14. Daphne

Chapter fourteen

Daphne

I t’s Friday afternoon, and we’re all on our way to visit the Whitmores.

Unfortunately, we forgot to tell Victoria. You know, that I’m going with them.

When we arrived together at the limo, she confronted us with a venomous, “What the hell is she doing here?”

My lip finds refuge between my teeth. I should be upset with my boyfriend for not informing her ahead of time, but the pushover part of me can’t stand to be angry with him, even for a second. I’d rather inhale all of our angsty emotions and keep them inside myself if it means keeping him happy.

So, I martyr myself. For him. My love. Victoria already considers me a freak obsessed with her brother, so what’s the harm, really? “I asked to discuss WU from a scholarship perspective.”

Victoria rolls her eyes, her disdain as clear as the manicured lawns. “Really, Alex? I thought you were over this. ”

His face crumples for a second, and he shuffles his feet. He’s caught in the middle, again. “M-Mom a-and Dad w-want me to consider our business m-more, so I am.”

“Great,” Victoria snaps back. “You’re stuttering! Being around Daphne is making you worse!”

His shoulders slump, and his gaze falls, making a heavy weight settle in my chest. Am I the cause of his pain? The air feels suffocating, and I feel as though I’m dying piece by piece.

A familiar panic creeps up my spine, echoing Victoria’s words. Perhaps I am his poison. But I can’t let that thought take hold. Not now. I have a purpose here, and I can’t afford to break down. Not yet, anyway.

So, I focus on the cool breeze and the rustling leaves, trying to find solace in the natural world.

In a flat voice, Victoria says, “Fine. Daphne can come.” Gee, thanks. She presses an envelope into my hand, one I hadn’t even realized she was holding. “This is for you.”

I stare at the envelope as if it has the power to burn me or, more accurately, drown me. I don’t have to even glance at the sender to know who it is.

Still, I’m a masochist who allows others to trample her, so I painstakingly torture myself by reading my mother’s name scrawled across the envelope .

The woman who once wanted me dead is reaching out from the past. I grip the paper tightly, my knuckles white. Why won’t she leave me alone? She hates me more than I hate her.

“Let’s go,” Alex murmurs, his voice filled with concern.

I glance at him, his face a mask of worry. He doesn’t need more stress, not because of me. Celeste, Victoria… They all circle around him like sharks. And here I am, making waves without even trying. This is not the time to drop our secret into the mix. I will not be the one to push him over the edge. Not Alex.

I’ll keep every secret close to my chest, even if it kills me.

Besides, today is supposed to be a good day. I’m re-meeting my boyfriend’s parents. Why can’t I just ignore my problems?

The limo is sleek and black, waiting to swallow us whole. It hums softly, indifferent to the tension that crackles in the air. Victoria slides in first, her dark hair disappearing into the shadows. Alex follows, only pausing to look back at me.

“Coming?” His eyes search mine, a silent plea.

My heart squeezes tight. “Yeah,” I whisper and force a smile.

As they settle inside, I make a split-second decision. Mom’s letter, I don’t need it. Don’t want it. The past can stay where it belongs. In one swift motion, I toss the crumpled envelope into the trash can standing guard next to the limo. It feels good.

So cleansing .

Stepping into the limo, I leave the letter and the ghosts behind.

The purr of the limo engine fades into a whisper as we glide away from the curb. From the corner of my eye, a flailing figure bolts towards us, a blur of desperation and designer fur. Victoria’s head snaps to the window, her perfectly arched brow lifting in recognition.

“Driver, stop.” Her voice is a cold command, slicing through the hum of conversation like a knife through silence.

Alex frowns beside me, his body tensing as if he’s bracing for impact. I follow his gaze just in time to see Celeste’s tiny form, all enhanced curves and bleached hair, catching up to us. The limo jerks to a halt, and she doesn’t miss a beat, yanking open the door with a drama befitting the stage.

