My hand for her dream.

I did not know when the tears started falling.

They came quietly, without permission, sliding down my face while I stood there watching him kiss her like nothing else in the world existed, like there had never been a place for me beside him.

My fingers trembled slightly at my side, weak, unsteady, and I pressed them against my dress, trying to ground myself, trying to stop the feeling spreading through my chest.

Years.

I had spent years loving him.

Years building lies in my heart that I thought was real.

I could still remember it clearly, the first time I realized I liked him, the way my chest used to feel tight whenever he looked at me, the way I used to wait for him, the way I held onto every word he said like it meant something.

And when he asked me to be his girlfriend, I had been so happy.

So stupidly happy.

I thought he felt the same.

I thought he had chosen me.

Now I stood there, watching him choose someone else without hesitation, without guilt, like I had never mattered in the first place.

My breath came out uneven, and I forced myself to look away, wiping my face quickly before turning back toward the house.

By the time I returned to the dining room, they were already seated again.

Nothing had changed.

Selene sat there calmly, her expression soft, composed, as if she had not just been wrapped in his arms moments ago, and Adrian looked just as steady, like there was nothing to hide.

No one questioned it.

No one noticed.

Or maybe they did, and they simply did not care.

I walked back to my seat quietly, my movements controlled, my face blank.

Dinner was over not long after, and the plates sat half empty across the table.

Mine was untouched.

His mother’s gaze shifted toward me.

“You’re not eating?” she asked, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.

“I’m allergic to seafood,” I replied calmly.

A brief pause followed.

Then she gave a small hum, like that was insignificant.

“You should have said something earlier,” she said, though there was no apology in her voice.

I glanced at Adrian.

He did not look at me.

He was pouring Selene a drink.

“I did,” I said quietly.

No one responded.

His mother turned slightly, looking around the table.

“There’s no one here to clear this up,” she said, her tone changing just enough to carry meaning.

Then her eyes settled on me.

“Well,” she continued, her lips curving faintly, “like mother, like daughter, I suppose you would know what to do.”

The words landed softly.

But they cut deep.

A quiet reminder.

A place I had tried to move past.

A place they would never let me forget.

My fingers tightened slightly against my lap, and for a moment, I did not move.

Then I stood.

“I’ll handle it.”

I began gathering the plates slowly, carefully, my injured hand aching with every small movement, the weight pressing against my fingers, sending sharp pulses up my arm.

I carried them into the kitchen one by one.

The sink filled quickly and I started cleaning.

My hands moved awkwardly, unsteady, my grip weak, and I had to adjust constantly just to keep from dropping anything.

The pain spread through my fingers, dull but persistent, and I clenched my jaw slightly, focusing on the task in front of me.

At least this was something I could still do.

A soft sound came from behind me.

Footsteps.

I did not turn immediately.

Then her voice came, light and almost playful.

“Evelyn.”

I looked over my shoulder.

Selene stood there, leaning lightly against the doorframe, her expression calm, her eyes watching me with quiet interest.

“I thought I should help,” she said, stepping inside.

I turned back to the sink.

“It’s fine.”

She moved closer anyway.

Too close.

Her presence filled the small space, her perfume faint but noticeable, and I felt it, the tension, the quiet pressure of her standing right behind me.

“You’ve always been so good at this,” she said softly.

I did not respond.

My fingers tightened slightly around the plate I was holding, the water running over it as I focused on not letting it slip.

“For someone who worked so hard to leave that life behind,” she continued, her voice almost thoughtful, “you still fit into it so easily.”

My breath slowed.

I said nothing.

Then suddenly, there was a sharp movement.

A quick shift.

A small, controlled gasp.

I turned instinctively.

Selene stumbled back slightly, her hand lifting, her expression twisting as she looked down at her wrist.

There was a thin line of red.

A cut.

Small.

But enough.

Her eyes widened, and she looked at me.

“You cut me,” she said, her voice soft, but carrying just enough shock.

The plate slipped slightly in my hand.

“I didn’t—”

Footsteps approached quickly.

Adrian’s voice came first.

“What happened?”

Selene looked up at him, her expression fragile now, her voice quiet.

“She didn’t mean to,” she said gently, holding her wrist like it hurt more than it should, “it was an accident.”

I stood there, my fingers trembling, my chest tight as I stared at her.

I had not touched her.

Not even close.

But she was already looking at me like I had.

And Adrian was already looking at me, anger brimming in his eyes. .