Chapter 150

Fiona

“No,” I say when I realize Ryan has turned the car in the direction of Ethan’s house. “Can you take me to Isla’s house? I… I don’t think I could stay in his house right now.”

Ryan glances at me but doesn’t argue. Instead, he turns at the next light and heads in the direction of Isla’s house. Our car ride is silent, and a little uncomfortable, but I don’t know what to say.

Would he be angry if I brought up my current issue with Ethan?

Would he side with Ethan?

Of course, he would. Ryan has been pretty good at helping me deal with Ethan’s absence, but at the end of the day, he’s more loyal to Ethan than me. Ethan is his Alpha. I’m just… well, I don’t know what I am now.

If Ethan continues to treat our relationship with negligence like he has been, there won’t be much of a relationship for him to come back to.

“And if you need anything, just call or text,” Ryan says, making me look up. I find us sitting in Isla’s driveway, behind her car, and I blink. I had zoned out so long that I missed the entire drive.

“Um, thanks…” but I stop myself before I can fully get out of the car. “I’m going to call Ethan. Could you get in contact with him and let him know to be watching for the call? I remember you said he doesn’t always keep up with his phone in the West.”

“I’ll let him know, Fiona. He should be able to answer or get back to you soon if he can’t answer,” Ryan says. His smile is warm, like always, but I don’t know if I can trust it anymore. It’s almost exactly what he said last time, and last time, Ethan never responded.

It’s not Ryan’s fault, though, so I do my best to offer a smile back as he pulls away from the driveway.

Trudging up the driveway, I use Isla’s spare key to get into the house. The sound of the shower running upstairs, the smell of something doughy, and the cool air conditioning greet me and tell me Isla is already getting comfortable for the night.

I use the chance to plop down on the couch and take a breath after a long day of work. No one, especially me, should be this tired after one day, but dodging nosy and rude coworkers while trying to ignore nasty glares takes the energy out of you.

I let the near silence of Isla’s house wrap around me like a warm blanket as I try to block out the stress from the day.

The fact that Ethan isn’t here to help makes things worse. If he were here, I don’t think it would be as bad. Then again, with the way he’s been acting lately, I’m not sure if that thought is necessarily right either.

I need to talk to him.

With a sigh, I pull my phone out and turn it on. The screen flickers to life a moment later, and I’m assaulted by several dings and messages popping onto the screen.

After several days of nonstop messages, turning the device off seemed to be the best option. I thought they would stop by now, but clearly, I was wrong.

The dinging stops after displaying four new messages, and of course, when I look down, the latest message is from my stepmother.

Stepmother: Fiona, you should be ashamed of yourself. Only whores sell themselves for money. I always knew you were a piece of trash. You liked to pretend you were better than all of us, but you’re nothing more than a desperate little slut who couldn’t hold onto a man even if she wanted to.

My vision blurs as my eyes scan over the text message. I’ve tried my best not to read any messages or comments on my social media or the texts that keep coming in, but some of them slip through.

The tightness in my chest doesn’t ease, even as I close my eyes and take deep breaths.

They don’t know me or my situation. Why is it so easy for people to judge me when they have no clue what is truly going on? Their opinions, their ideas, and their judgement shouldn’t matter to me. I don’t know these people and they don’t know me.

But it does matter.

I don’t want people thinking I’m a whore because I’m not. My deal with Ethan is none of their business, but they clearly think they can weigh in on what happened.

Glancing at my phone again, I pray that Ethan has a solution. He knows so much and has connections. He has to know a way to deal with this.

With that in mind, I unlock my phone and pull up his number, clicking the call button.

It rings, and rings, and rings, the silence between the sounds growing louder and louder. His voicemail comes on after eight rings, and I make the choice to call one more time. Maybe he didn’t hear it, or he couldn’t reach it before the voicemail picked up.

But, after eight more rings and the stiff robot voice of the answering machine telling me to leave a message, I give in to the heavy disappointment that sinks in my gut.

So much for being there for each other.

From everything Ethan said, and after all the times he told me he’d be there for me, I expected more. Frustration mixes with disappointment as I stare down at the phone’s screen. He should’ve answered, should’ve been there for me.

But is he?

He’s not… again.

Does he even know what I’m going through? Does he know that our contract has been leaked and I’m under attack?

Or is he blissfully unaware like always?

My gut churns as my fingers move of their own accord. There is too much going on, and not enough going on at the same time. If he wanted to be here and wanted to be with me, he would have put in the effort, so I open my messages and let my fingers fly across the keyboard.

I try to display all my anger, confusion, and disappointment into the message, letting Ethan know exactly what’s on my mind. He needs to know how I feel and that I can’t do this any longer. He had plenty of chances to change things, yet he continued to leave me alone and vulnerable.

Now, he’ll have to live with his choices.

As my finger presses the send button, a wave of nausea rolls through me, but it’s for the best. If Ethan can’t be here to help me when I’m verbally and physically attacked because of something we did together, then I don’t want to continue this relationship.