just a bit. She watches for any signs on my face, and if she sees anything, she doesn’t mention it out of respect for this conversation.

“It wasn’t serious. I don’t remember it, only snippets and weird colored yarns. It was during the Last Dimension festival or the morning after. It’s too blurry.”

I hold back the scoff, but not the bitter accusation. “You forget a lot of things. Convenient.”

The green head of jealousy opens its big mouth and spits out a fire to add on the scorching resentment in me. I have this unintended and uncontrollable hatred towards Fyodor for putting his hands on Victoria.

“You’re not making sense, Silas.”

I swallow. “You said you love me.”

“Huh? What? When?” Her head whips to me; there’s utter bafflement on her face and it snaps the control in me.

I pull her down on the bed, trapping her with my arms, mesmerized by the beauty splayed on my bed.

What’s in my bed is my possession.

“That night—before your college entrance exam.” I wait as realization returns to her, and she cracks a nervous smile.

“I don’t remember that night.”

How consistent of her to not remember the most important night that broke everything between us. We were special, and our bond was beyond simple infatuation; she was everything to me and more.

“Don’t lie. You played with my feelings, and then you just left. You’re cruel, and I never expected that from you.”

“Just—just wait a minute. What are you talking about?” she sputters, pushing one of her hands on my chest while I have her other pinned to the bed.

I want to make sure she knows precisely what I’m talking about. There is not going to be any wiggle room or any miscommunication in this talk. She wanted this talk, and she’s going to take it.

“That night. You were sick, and I was there taking care of you, and you said you love me. Then in the morning, you acted as if nothing had happened last night and you went off to college after that.”

It’s the base premises of the entire shitstorm that went on, and it still hurts remembering how she had just casually acted the next day and had the nerve to pretend that nothing happened.

I was beyond delighted when she said she loved me, and to a boy feared by others, I felt that I could have conquered the world with her confession.

“You left me.”

“I’m sorry?” She blinks, still not connecting the dots as she begins to think and dive deeper into her memories.

That is not what I wanted to hear; it pisses me off. “For what? Leaving or you didn’t give a shit—or you lied?”

She pats my chest, rubbing circles to attempt to soothe me while I merely curl my fingers. The bones in her wrist move when she winces, but the sheets on my other hand nearly tear apart.

“I’m getting really confused, Silas. What in the world is going on? Yes, I was sick, but I really don’t remember anything from that night.”

If I have to spell it out to her, then I’m going down the damn alphabetical order to get the damn facts into her mind.

“You’re still lying.” The accusation makes her brown eyes narrow, and her nails drag down with my shirt between her fingers.

“Why can’t you ever admit it?” I speak before she can.

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