Page 15 of Twisted Promise

He wanted to be there when she got her X-ray, holding her hand in the waiting room, preparing for the worst, even as she’d call him dramatic.

And he wanted to be there to see her topple over and laugh when she put on the inflatable tube suit because she’d laugh at the tiniest thing.

So, no, he would not return those photos.

Alessio never had a problem with spending money on Anya. It was his money, and not a cent of it had to do with his parents. The competitions he had been in were lucrative, and passive income from sponsorships and interviews added to his wealth.

He should’ve felt offended or angered when she asked if he was trying to entrap her or launder money through her, but all he felt was notable contentment because she was still the Anya he adored.

Sometimes, she’d do things and ask for forgiveness later; putting herself first was not her strongest forte.

She loved herself the most when she made decisions that benefited her despite looming consequences staring in her face. She was selfish when it came to loving herself, which blurred the already indistinguishable line with hate—the same way fire and smoke were inseparable and consumed everything around them.

“Oh, it’s 73 degrees?” a woman’s voice shrilled from across the dining table. “I usually keep mine at 65 because it’s better for the environment. But I get it, not everyone is used to layering up!”

Alessio tilted his head slightly to the side and followed the voice to the woman with dark highlights in her blonde hair.

Clara, he recalled distantly, and the tattoo of her name on the nape of her neck confirmed it.

One of her trio partners was beside him, chattering about being his hardcore fan, and held out his phone case for Alessio to sign. While he kept spewing elated worship, he dropped his name several times in a matter of minutes.

Cosmo. Cosmo. Cosmo. Cosmo. Cosmo.

Alessio had the urge to call him a mosquito. He was that annoying.

It seemed he didn’t want to be a forgotten constellation, but Alessio really wanted to turn him into an asteroid-level extinction event.

“This reminds me of when I started cutting back on using lights at home,” Clara’s voice pierced the tranquil atmosphere again. “I paid less for energy now. I bought candles, a little on the pricier side, but it’s nothing compared to the money and environment I’m saving.”

Anya shifted in her chair and drew up the collar of her pullover. She gave a weak smile; the clear message on her face nearly had a voice, but the woman rambled on about her impressive history with eco-friendly work.

Anya only asked how the trio met.

“Okay,” Cosmo quipped offhandedly, setting aside his phone and marker. “No signatures. Got it.”

When Alessio thought he’d go away, the man fired off another round of conversation on something he thought Alessio would be interested in. Through sheer luck or observation, he brought up the online chatter about Anya and him, where the fans were happily rooting for them.

“There was some hate, but overall, they were mostly happy someone adopted you.”

Alessio’s critical gaze tore through the pumpkin-spiced latte air. Cosmo shuddered and held up his hands defensively.

“Just quoting comments,” he cried loudly to deflect the blame. “I defended her for you, so don’t worry!”

“It’s none of your concern,” Alessio voiced, and the sickly-sweet air turned bitter. “She has me.”

Cosmo, being a staunch fan and having experienced years of his malicious tongue, gave a belly laugh and waved his hand dismissively.

“But you should look at the hate she was getting,” Cosmo added in a lower tone. “They’re more active under fan-madeedits of you two. They’re saying you could do much better, she’s using you for clout, or she’s—”

“She still has access to everything,” Alessio said.

He made sure it was captured on the live feed.

It was the quickest way to dominate the internet, enrage aggressors, and leave fans speculating.

While he wanted nothing more than to let everyone know she was once his and would be again in the future, Anya was not ready for the storm a mere confirmation would bring.

Sometimes, he wished he didn’t respect Anya. But he did, so he refused to throw her to the wolves. News articles, magazines, and social accounts were mass reporting on any speculation between them.

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