15. Nessa

Stepping out of the shower, I can't suppress a smile, still enveloped in the afterglow of the pleasure Liam gave me. The tenderness in his gaze reassured me that he was not about to break up with me. I wrap myself in the dress shirt he left draped over a chair, inhaling the rich, comforting scent of his cologne. As I wander the bedroom, anticipation tingles inside me, waiting for his return. Flipping open his international politics textbook, I pause at our photo tucked between the pages—the one we extravagantly purchased in Vegas—and it brings a smile to my face.

Glancing at the alarm clock, my brow furrows. He's taking an unusually long time to order food. I wonder if his indecision has led him to order the entire menu again. Curiosity piqued, I leave the bedroom, only for my smile to falter at the unexpected scene before me.

The room is crowded, a bizarre assembly of men dressed in dark-blue tunics with red trim and white pants. A sharply dressed man in black, accompanied by a stunning woman with her hair pulled back in a strict bun, stands out among them. The din of their conversation fills the air, and for a moment, I'm grateful for the silence of my world.

The woman's gaze snaps to me, her eyes narrowing at my scant attire.

"I'm sorry, King Alexander, but we can't keep the news of your father's death from the press any longer. We need to leave immediately," says the man in a dark suit.

King what?

Liam nods, and I look at Poppy and Ethan, who are standing on the stairs to the first floor.

Poppy meets my eyes and shakes her head, seemingly as lost as I am.

I walk to them and Liam turns his head to the side to look at me. His complexion is ghostly, his expression strained. Despite the confusion, I fight the urge to hug him.

"Alex, do you want me to go pack a bag?" the woman asks, but her eyes remain on me.

He shakes his head and turns fully toward me with a look that pierces my heart before he retreats to his room. I take a step down, but to my surprise, Ethan grabs my hand, keeping me here.

"Don't be ridiculous, Alex. Let me assist. I am your fiancée, after all," she states, her eyes locked on mine, her words a dagger to my chest. Ethan's protective embrace envelops me as I reel from the shock.

I inhale deeply, steeling myself against the pain. You won't see me cry, I vow silently, spinning on my heel to ascend the stairs, each step heavy with betrayal. I retreat into Ethan's room, the last sanctuary from the chaos below.

King Alexander. Fiancée.These words whirl in my mind, a storm of disbelief and hurt. How alien I suddenly feel, seeking refuge in Poppy and Ethan's bed, a place I never imagined would be my solace. Fiancée… The word tastes like poison. My Liam, a facade. And I'm nothing but the other woman.

In this moment of solitude, I allow the dam to break, tears streaming freely. It's a release, a surrender to the torrent of emotions I've held at bay. I'm barely aware of the bed dipping behind me, too lost in my despair to care. Yet, the scent and warmth that envelop me are unmistakably not Liam's. Poppy, my friend, my soul sister, wraps her arms around me. Her presence is a balm, her silence a shared sorrow. Together, we mourn the illusion of love I'd clung to. As sleep mercifully claims me, it's in the comfort of her embrace that I find a fragile peace.

Waking up with a headache from crying isn't new, but it never gets easier. I'm still wrapped in Poppy's arms, and while it's comforting, I can't shake off the urge to run. It's what I've always done when things got tough back home. I used to go hide in the old church in the cemetery to lick my wounds like a wild animal. But here, with my girls and Liam, I thought I was past that. Liam… the cheating king. The thought of him twists the knife deeper.

Carefully, I slide out of Poppy's hold, taking a moment to appreciate her being there for me. I need to get out of here, but first, I need my clothes from Liam's room. The thought of facing that room makes my stomach turn, so I hesitate in front of his bedroom door, caught in a moment of indecision.

Ethan's unexpected touch on my shoulder startles me. I turn to find him, coffee in hand, looking as disheveled as I feel. The sight of his makeshift bed on the sofa makes me feel guilty.

"I'm sorry for kicking you out of your bed. I wasn't thinking," I apologize with a wince.

He shrugs it off with a half smile. "It's fine. You needed Poppy, and I had to fill Cole in anyway," he assures me, then offers, "coffee?"

Part of me is grateful that Eva will be caught up to speed. I'm not sure how I would feel hearing or telling this story again.

The last thing I want is to stick around. I glance toward Liam's door again, the weight of everything crashing down. "I…"

Ethan steps into my line of sight, cutting off my escape. "Just have a cup. I've got sweats for you, and I grabbed your bag, phone, and watch too. Figured you wouldn't want to go in there. I'll drive you home after this. Come on."

Resigned, I nod and take a seat at the counter. Ethan hands me a cup of coffee and leans on the counter opposite me.

"He's not a cheater," he says after taking a sip.

That sets me off. Of course, he'd defend Liam. But Ethan quickly adds, "I'm not defending him. Just, in two years, he's never been anything but respectful. Never mentioned another woman."

