EPISODE 22
ALTHEA
I didn’t stop walking until the noise faded behind me.
The music, the laughter, the whispers—all of it dissolved into a dull echo as I pushed through the glass doors and into the quiet hallway.
Cool air brushed against my skin, but it did nothing to settle the heat still burning in my chest.
My steps slowed eventually, heels clicking softer against the polished marble floor, but my heart refused to follow.
It pounded relentlessly, like it hadn’t caught up with the fact that I had already walked away.
I lifted my hand to my lips, pressing my fingers there for a brief second, as if I could erase it—erase the memory, the feeling, the way everything in me had reacted before I could stop it.
God.
I hated this.
I hated how easily he still got to me.
How one reckless, selfish moment could drag me back to a place I had fought so hard to leave behind.
“Althea.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
Of course.
I didn’t turn right away, but I didn’t need to.
I knew that voice.
I knew the softness in it, the quiet concern that always came with it.
Aria.
“You walk fast when you’re angry,” she added gently.
A humorless breath left me.
“I’m not angry.”
There was a pause behind me—just long enough to make the silence feel intentional.
“You’re lying.”
I let my hand fall from my lips and turned slowly.
Aria stood a few steps away, her dress catching the soft hallway light, her expression calm but knowing.
She wasn’t here to judge me, and somehow, that made it harder to keep my guard up.
“I’m fine,” I said again, quieter this time.
“That was not ‘fine,’ Thea.” Her tone didn’t rise, but it carried weight.
“He kissed you in front of everyone. You walked out. And you look like you’re holding yourself together by a thread.”
My jaw tightened.
“It was a moment. It’s over.”
“Is it?”
The question landed too easily.
I looked away, because no—it didn’t feel over.
It felt like something had just been dragged back to life.
Aria stepped closer, her presence steady, grounding.
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There’s everything to talk about,” she said, more firmly now.
“You don’t get to shut down on me after something like that.”
I let out a slow breath, dragging my fingers through my hair.
“I just… didn’t expect it.”
“That’s not why you reacted the way you did.”
I stilled.
“Then why?” I asked, even though I already knew she wasn’t going to let me hide behind half-truths.
“Because it meant something,” she said simply.
A quiet laugh slipped out, dry and hollow.
“It didn’t mean anything. It was impulsive. That’s who he is.”
“Stop.”
The word was soft, but it carried enough force to make me look at her again.
“Don’t make it smaller just so you can handle it,” she continued.
“That’s not what this is.”
“It is easier,” I snapped before I could stop myself.
“Because if I don’t, then I have to admit that it affected me. That after everything, after all these years, I’m still standing here reacting like that girl—and I refuse to go back to her.”
The silence that followed pressed in, heavier this time.
Aria didn’t interrupt.
She didn’t soften it.
She just let me sit in it until the words settled between us.
“I worked really hard to get over him,” I said finally, my voice quieter now.
“You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“I had to,” I continued, my gaze dropping.
“Because staying in that space—waiting, hoping, accepting whatever he gave me—it wasn’t love. It was exhausting. It broke me.”
My fingers curled slightly at my sides.
“And now he’s here, acting like nothing has changed. Like I’m supposed to just… fall back into it.”
“But you didn’t,” Aria said.
I looked up.
“You didn’t stay quiet. You didn’t let it slide. You walked away.”
“I almost didn’t.”
“But you did.”
That mattered.
More than I wanted to admit.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said honestly.
“Because a part of me still feels it. And I hate that part.”
“Why?”
“Because it makes me weak.”
Aria frowned slightly.
“No. It makes you human.”
I shook my head.
“It makes me reckless. Because I know how this ends. I’ve lived it.”
“And what if it doesn’t end the same way this time?”
I let out a quiet breath.
“You really believe that?”
“I believe people can change,” she said.
“But only if they’re forced to.”
My chest tightened. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“And do you think he’s been forced to?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
That was answer enough.
“I can’t go back to that,” I said, more firmly now.
“I won’t be the girl who accepts half-love and calls it enough.”
“Then don’t,” she replied simply.
I blinked.
“He has to meet you where you are now,” she continued.
“Not where you used to be.”
I inhaled slowly, letting that settle.
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you walk away.”
No hesitation.
No softness.
Just truth.
And for the first time, that didn’t feel impossible.
It felt… real.
I exhaled, some of the tension finally easing from my shoulders.
“Thank you.”
Aria smiled faintly and squeezed my hand.
“Always.”
We stood there for a moment, the quiet wrapping around us, steady and grounding.
Then she smirked slightly.
“You know he’s probably losing his mind right now.”
A small huff escaped me.
“Good.”
She laughed.
“And Adrian? He’s definitely not leaving you alone tonight.”
I rolled my eyes, but something softer flickered in my chest.
“Adrian is… different.”
“Different how?”
I hesitated, then answered honestly.
