Page 90 of Scattered Glitter

The words sting, even through the muffle. She’s seething, the heat of her fury bleeding through the crackling line.

“Fuck,” I mutter, closing my eyes, pressing the heel of my free hand to my forehead.

Did I screw this up for us?

The plan is hanging by a thread now, and that thread is her.

I replay the scene in my head, trying to pinpoint where it went wrong. Maybe it’s the risk, the demand itself.

Stealing a car in broad daylight with thousands of people around is a hell of a gamble. And truthfully, it’s not like she’d actually need to do that for the plan. It’s what I’ll have to do. This one was only to test her, see if she could break into a car, if she had the balls to do it. Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I’ve been too focused on the damn plan to realize I overstepped a line.

Her voice cuts through the static again, sharper now, though barely reaching me.

“I fucking dare you. Because if you do, it’ll be the last thing you ever do to me. You’ll never see me again.”

A challenge.

A threat.

A promise.

And she means every single word. She’ll leave. She’ll disappear, and there won’t be any pulling her back. No mending what I’ve broken.

Koen’s silence hangs heavy down the line. He’s probably feeling the same helplessness as me.

The phone muffles, then his voice comes through, dry and biting. “Well, that went well. See you at home.” He hangs up, pissed off.

Fuck. This is my fault.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Novalee

The whiskey stares at me from the counter, daring me to come closer. Its amber color, warm and inviting, taunting me. My fingers twitch at my sides, aching to reach out and feel the cool glass of the bottle’s neck against my skin.Just one drink,I tell myself.One sip to take the edge off.

Except Koen’s face won’t leave my mind, the way he looked at me two days ago on the boulevard, pity and confusion etched into his features, a judgment he didn’t have the guts to voice. The memory clings to me, replaying on an endless loop.

He watched me do their little challenges. That much is clear. And when I didn’t fall in line, when I didn’t do what they wanted, he followed me and grabbed my arm, but still without a word. Just that piercing look, his eyes narrowing as though I’d somehow failed him.

Yeah, fuck you, too, Koen.

The whiskey promises relief, whispering that it can make it stop. That it can quiet the noise, soften the edges, and dull everything that feels too sharp, too raw, too much.

I take a shaky breath and close my eyes to shut it out from view, but it doesn’t help.

You can’t drink, Nova.

Even if I feel like I’m unraveling now, puking my guts out later, thanks to Koen’s coercion will only make it worse.

I know this.

But God, I want to forget, even for a little while.

Reaching out, I brush my fingers against the glass. The craving gnaws at me. It would be so easy to give in, to let the whiskey wrap around me and pull me under, drowning out all the shit I don’t want to deal with, at least for a few minutes.

But apart from Koen’s judgment, there’s also this flicker, this stupid, fragile hope that maybe there’s something better waiting for me. A new life. A chance to be more than this.

Closing my eyes, I go to that place in my mind I’ve been visiting more and more.

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