Page 7 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

I look her straight in the eyes and, with a heavy honesty, say, “No idea. Whoever it was, they purposely wanted the pressure on Arden, though.”

Her breath shudders out in a shaky exhale. “So we’re not safe.”

“We never were,” I reply quietly, a grim acceptance in my tone. “But we’ll face it—together.”

Later, once the soft hum of conversation has died, and Ashley is finally asleep on the couch, curled beneath her throw blanket, I gather extra blankets and pillows from the hall closet, arranging them carefully near her. I know I should retreat to my own room, lock my door, and shut out this unravelling world for just a few precious hours.

But my feet betray me, leading me down the hall instead.

Ally’s door is left slightly ajar—a narrow crack that hints at intimacy. I can make out the peaceful rhythm of her soft breathing, and the warm spill of lamplight across her comforter sketches a quiet portrait of solace.

I hesitate at the threshold, standing like a lost fool, staring at the scene, aching in ways I can neither name nor deny. I wonder, heart heavy, what the future holds now that every hidden truth has come to light, now that I am free to love her without reservation.

Because the undeniable truth is... I’ve always been hers. And speaking that love out loud, in full view of the world, might be the most terrifying risk I've ever chosen to take.

CHAPTERTHREE

ALLY

I step into the kitchen the next morning, where even the silence seems to bristle with electricity, my every step echoing against cold tiles. The stagnant air feels charged with a storm of frustration, wrapping around me like an unseen weight that I can no longer ignore. In the muted morning light, Rhys leans casually against the marble counter, his posture relaxed yet betraying subtle tension as his shoulders stiffen the instant our eyes meet.

I swing open the refrigerator door, the blue light inside reflecting off a row of well-organised shelves. My hand reaches for a water bottle, and I twist off its cap with a force that speaks louder than I intend. In a tone both brittle and mocking, I announce, “So Ashley’s staying? That’s fantastic. Love that for all of us.” The words hang heavily in the stillness. I know I’m being bitter.

Rhys exhales slowly, his voice catching as he begins, “Ally—” but before he can finish, I cut him off.

Shifting my weight, I lean against the opposite side of the counter and say sharply, “No, it’s fine. Really. It’s not like I was expecting anything to change.” Beneath these words, I am painfully aware of my own exhaustion—a single hour of sleep has left my thoughts scattered and my head spinning. Rhys has always known how I’ve felt, although we’ve always tiptoed around discussing it.

“It’s not like that,” Rhys mumbles, his eyes narrowing to slits, his expression hardening.

I tilt my head and offer a challenging smirk. “Oh? Then enlighten me, Rhys, because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re still busy playing house with your ‘fake’ girlfriend.”

With deliberate force, he sets his coffee mug down on the counter, the heavy thud punctuating his insistence. “You know it’s not like that.”

I fold my arms tightly, a declaration of defiance. “Do I? For years, I sat by and watched you with her, keeping quiet as I convinced myself it was all just an illusion—that you never truly wanted her. And now, when the chance to leave it all behind finally presents itself, you still choose her.”

Rhys takes slow, measured steps forward, closing the gap between us until his presence is almost overwhelming. “It isn’t that simple,” he murmurs, his voice low and conflicted.

I arch an eyebrow and snap back, “Isn’t it?” I can feel the sting of my own harshness. I hate that I’m letting this anger spill over like a bitter poison I can’t control.

With a frustrated sigh, Rhys runs his hand through his dark brown tousled hair; the motion is both weary and desperate. “Ashley may still be in danger. Just because her dad’s gone doesn’t mean she’s safe. We can’t afford to be reckless, Ally. There are eyes on us—people watching.”

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me as I reply, “People have always been watching. Since when did you start caring about what they think?”

His jaw tightens, the muscles in his face contracting as he confesses in a low, raw tone, “Since I realised just how much I want you.”

His words strike me hard—like a sudden gust of wind stripping the breath from my lungs, leaving my heart skipping in a frenzied rhythm.

And yet, even this confession does little to resolve the churning turmoil inside me.

“Then prove it,” my voice scarcely audible over the pounding of my heart. I’m playing with fire.

In that charged moment, Rhys’s dark eyes lock onto mine, and something mysterious ignites behind them.

In an instant, he is nearly pressing against me, his warmth enveloping me like a second skin, and his familiar scent infiltrates my senses. Slowly, almost reverently, his hand lifts; his fingers trace the line of my jaw with a touch that sends sparks racing along my skin.

Time itself seems to slow as I lift my chin in anticipation, my lips parting with the desperate hope of a kiss that I have craved for far too long. But then, reality crashes in with brutal clarity—I jerk away, my breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

“I can’t,” I murmur, the words heavy with unspoken regret.

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