“Easy.”
Aria studied me for a second before nodding.
“That’s not a bad thing.”
No. It wasn’t.
But for some reason… it didn’t feel simple either.
And deep down, I knew— this wasn’t over.
Not even close.
I had barely taken a few steps down the corridor when I heard them again—footsteps.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just steady.
I didn’t turn immediately this time.
I already knew.
“Althea.”
I exhaled quietly before facing him.
Adrian stood a few feet away, hands tucked loosely into his pockets, his posture relaxed but deliberate.
His gaze settled on me with that same quiet focus I had come to recognize—calm, observant… and tonight, something more.
“You’re really popular tonight,” I said lightly, though the words lacked any real humor.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
“I could say the same about you.”
I shook my head, a breath slipping out.
“That’s not the kind of attention I want.”
“I know.”
Of course he did.
That was the thing about Adrian—he didn’t need things spelled out.
He read what wasn’t said just as easily as what was.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I will be.”
He studied me for a moment, like he was deciding whether to accept that answer.
Then he nodded and stepped a little closer, stopping just short of closing the space completely.
“I didn’t like what happened back there,” he said.
“Neither did I.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
I looked at him.
His expression hadn’t hardened, but there was a quiet firmness there now, something more intentional than before.
“I didn’t like the way he handled you,” he clarified.
My jaw tightened.
“He didn’t ‘handle’ me.”
Adrian didn’t argue.
He just tilted his head slightly.
“Then what would you call it?”
I hesitated, because there wasn’t a simple answer.
“It was impulsive,” I said finally.
“That’s just… who he is.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No.”
The word came out quickly, stronger than I expected.
Adrian nodded once, like he needed to hear that.
“Good.”
Silence settled between us, heavier now, filled with everything we both understood but hadn’t said yet.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” I added quietly.
He shook his head.
“Don’t apologize for someone else’s actions.”
“That doesn’t make it less embarrassing.”
“You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about,” he said simply.
I looked away for a moment, letting out a breath.
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Not really.”
That made me look back at him.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been watching this unfold,” he said, his tone still even but carrying something more personal now.
“And from where I’m standing, you’re not the one who crossed a line.”
I held his gaze, searching for judgment.
There was none.
And something else.
Something I had noticed before.
Something I had deliberately ignored.
“Adrian…” I started.
“No,” he said quietly.
“Let me say this.”
I stilled.
“I’ve respected your boundaries from the beginning,” he continued.
“I didn’t push. I didn’t cross lines. I didn’t act on anything you weren’t ready for.”
“I know,” I said softly.
“Do you?” he asked, not sharply, but enough to make me pause.
“Yes.”
“Then you know why.”
My chest tightened.
Because I did know.
I had seen it—in the way he looked at me sometimes, in the way he stayed close without stepping too far, in the way he gave without asking.
And I had stopped it.
Before it could become something real.
Before it could become complicated.
“You told me not to,” he said gently.
“And I listened.”
“I wasn’t ready,” I said quickly.
“I’m still not.”
“Because of him.”
It wasn’t a question.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t need to.
Adrian let out a quiet breath, glancing away briefly before returning his gaze to me.
“I tried not to make it about him,” he admitted.
“Tried to just be someone you could rely on. No pressure. No expectations.”
“You have been,” I said.
“You still are.”
His expression softened slightly at that, but it didn’t erase the tension underneath.
“But that doesn’t change what I feel,” he added.
The words landed quietly, but they settled deep.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t interrupt.
Because this was the part I had been avoiding.
“I didn’t come here to complicate things for you,” he continued.
“And I’m not asking you for anything right now.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because I’m not him,” Adrian said, his voice calm but firm.
“I don’t wait until things explode to be honest.”
That hit harder than I expected.
“I deserve to say how I feel,” he added.
“And you deserve to hear it without it being forced on you.”
I exhaled slowly, my chest tightening.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” I said.
“You haven’t.”
“I stopped you,” I reminded him.
“Before anything could even start.”
“And I let you,” he replied.
“Because I understood why.”
Silence stretched again.
He wasn’t angry.
That almost made it worse.
“You still feel something for him,” Adrian said quietly.
I didn’t deny it.
“Yes.”
The word felt heavier than it should have.
More final.
Adrian nodded once, like he had expected it.
“I figured.”
I watched him carefully, waiting for something—for frustration, disappointment, anything that would make this easier.
But he stayed composed.
Steady.
“You don’t have to choose anything right now,” he said.
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“I know.”
Another silence.
Then—
“I just need to understand something,” he added.
My gaze lifted.
“What?”
He held my eyes, unwavering now.
“Was he really worth it?”
My chest tightened.
“Adrian—”
“Not the chaos,” he clarified.
“Not tonight. Not what he just did.” His voice softened slightly.
“I mean everything. The waiting. The way you held yourself back.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Was Elias really worth the wait?”