Page 120 of Without a Trace
“Do you?” I asked. “Because every time you keep something from me, you act like you’re protecting me—but you’re just reminding me I was never given a choice.”
They didn’t answer. Maybe they couldn’t.
I stepped back from the table, fire and salt still burning in my throat.
Then, quieter, “You want me to trust you? Start treating me like I belong at this table. You keep waiting for me to break. To fold. To choose.”
I rested my hands on the back of the chair, nails digging slightly into the smooth teak. My voice was steady, but something in me wasn’t. Not anymore.
“I just think it’s funny,” I added, gaze sweeping the table. “I told you things I’ve never told anyone. Trusted you before I even knew why. And all this time, you were protecting a lie.”
Trace’s gaze didn’t flinch. But I saw it—the smallest crack behind his control.
My heart thudded once, loud in my ears. I wasn’t sure if it was fury or heartbreak.
“You don’t get to pretend this is about keeping me safe,” I said, softer now. “You weren’t protecting me. You were controlling what I knew. Watching me stumble towards something you already understood.”
I let that cut.
“I would’ve chosen you anyway, you know,” I said quietly. “All of you. Without the lies.”
A breath caught somewhere down the table. I didn’t care whose it was.
“You don’t get to call it protection,” I added. “You lied. For years.”
Still, no one argued. Which was worse.
So, I pivoted. Cold and controlled.
Because if I couldn’t have honesty, I’d take power.
“You all know I’d have to pick one of you eventually, right?”
The words dropped like a grenade.
Rhett’s glass hovered halfway to his mouth. Kane stilled. Zeke’s gaze sharpened. Trace—he stared like I’d just flipped a switch inside him.
I took a breath, then twisted the blade.
“Or none of you,” I added, voice low, cutting. “Because I can’t have all of you.”
“And that’s the thing,” I said, my voice stronger now. “You keep waiting for me to fall. To break. To choose. But I already did all that.”
Then I turned and walked away—slow, deliberate, barefoot on the warm wood.
The night opened in front of me.
Scarlett
The path to my villa glowed with soft lights strung through the palms. The sound of the ocean was louder now—less like background noise, more like a heartbeat.
I stepped inside and shut the door behind me.
I didn’t turn on the lights. Just let the moon pour through the sheer curtains, watching the silver ripple across the floor like water.
They thought I hadn’t chosen.
But I had.
