Page 53 of Twisted Love

I tilt my head, meeting her gaze with an expression I hope conveys interest. “Sure, Annabelle. I’m looking forward to it.”

The tension between the three of us is a living thing now, pressing in from all sides. Raven’s silence stretches uncomfortably, and I enjoy every moment of it.

“Well,” Annabelle says finally, her voice light but laced with satisfaction. “I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of your evening. It was lovely catching up.”

She turns and walks away, her gown swishing elegantly around her as she disappears into the crowd. The moment she’s gone, Raven exhales softly, her shoulders dropping as if she’s been holding her breath the entire time.

I don’t say anything to break the silence. She doesn’t either, but the way she looks at me is like she’s searching for answers.

“Something wrong?” I ask, my voice low and deliberately casual.

Her jaw tightens, and she shakes her head, but I can see it in her eyes: everything is wrong. She remembers. Finally, we are getting somewhere. The progress we have made tonight is enough to make the corner of my mouth twitch into something resembling a real smile.

CHAPTER33

RAVEN

The moment Annabelle drifts away in a cloud of perfume, her perfectly polished smile fading into the sea of glittering gowns and sharp tuxedos, I realize I can’t stand next to Earl one moment longer. My feet start moving before I make a conscious decision, carrying me toward the bar at the edge of the ballroom.

I don’t look back. I can’t.

The clink of crystal glasses and the soft hum of conversation rise to meet me as I approach the bar. I lean against the cool surface of the counter and signal the bartender. He pours a glass of champagne with practiced ease, sliding it toward me without a word. I take it gratefully, the flute cold against my fingertips, and take a long sip. The bubbles burn slightly, but it’s a welcome distraction from the knot tightening in my chest.

The room feels both smothering and cavernous. It’s all so beautiful, so opulent, and I am an imposter in a designer gown. This isn’t my crowd. It never was. It never will be. I glance around the room, searching for a familiar face, someone I might connect with. But there’s no one. No one I grew up with, no one who really knows me. This town was never mine. Earl was my crowd, and now even he feels unreachable—standing there among the wealthy and polished like he’s always belonged.

And Annabelle …

The mere thought of her makes my jaw clench. I take another sip, fighting the bitter bile that rises up my throat. She wasn’t overtly cruel. Of course not. She is too clever for that, but she was toying with me like a cat does with a mouse. Her condescending comments are disguised as compliments.

And Earl—oh, Earl had played along so effortlessly, as though he enjoyed every second of my humiliation. My pulse quickens at the memory, a mix of anger and something else—something closer to hurt. I shouldn’t be surprised. Earl has a talent for turning the knife when I least expect it.

I take another drink, the champagne sliding down too quickly, almost making me cough. My hands tighten around the stem of the glass, and I try to steady my nerves. This isn’t the time to lose it. I remind myself of the letter Earl wrote, of all the love we once shared. It’s what’s kept me going these past few days, what’s kept me hoping, nurturing the fragile belief that we might find our way back to each other.

But tonight, it feels like that hope is slipping through my fingers. The way he looked at Annabelle—was it real? Or was it just another way to torture me, to remind me of everything I’ve done wrong? I can’t tell. And that uncertainty gnaws at me, hollowing me out from the inside.

I take another sip, my third, and exhale slowly. Earl’s mean streak is nothing new, but he’s never cheated on me. The thought hits me like a punch to the gut—not because I suspect him now, but because I realize I don’t. Despite everything, I’ve never doubted his loyalty in that way. Yeah, I used to get wildly jealous when we were younger, but I always knew at the back of my mind, I was overreacting. He was mine.

Even now, I don’t believe him to be a cheat. He might be cruel, but he isn’t a liar or a cheat. The realization unsettles me. Do I really believe he will still be faithful to me? Or am I fooling myself entirely? The questions swirl, each one more overwhelming than the last.

The bartender hovers nearby, and I catch his eye, signaling for another glass. Tonight isn’t the night to figure this out. Tonight is about surviving. And if that means drowning my doubts in champagne, so be it.

I know I should return to his side, but I can’t. Not yet. I need space to breathe. So I veer toward the buffet table instead, clutching my glass of champagne like a lifeline. The spread is extravagant, as expected, and I busy myself picking up a few bite-sized appetizers—miniature tarts with glossy fillings, delicate skewers of marinated shrimp, and tiny puff pastries that look almost too perfect to eat. I nibble on one absentmindedly, the flavors blending together on my tongue without making much of an impression.

My gaze drifts back to Earl, as it always does, no matter how hard I try to resist. He stands at the center of the room, impossibly handsome in his tailored tuxedo, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his lips as if he knows exactly how stunning he looks. There’s an air of respectability about him now, a sharp contrast to the scrappy teen I fell in love with. But he’s still Earl. My Earl.

The thought lodges in my chest like a thorn as I watch Annabelle make her way toward him again. At first, she’s surrounded by a group of admirers, her laughter ringing out like delicate chimes, but gradually, the crowd thins. And it’s just the two of them now. My stomach knots as Annabelle reaches out, her manicured hand brushing against his arm with an ease that sets my teeth on edge.

Earl doesn’t pull away.

I freeze, my glass hovering mid-air. From this distance, I can’t hear what they’re saying, but their body language tells me enough. Annabelle leans in, laughing softly, her fingers lingering on his sleeve. Earl’s expression remains guarded, but he allows it—her touch, her laughter, her proximity. And why wouldn’t he? He hates me and wants to punish me. What better way? The realization cuts deeper than I expect it to.

Annabelle leans closer, whispering something into his ear. And my heart literally stops. Is she telling him what I told her all those years ago? No, she wouldn’t. Knowing her she would keep that back and torture me with it for as long as she can. Earl’s brows furrow, and he shakes his head, his lips forming a brief, curt reply. But then, he glances up, and our eyes meet.

I can’t look away, though every instinct screams at me to. His gaze holds mine, sharp and unreadable, as though daring me to react. For a second, I think I catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. My grip on the champagne glass tightens. I feel exposed, as if he’s stripped me bare with that one look, laying all my bitterness and insecurities out for him to see.

And then, he does it. His arm curves around Annabelle’s waist, his movements deliberate, calculated. He leans down and murmurs something into her ear. Annabelle’s eyes widen briefly before she throws her head back in laughter, her voice carrying across the room. Heads turn in their direction, curious smiles blooming as if they’ve just witnessed a charming little piece of gossip they can spread tomorrow at lunch with the girls.

I can feel the stares shifting to me now, pity and judgment mingling in their glances. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing like a drum. I force myself to take another sip of champagne, draining the glass in one long swallow. The bubbles do little to ease the burn rising in my throat.

---