I can't help but snap back, "Just like he never mentioned being the freaking prince of Denmark?" The words come out colder than I intended.

Ethan flinches. "Fair point."

I tell myself to swallow the bitterness, to not let them see the hurt. Never let them see.

I wave off the whole mess with a bitter laugh, trying to convince myself more than Ethan. "It was never serious. Prince of Denmark and the deaf goth girl from a nowhere town? It was doomed from the start."

"I…" Ethan starts to say something, then stops. What can he say? Some obstacles are just too big, and we both know it.

Liam had mentioned before that we didn't have a future, but he never got into the details. If I'd known just how impossible things were, maybe I could've guarded my heart better. Maybe I wouldn't have fallen so hard, wouldn't have let his actions and looks convince me there was something more. Before I knew it, hope had crept in, that same hope I had been avoiding for so long.

Now, there's this anger bubbling up inside me, ready to explode, but I'm just too drained to let it out.

"I would like to go home now if you don't mind. I can call an U?—"

"No need. I'll drive you," Ethan insists.

Slipping into the sweatpants he offered, I roll up the legs and follow him to the door.

The question that's been gnawing at me escapes as we near my apartment. "How could you not have known? You're tech savvy."

He steals a glance at me, his shoulders tensing under the weight of my unintended accusation. "I've been asking myself that all night," he confesses, pulling up in front of my building. The engine hums in the background as he turns to face me, a hint of frustration in his face. "And just for the record, I'm no tech wizard. But I did some digging. Liam Ashford exists, alright. He's Alexander's cousin." The way his eyes light with anger at the mention of Alexander reveals his own sense of betrayal. "I'm sorry. If I had known…" he trails off.

I cut him off with a practiced smile. "Let's not get stuck on it. We should focus on Eva and Cole's wedding, right? That's in six weeks."

His shoulders relax, and he nods, returning my smile. "Yeah, we'll have plenty to do."

"Thank you, Ethan. I'll see you later," I say, stepping out of the car and into the solitude of my apartment.

Once inside, the facade falls away, and I collapse onto the sofa, pulling out my phone.

I have four notifications.

Eva: Ethan told us, I'm sorry. We're coming back today, and we'll talk if you want.

I want to tell her she doesn't need to rush, that I'm okay, but I have to admit Eva's motherly presence is a balm to my soul, and I'm selfish enough to accept that.

The other messages take my breath away and add a layer to the pain I already feel.

BB: I'm sorry for leaving this way - I realized I didn't say goodbye.

BB: *Missed video call*

BB: Sorry, I didn't realize the time. I didn't mean for you to find out that way. I'll call you again in a couple of days. I'll miss you.

"You'll miss me?" I snort out loud.

I draft a message asking what exactly he didn't want me to find out—the crown or the fiancée? But my fingers hesitate, and I delete it. Engaging with his lies brings me no peace.

Me: No problem. Please accept my condolences on your recent loss. Wishing you and your family strength in this challenging period.

I text back, a message that distances my heart from his deceit.

As I put down my phone, the anger and hurt bubble up, threatening to overwhelm me.

Dance

I stand, a decision made. I won't let his actions define my healing. Dance has always been my refuge, a way to express the inexpressible. It's time to lose myself in the movement. To find strength in the dance, to let each step wash away the pain, to remind myself of who I am beyond the hurt.

I quickly change into my dance gear, grab yesterday's sports bag, and head to the modern art building. Today, I don't care if other students are around or if they see me dancing in silence. My goal is to immerse myself in the one passion that's always been my sanctuary, the one thing that has never betrayed me.

Finding the main studio occupied, I settle for a smaller one. I lace up my pointe shoes and let the dance consume me. I dance with abandon, allowing each movement to wash away the layers of hope, disappointment, doubt, and tears. I dance until all that remains is the sensation of warm muscles and tender, albeit sleek, skin. I dance until my mind and heart quieten, settling into a familiar zone of soreness and exhaustion, yet one where peace also resides.

Eventually, I come to a halt, my body sore due to the intensity of my escape. Sitting down, I wince as I remove my shoes, confronting the evidence of my overexertion—bleeding feet. Standing with difficulty, I limp to the small bathroom to prepare a warm Epsom salt bath. The relief that washes over me as I sink my feet into the water is immediate, drawing a moan from my lips.

It's in this moment of physical relief that I confront the emotional truth. I need to accept the end of what was with Liam. More importantly, I need to recognize the value this painful experience has brought into my life. It has allowed me to see myself as worthy, as someone who deserves happiness. It has given me the strength to sever ties with my toxic parents and to rekindle my love for dance.

Now it's time to concentrate on who is still here, on all the things that bring joy—on Eva's wedding, on my studies. Now is the time to move on, embracing the present and the future with open arms, ready to write the next chapter of my life on my own terms.