“You have to let me come.” Her oversized lips quiver as she pants. It’s a performance worthy of an award, especially when her eyes turn glassy.

Alex’s voice, a thin thread of impatience laced with forced politeness, snaps, “What are you doing, Celeste?” Even his kindness has limits.

She collapses onto the plush leather seat, her sobs hitching in her throat. “My parents don’t know we’ve broken up yet. Please, can I pretend we’re still together? ”

There’s a moment where everyone’s breath catches, all for different reasons. Mine because I’m painfully reminded that there’s three people in my relationship.

Celeste clutches his arm. “Please, Alex,” she whispers. “They expect you to bring me this weekend.”

I watch him struggle, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he grapples with the decision. He’s always had a soft spot for theatrics; perhaps because he’s a master at his own performance. And there’s Celeste, embodying the damsel in distress, begging for one last act.

“All right,” he says after an eternity, the word heavy with unspoken conditions. I understand then that kindness is both his shield and his weakness.

“Thank you,” she breathes out, relief flooding her features. But the gratitude doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead, they’re calculating and predatory. She’s won this round, and she knows it. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if Alex does.

As the limo pulls back onto the road, Celeste leans closer to Alex, her fingers brushing his knee. He shifts, ever so slightly, placing distance between them.

The phone in my clutch vibrates, and I sneak a glance at the screen. It’s from Alex.

Half of my soul *heart emoji*

I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.

At this point, I’m still holding on. Alex’s kindness is one of the reasons why I love him. I mean, yeah, I’m upset right now, but how can I fault him for being nice to his ex? He chose me . Picked me . If anything, it shows his character in how he can have a friendly relationship after a breakup when so many other men shit talk and villainize their exes.

This is just the beginning of a long, tumultuous weekend. In the end, the heart wants what it wants, and mine is foolishly, irrevocably entangled with Alexandru Whitmore.

The limousine’s interior is suddenly a stage, the dim lighting casting shadows that seem to accentuate every line of tension on Alex’s face. He turns to me, his brown eyes searching mine for an answer he doesn’t want to give. I see the plea there, the silent hope that I’ll be okay with this charade. But my heart clenches, heavy with a brew of betrayal and sorrow.

“Absolutely not,” Alex’s voice is resolute, but his gaze never leaves mine. It holds an apology, a promise that he’s mine, even as Celeste’s pleading threatens to wedge itself between us.

Celeste’s lip quivers, her usually immaculate lipstick now a testament to her desperation. “But my sister just got engaged,” she implores, her voice threaded with a vulnerability that doesn’t quite reach her calculating eyes. “Before we broke up, I told my parents everything was perfect between us.” The way she lays out her distress, it’s meant to manipulate, to draw us into her narrative where she remains the star.

“Your parents?” Alex asks, but there’s an undertone of unease now. “Mine don’t know either, Celeste. We agreed.”

“Exactly!” She pounces on his words, leaning forward eagerly. “We can tell them after the weekend. Please, Alex, they can’t find out like this. Not yet.”

Her hand finds his arm, and I watch the muscles beneath his shirt tense. His glance flickers back to me, silently asking for strength, forgiveness, and maybe permission. I’m caught in the middle of love and loyalty, each emotion a blade twisting in my gut.

It’s a long ride to the mansion, and with each passing mile, the limo shrinks around us. The weight of Celeste’s presence is suffocating.

I try to banish the insecurities bubbling to the surface, but it’s difficult when our own relationship shrouds in secrecy.

Voice a serpent’s hiss, Victoria joins in. “Alex, don’t be cruel. Think of Granny.” Her brown eyes, so like Alex’s but void of warmth, fixate on him with an intensity that brooks no argument.

“Granny’s going to the cookout,” Celeste adds between sniffles, her performance Oscar-worthy. “She doesn’t have long left. I want—no, I need—her last memories of me to be happy ones. With you.” Her lip quivers. “After she leaves for the weekend, I’ll tell them we’ve broken up. Just please don’t let Granny know.”

