I didn't snoop.
But when you hear your name, and your life, in whispering mummer behind a banging door, curiosity is self-preservation in a hurry.
"She deserves the truth," said my brother.
"I know," said Rhyland. "I was going to tell her. After the party."
"Why not?"
No answer.
Heavy, clumsy silence.
And then: "Because it's too late now."
This sentence crawled down my spine like ice.
I waited no more.
I snuck back from the hallway, with a heavy heart, ringing ears, constricted chest. I made it to the bedroom, huddled against Noah, and glared up at the ceiling until the night turned grey.
I did not sleep.
And when the sun was finally up, I was not rested.
I was betrayed
Rhyland was already in the kitchen when I came out.
He was pouring juice into a sippy cup like the most mundane morning in the world. Like he hadn't lied to me. Like I hadn't heard the truth sneaking past his words like a crack in glass.
He glanced up.
Smiled.
"Morning. Coffee?"
Nodded, and I sat down.
Looking at him moving around as if nothing was wrong.
And I hated how much I wished it were.
We behaved normally.
Breakfast.
Dressing Noah.
Reacting to one of Lillian's "emergency" texts about flower arrangements for a wedding that was never going to happen.
I almost didn't loot at Rhyland. I couldn't. Not when my chest felt like it was aflame.
He tried to do it. Give the guy some credit.
He served me toast with an extra pat of butter—my favourite
Alerted me to a gallery show that could be "low-key and not crowded with terrifying billionaires."
Even offered to bathe Noah himself for once, which was something, after the last had been tears, wet towels, and a toy boat in the bathroom.
But I wasn't ready yet.
And I didn't pretend.
By evening, I was swaddled on the couch in sweatpants, Noah in my lap, attempting to watch a crime show I'd seen three straight times.
Rhyland came in slowly.
But like a man on a mission.
Just… there.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
I didn't answer.
"Let me tell you what happened."
"You said it was too late," I said. "Tell me about that."
He sat down at the end of the couch as if he didn't belong there.
"I already knew about Caleb when you told me."
I closed my eyes.
He continued.
"Your brother told me what it was that happened. When you phoned him that night. I took him to the airport."
This is unbelievable.
"You knew," I said, hollow.
"I didn't want to make you worried"
"So you lied."
"I wanted you to trust me in your way."
"You lied by omission."
"I was trying to help."
"You made me believe I had to start all over with you. That you didn't know anything."
His voice fell. "I did learn. That's why I couldn't keep quiet."
That didn't work either.
It hurt more.
Because a part of me wanted to believe he cared—truly. And now, I wasn't sure if I could believe anything.
"You should've spoken up," I said.
"I was going to," he said to me. "After the engagement party. I didn't want to mess up the one thing that was working."
"But it wasn't real."
"It was," he said. "It is. I don't know how it happened, but at some point, this lie just stopped feeling like one."
I shook my head. "You don't get to say that now. Not after this."
He stood, jaw clenched. "You want honesty? Okay. I didn't tell you because I was afraid. Afraid you'd leave. Afraid you'd see the worst of me and remember the rest. Afraid I'd lose you before I ever had you."
I stood up, Noah grasping my chest.
"Then maybe you never had me."
If I walk away,
That will be the end.
Noah's breathing was steady and slow, something that I clung to when the world inside me broke apart.
I didn't cry.
I wanted to.
But the tears wouldn't come.
I just sat in the dark, staring at nothing, trying to get my head around how something that sounded so real could feel so unreal.
I must have slept, because I awoke with Noah shifting next to me and rain on the panes.
The clock read 12:47 a.m.
I got up from the couch and took Noah to the nursery. He whined a bit but calmed down once he was on the mattress. I pulled the blanket over him and kissed his forehead.
When I turned around, Rhyland was in the doorway.
He was standing there the way I wished I were standing there—tired of the pretending.
"I wasn't playing you," he whispered. "I just didn't know how to make you see that I care without things getting worse."
I stood in the centre of the nursery, not knowing what to do.
"How am I supposed to trust you now?" I demanded.
"You don't have to trust anything. Just… sit with me."
He turned and went away.
A minute later.
Then I went after him.
We sat silently for so long. Rain and the city sounds were the only sounds to disrupt it.
"I keep thinking over what you said," I breathed. "How this stopped being a lie."
"It did," he said.
"Then why does it sound like I'm still faking not to fall apart?"
He looked at me.
"I don't want to be another man to shatter you, Emery."
I turned to him.
"You already are," I said to him.
His breath caught.
He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees, and intertwining his fingers.
"I'm not asking you to trust me tonight. Or to forgive me."
"Then what are you asking me?" I asked him.
"Time," he said. "To show you that I'm worth the risk."
The words seem to trigger something in me.
And I wanted to believe that maybe he was.
That the guy beside me was a smooth-talking with secrets and timing that always came too late.
So I inched closer.
Not close enough to touch.
Close enough to show that I hadn't gotten detached from him—emotionally.
His head rotated slowly, eyes raking mine.
Then—
He kissed me.
Soft.
Gentle.
As if he wasn't quite sure that he had a right.
I didn't pull away.
But neither did I advance.
When we parted, neither of us said a word.
He did not inquire what it was.
And I did not know.
The next morning, I found the nursery to be empty
I ransacked the penthouse.
Noah's bed: vacant.
His special blanket: vanished.
The front door?
Left open.
And then I found the note on the floor—balled up in two as if whoever balled it up had thought better of leaving it unfinished.
It had only two words, in a spidery, unclear handwriting.
"He knows."