Page 100 of The Misfit

“Never alone when you’re around, Char.” His words are flat, but his smile is picture-perfect.

Char. Fucking Char?

I feel Katherine watching me watch them. Feel her measuring my reaction as Charlotte glides across the room to join Lee at the drink cart. Feel the weight of her satisfaction when Lee pours Charlotte a drink without checking if the glass is clean first.

“It’s quite natural, you know,” Katherine says softly. “Childhood friends finding their way back to each other. Sometimes these little … experiments help us appreciate what’s truly suitable.”

Experiments. Like me. Like whatever this is between Lee and me. Like the way he counts tiles and measures spaces and tries to understand my world.

Charlotte laughs at something Lee says, the sound practiced and proper. She touches his arm without hesitation, without counting, without checking if he needs space first. They look right together. Normal.

“Salem?” The photographer’s voice breaks through my spiral. “You’re tense again. Perhaps we should?—”

“Oh, let’s include Charlotte!” Katherine suggests with crafted spontaneity. “Lee, darling, bring her over. We should document all our close family friends.”

Close family friends.

Not experiments.

Not temporary arrangements.

Lee looks over, and for a moment, I see confusion flash across his face. Like he’s forgotten I’m here. Forgotten why he’s drinking. Forgotten everything except the familiar escape of bourbon and society masks.

The camera clicks.

Charlotte smiles.

Katherine watches.

The panic hits like a wave—sudden, overwhelming, drowning. I make it to the powder room off the main hall before my legs give out, silk gloves squeaking against the marble counter as I grip the edge.

Breathe. Count. Measure. Control.

But there’s nothing to count here. No ceiling tiles. No perfect patterns. Just expensive wallpaper with roses that blur as tears fill my eyes.

“Salem?” Lee’s voice filters through the door, rough with bourbon. “You okay?”

No. Nothing is okay.I want to scream. Not the way his words slur slightly. Not the way he’s forgotten he promised he would try for me. Not the way I can’t feel anything right now but this pain in my chest.

“I’m fine.” The lie tastes bitter. “Just need a minute.”

“Let me—” He tries the handle, but I’ve already locked it. A thud suggests he’s leaning against the door. “Salem, please.”

“Lee, darling!” Charlotte’s voice carries down the hall. “Your mother needs you for the family portraits.”

“Go,” I manage. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

His hesitation is brief—too brief—before I hear him moving away. The space between his steps is uneven, uncounted, unmeasured. Everything we’ve built together crumbling under the weight of bourbon and family expectations.

I unlock the door in case he comes back. Maybe … maybe I should give him a chance. Try to talk to him at least, or get us the hell out of here.

The door opens before I’ve fully collected myself. But it’s not Lee returning.

“Rough morning?” Aries stands in the doorway, his presence filling the small space. His wide shoulders take up the doorframe. When did he arrive? “Lee gets like this sometimes. Especially around his family.”

I try to squeeze past him, but he doesn’t move. “I should get back.”

“To what? Watch him drink himself numb while playing the perfect son?” His voice softens with practiced concern. “There’s a lot about Lee you don’t know, Salem. Things that explain why he’s …” He gestures vaguely toward the main room where crystal glasses clink and Charlotte laughs.

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