He’s leaning against the bar, wearing that same easy smile he always uses when he wants to make cruelty sound reasonable.
“Louis.” His name comes out wobbly, and I hate that he can still do this to me. One look, one comment, and suddenly I’m back in our kitchen trying to explain why something he said hurt while he watches me struggle for words.
His gaze moves over me slowly. “The pack, the entrance, all of it. This isn’t you. Don’t pretend, because men like that don’t go for Omegas like you. This won’t last.”
Fury burns through me. “You don’t know what’s me,” I snap. The answer comes too fast, catching on the way out. I wish it sounded stronger.
He gives a quiet laugh. “I know you better than that. You hate attention and crowds. You barely wanted to leave the house when we were together, and now you’re parading three men around like you’ve become someone else overnight. Yeah, sure.”
My hands tighten into a ball. “Maybe I didn’t want to leave the house because every time I did, you made me feel like I was doing something wrong.”
His expression barely changes, but I spot the irritation under it all.
“Don’t do that,” he states. “Don’t rewrite everything because you’re embarrassed.”
I’m trembling. People are moving behind him, music filling the room, glasses clinking, but all I can hear is my own breathing getting faster.
“You always do this,” I go on. “You say something awful, and then when I react, you act like I’m confused. Or dramatic. Or too sensitive. You gaslight me all the time.”
His mouth tightens. “You were happier being miserable, Claire. At least then you had an excuse.”
For a second, I can’t speak. My face is burning, my chest too tight, and every clever response disappears. He studies me as if he’s already won and he knows I’ll fold because I always did.
But I’m so tired of bowing to him.
“Maybe I was miserable because you made sure I was,” I state, and the sentence comes out uneven. “Maybe every time I started feeling good about myself, you found a way to ruin it.”
He leans closer. “You really believe that?”
“Yes. You liked me easier to control.” I square my shoulders, even if I’m shaking all over.
His eyes sharpen.
And my anger keeps pushing through the fear. “And you don’t get to stand here and tell me who I am anymore,” I continue. “You picked someone else, took the ring, and walked out, so you don’t get to come back whenever you’re bored and crawl into my head.”
“Claire—” His eyes are wide.
“No.” I almost stumble over the word, but I force it out again. “I blocked your number. I don’t want your texts, I don’t want your opinions, and I don’t give a fuck whether you think this is real.”
His expression shifts, something colder moving behind his eyes.
“You know what?” I state. “Just fuck off, Louis.” The words leave me breathless. For one terrifying second, I think I might cry with the emotions rattling through me.
“None of them are going to stay. You’re too much work, Claire. You always were a bitch.” Then he marches away, shoving his way through the crowd.
Suddenly, I need air. I can’t face anyone, as my face is on fire and tears are welling in my eyes, my chest cracking.
I slip away, duck behind a column, and find a door. Storage room. Catering trolleys, stacked chairs, a single bare bulb. I don’t care. I hurry inside, pulling the door closed, then press my back to the wall.
Four breaths in. Hold. Four exhales out.
Every inch of me is shaking. I wrap my arms around myself, but it does nothing to contain the anger, humiliation, and hurt tearing around beneath my skin.
I told him to fuck off. I finally said it, and somehow I still feel like the loser.
Even now, months after he left, he still reduces me to this within minutes, trembling in a room full of stacked chairs and folded tablecloths while everyone else laughs and drinks on the other side of the wall.
My lungs refuse to fill properly. I press both palms against the cool stone behind me and focus on the roughness beneath them, forcing myself to name what’s real.Stone. Floor. Shelves. Music muffled through the door. My glasses sliding down my nose.I breathe in slowly, but the air catches halfway and breaks apart in my chest.