Too Late For His Desperate Proposal

Chloe Waller POV:

A searing, white-hot pain exploded across my skin. I cried out, jumping to my feet as the scalding liquid soaked through my sweater.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yelled, my voice shaking with pain and fury as I glared at Tiffany.

She feigned a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Oh my god, Chloe, I am so, so sorry! It was an accident!" She reached out as if to touch the angry red blotches already forming on my skin.

"Don' t touch me!" I snapped, recoiling. The pain was intensifying, a vicious, burning throb.

The commotion had attracted the attention of the other patrons and the café staff.

"This is a warning, you little bitch," Tiffany hissed under her breath, her sweet facade dropping for a second to reveal the venom beneath. "Stay away from Holden."

Her words hit me harder than the coffee. This was deliberate. This was a message from Fabiola.

A waiter rushed over with a damp cloth and a first-aid kit. Tiffany was still putting on a show, dabbing uselessly near my arm, her touch making me flinch. The pain was so sharp it brought tears to my eyes, and I slapped her hand away.

"Get away from me!"

"Did Fabiola put you up to this?" I demanded, my voice trembling.

Tiffany' s eyes widened in mock horror. "What? Of course not! Fabiola would never! I was just trying to help her out, that' s all. You should know your place." Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "Don' t make me warn you again."

There was nothing left to say. The cruelty of it all was breathtaking. I turned and walked out of the café, ignoring the stares and whispers, my arm screaming in protest. A small, naive part of me prayed that Fabiola really didn't know, that her friend had acted alone.

My parents were horrified when I got home. My mother gently cleaned and bandaged the burn, her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

"You need to stay away from them, Chloe," she said, her voice firm. "These are not good people."

I nodded numbly and, for a week, I followed her advice. I ignored Holden' s texts, I let his calls go to voicemail. I couldn' t face him. I couldn' t pretend to be happy for him when his new life was a constant source of pain, and his new girlfriend was actively trying to hurt me.

Then, one afternoon, the doorbell rang. It was Holden, holding a small, gift-wrapped box.

"Chlo, I was so worried," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "Fabiola told me what happened. I' m so sorry. I had no idea until today."

A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. Of course. He was here to do damage control for Fabiola.

"It' s fine. I' m fine," I said, my voice flat. I kept my gaze fixed on the floor. "You didn' t have to come."

"Of course I did," he said, pushing the box into my hands. "I don' t want things to be weird between us, Chlo."

Too late, I screamed in my head. The weirdness is a permanent resident now. It' s moved in and redecorated.

"We just don' t get along with Fabiola' s friends," I said, forcing a placating tone.

He looked relieved. "Okay, well, just ignore them then. You don' t have to interact with her." His loyalty, I noted with a fresh pang of hurt, was already decided.

"What if she did it on purpose, Holden?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I had to know. I had to see if he would believe me.

He looked shocked, his eyebrows shooting up. "Tiffany? No way. She' s not like that. You' re probably just being a little sensitive, Chlo."

There it was. He chose her. He chose them. He trusted the word of a girl he' d known for a few months over me, his seventeen-year-long "sister." The disappointment was a physical weight in my chest.

"Yeah," I said, my voice hollow. "Maybe you' re right. I' m just tired. I think I' m going to lie down."

It was a clear dismissal, and after a moment of hesitation, he left.

Alone in my room, I opened the gift. It was a pair of delicate silver earrings.

I don' t have pierced ears. Holden knew this. We' d had a whole conversation about it last year when I' d considered getting them done and then chickened out.

Then, another memory surfaced. A conversation with Fabiola at that horrible shopping trip. She' d been complaining about a gift from Holden. "He bought me these hideous earrings," she' d whined. "I told him to take them back."

He' d given me Fabiola' s reject gift. A hand-me-down. An afterthought.

A single tear plopped onto the velvet box. I couldn' t even be bothered to wipe it away. With a surge of anger, I threw the box into the trash can.

As I did, the room suddenly swam. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and my vision went black for a terrifying second. I gripped the edge of my desk, my heart pounding, until the world righted itself.

Shaken, I stumbled out of my room. "Mom," I called out, forcing a brightness I didn' t feel. "I' m starving."

I had to be normal. I had to be okay.