Relief and betrayal crashed together inside me, leaving me dizzy. Because deep down, some part of me hadhopedit was him. Had wanted it. But another part screamed that he should have told me sooner.
“You?” My voice cracked. “It was you this whole time?”
He nodded once, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. It was me.”
I sat back hard in my chair, pressing a trembling hand to my chest.
Shock. Relief. Hurt. Confusion. All tangled into one impossible knot.
And suddenly, I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or cry.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words burst out sharp and raw.
Talon flinched, then leaned forward, elbows braced on the table. His fingers tapped against the cardboard sleeve of his cup, restless and tense. “Because I didn’t know right away.”
That startled me. “What?”
“I didn’t know it was you,” he said quietly. His eyes searched mine, steady and serious. “Not at first. I just knew you asReadToLiv. And then, that night at my apartment … when we were trying to name the fish?”
A heaviness settled over me.Sapphire.
“You said you were always bad at naming things. That you overthought it, that names felt too heavy to choose. And it hit me—because you’d said the exact same thing in one of our chats.” He exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s when I realized.”
The memory flickered, vivid and undeniable. I had said that. Both times. My breath caught.
“So you knew then?”
“I suspected,” he admitted. “But once I paid attention, once I started connecting the dots—yeah. I knew. And then I panicked.”
“Panicked?” My voice wavered between disbelief and hurt.
He winced. “Because suddenly, the person I’d beenspilling all my words to—the one I never thought I’d meet—was sitting across from me on my couch. And I didn’t know how to handle it. I wanted to tell you, Livvi. A dozen times. But every time I opened my mouth, I choked. I didn’t want to lose what we had online, and I didn’t want to risk what we were building in real life.”
I stared at him, my throat tight, tears stinging the backs of my eyes.
“You let me think there weretwopeople,” I whispered. “You let me believe I was falling in … I don’t even know what. With both of you.”
“I know.” His voice cracked. “And I hate that. I hate that I hurt you. I kept telling myself I’d tell you the truth tomorrow. Then tomorrow. Then tomorrow. And suddenly, I’d run out of tomorrows.”
My hands shook as I curled them in my lap. “Do you have any idea how confusing this is for me? How much I trusted you? Both versions of you?”
“Yes,” he said fiercely. “I know. And I don’t deserve your trust right now. But I swear, Livvi, nothing I told you was fake. Not one word. Whether I was Talon orTheWriteGuy, it was always me. The same feelings. The same truths. Just … split in half.”
I pressed my lips together, trying to hold myself together. Around us, the café hummed with normalcy—coffee machines steaming, spoons clinking, people chatting. But at our little table, everything was broken open.
And yet, underneath the sting, something else throbbed. Relief. Because at least now I knew. At least now there weren’t two men tugging at my heart.
Just one.
One man I didn’t know if I could forgive.
“I don’t know what to do with this,” I whispered finally.
His gaze softened, pain etched in every line of his face. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take your time. Be mad at me. I deserve it. Just … please don’t walk away without knowing that this—” He gestured between us. “It’s real. Every part of it.”
I swallowed hard, blinking against the tears.
Surprise. Comfort. Pain. Hope.