Chapter 77

Amelia

I hadn’t meant to talk to Jenny that morning. After a sleepless night spent tossing and turning, gripping the crescent pendant like it might stop my chest from breaking in half, I’d reached the edge of something sharp and invisible.

I’d stared at the ceiling for hours, waiting for something to change, a mindlink from Richard, a knock, a text, anything to tell me that all of this wasn’t falling apart in slow motion. But nothing came, not a word, not even silence that felt like a choice. Just emptiness.

When I got up, I did so knowing I needed to fix something, anything, to feel like I still had some control over what was left. The guilt about Jenny had grown like mold inside me, festering in the dark.

I spotted her down in the main level of HQ near the central printers, standing behind a long folding table with two other interns. She was sorting press packets with practiced ease, laughing about something one of them said.

She looked as effortless as always-shoulders back, hair braided tight over one shoulder, the perfect little dip of gloss on her bottom lip catching the light when she smirked. She looked untouchable. Regal, even. Like the Pack’s own poster child for polished legacy. It made my chest ache to see her like that. There was a time when I stood next to her and felt like I belonged. Now, I hovered behind a stack of shipping boxes, watching like a stranger.

I stepped into view and cleared my throat. “Hey,” I said, trying to sound light, like it was just another day. “Got a minute?”

Jenny looked up slowly, eyes moving over me like a scanner. Her gaze caught on my shoes-flats instead of my usual boots-then on the slight wrinkle in my blouse, the faint bags under my eyes. She didn’t smile. Not really.

“Still no boyfriend?” she asked sweetly. “Pathetic.”

The two girls beside her burst into peals of laughter that weren’t even subtle. I felt my face go hot.

“I was just thinking,” I said, pushing through it, “that maybe we could grab lunch today. Off campus, just us. Like old times.”

Jenny arched a perfectly shaped brow, her tone somewhere between amusement and pity. “Sorry. Swamped. Maybe another time.”

And then she turned back to the packets, flipping through them like I hadn’t spoken. Like I hadn’t tried. Like I didn’t exist.

I stood there a second too long, swallowing hard, then turned and walked away. I didn’t make it far before I heard her again-louder this time, clearly meant to be overheard.

“Loneliness makes some girls reckless,” she said to her friends.

Another round of laughter. This time, sharper.

I didn’t stop walking. I climbed the stairs to the third floor with my jaw clenched so tightly it sent shocks of pain up into my temples. My heart was pounding, not because Jenny had said no, I’d expected that. Honestly, I hadn’t even asked her out of genuine hope.

The lunch invitation was a calculated move, a clumsy attempt to look like I still cared, to throw her off the scent of the thing I was actually terrified of her discovering. But what she said afterward, the laughter, the reminder of everything I had lost, scraped at something raw inside me that hadn’t healed.

Because I wasn’t fragile about her rejection. I was fragile because I didn’t recognize myself anymore. Because I was walking around with a secret relationship carved into my skin and an identity that no longer made sense, watching the girl who used to be my sister-in-everything turn me into a cautionary tale. I had no home base, no steady ground. I had no Jenny, and I didn’t even have the comfort of being hated for the right reasons. I had nothing to anchor me but a necklace hidden under my shirt and the ache it represented.

I made it into the executive bathroom, locked myself in the farthest stall, and sat down hard on the closed lid of the toilet. My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I pressed them to my knees, trying to ground myself in something, anything.

I held my breath until my vision blurred, hoping the feeling would pass, that I could just ride it out, but the tears came anyway. Hot, relentless, and quiet. I didn’t sob. I didn’t make a sound. But my whole body trembled as I cried into the silence, tears soaking into the collar of my shirt while the walls stayed mercifully still around me.

That night, I didn’t go to Richard. I didn’t even look at my messages. I didn’t pace near the door or invent excuses to pass his wing of the estate. I just went home, undressed slowly in the dark, and crawled into bed.

I lay there curled on my side with the covers pulled over my head and the necklace gripped tight in my fist, the metal warmed from my skin. I kept thinking about Jenny. About the way she used to braid my hair while telling me which council heirs were secretly cowards. About how I promised I’d never be one of them. I’d broken that promise a dozen times over, and didn't care if I did. Maybe she should. Maybe I deserved it.

The next morning, Richard didn’t say a word about the way I kept my distance. Not when we passed in the hallway. Not when I took a seat two chairs away from my usual one in the staff room. He carried on as if nothing had shifted. He made a joke during the huddle that made three people laugh. He handed off files. He didn’t look at me once.

And it enraged me. It made my skin crawl.

How could he act like none of this mattered? How could he be so composed when my throat was raw from holding back everything I couldn’t say out loud? He moved through the day like this was all still working, like we hadn’t fallen apart three times since Sunday. And maybe that was the difference. I could never compartmentalize like he did. I had no walls left.

By the time debate prep started that afternoon, the tension was baked into everything. I kept my voice professional, my notes sharp, but every correction came out like a cut. I wasn’t even trying to hide it.

“That phrasing makes you sound defensive,” I said, pointing to a line in the draft script. “It’s going to read as insecure.”

Richard didn’t glance up. “It’s supposed to sound firm. That district needs a show of strength.”

I leaned forward. “Firm doesn’t mean robotic. You’re talking to swing voters, not a firing squad.”

He set down his pen. “You think you could write it better?”

I didn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Silence fell around the table. I could feel every pair of eyes flicking between us. The air went stiff. Someone pretended to cough.

Richard nodded once. “Noted.”

The rest of the session was stiff, mechanical. When it ended, people scattered like they couldn’t get out fast enough. I stayed behind, slowly packing up my materials with movements that felt too loud in the quiet room.

I heard him approach before I saw him.

“Why are you mad at me?” he asked, voice low.

I didn’t turn around. “Why aren’t you?”

“We made a decision.”

I faced him. “No. We made a fantasy, something we both pretended could exist outside of everything else, something physical, something clean. And now you’re acting like I’m the only one drowning in it. Like I’m the only one who can’t make it make sense.”

“You think I’m not?”

“I think you’re better at hiding it.”

He stepped closer. “You want me to fall apart in public? Is that what you need?”

“No,” I said, my voice shaking. “I need you to act like I matter. Like we matter.”

We stared at each other, the air thick and unspoken things building like pressure under glass. Then, at the same moment, we moved.

He reached for the edge of the table. So did I. Our fingers brushed, and then we collided.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t tender. It was raw, furious, unspoken. He spun me around and pushed me up against the cold metal edge of the table. I gasped. He was already pulling at my skirt, and I didn’t stop him. I pressed back into him, breath hitching. We moved fast, rough, desperate.

His belt hit the floor with a clink, one hand on my hip, the other flat against the table beside my head. My palms splayed out over the smooth surface as he pushed into me hard and fast. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, the tension unspooling in waves that made my knees weak.

He groaned against my neck, low and guttural. I arched into him, needing more, needing everything. We didn’t say anything. There was no time. No pretense. Just need. Just us.