My chest tightens at the mention of her grandmother. Death is something I understand all too well. The finality, the longing for just one more moment of happiness.

Conflict etches in the deep crease between Alex’s brows.

Watching his sympathy, I remind myself that he cares about me. He chose me. It doesn’t matter that they once cuddled in a blanket on a hill. Even if it had been a mountain touching the heavens, what matters right now is that he and I are together.

Pretending for one more weekend will not change how he picked me.

Besides, for all I know, Celeste’s granny is a lovely person who only wants to see her granddaughter happy one last time. Even if Celeste doesn’t deserve it, I’ll give her grandma that gift.

He hesitates, and in that fraction of a second, I find the courage to offer him a subtle nod. It’s okay. I trust him.

“Fine,” he says at last, his voice a low rumble of defeat. “But you have to promise to behave. We’re not giving anyone false hope.”

Triumph laces her words. “Of course. Thank you.” Her gratitude feels like another layer of performance.

Dread pools in my stomach as I watch the scene unfold, feeling sorry for Celeste despite myself. The limo’s opulent interior shrinks, leaving the air thick with unspoken promises and whispered lies. But I trust Alex; I have to. He’s my anchor in a sea of chaos, the one certainty in a world where everything else feels uncertainty transient.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, “Remember our trip to the coast?” She chokes in a trembling voice, “We watched the sunrise together, wrapped in that old quilt your grandmother made. You said it was the best moment of your life.

I know she’s trying to reel him back in, but it still stings. I fight the urge to visualize it, but the image of them cuddled up on a hill, just as she described, keeps creeping into my mind incessantly to taunt me.

Was that truly the best moment of his life?

Did he love her then? Does he still?

His pinkie finds mine, hidden from view, and I cling to it, allowing his warmth to seep into my bones. I won’t cry—not here, not now—but the effort it takes to hold back the tears leaves me feeling hollowed out, a shell of the woman who fell in love with Alexandru Whitmore.

The limo’s leather crinkles as we glide through the streets while the city lights cast an ever-changing kaleidoscope. Meanwhile, Celeste lounges next to him with a grace that seems so natural that it makes me envious.

My phone vibrates again. I sneak a peek at the screen.

Half of my soul *heart emoji*

I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted

The words ripple through me. Perfect Alex, trying to keep everyone happy. I type back, my thumbs tapping as quickly as possible to not make it obvious that we’re texting one another with Celeste and Victoria right here.

Me

It’s okay. I trust you. Just be careful.

Seemingly annoyed that he isn’t paying attention to her, Celeste asks, “Alex, do you think your parents will notice how much we’ve missed each other?”

He shifts uncomfortably, a frown creasing his brow. “They’ll be too busy discussing the music program,” he deflects, his voice a measured calm that belies the tension I see in the set of his shoulders.

I watch the play of emotions across his face, the way he struggles to maintain the facade.

Another buzz, another invisible caress from Alex.

Half of my soul *heart emoji*

I hate this. When we get there, let’s find a moment alone.

Me

Yes. Please.

“Alex, sweetie,” Celeste purrs, leaning in again, close enough that her perfume wraps around us like a cloying fog. “You always said you loved my hair down, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t meet her eyes, focusing instead on some distant point outside the window. “It’s nice,” he mutters, his voice devoid of the warmth she’s fishing for. “But please don’t call me sweetie anymore.”

“Sorry, just practicing for Granny’s sake.”

My phone vibrates once more.

Half of my soul *heart emoji*

I promise to make it up to you.

I swallow the lump in my throat and let my fingers dance their reply.

Me

Just come back to me. That’s all I want.

Our digital confessions are the only truths in this charade. I cling to those messages because they’re a reminder that, beneath the layers of pretense, our connection remains unbroken. If it survived nine years, it can survive a few more days.

As the limo turns into the long driveway leading to the mansion, the reality of the weekend looms over me. Somewhere between the text messages and the stolen glances, I find the strength to face ahead.