Chapter 216
Aunt Emma: Tell me what Ava said is real? Please! Please! I’ve waited for this day forever.
Aunt Connie: You were at Noah’s house yesterday?
I groan louder this time. “Dammit p>
“What?” Noah asks, lowering himself onto the bench beside me.
“Your mother has a big mouth,” I mutter, my shoulders slumping.
His brows knit together in confusion, so I turn my phone and show him the screen.
I expect a frown, anger, or at least irritation, but instead, he smiles, and a low chuckle slips past his lips.
I stare at him. “What’s so funny? You should be furious. Now everyone’s going to think we’re on our way to some happily–ever–after fairytale p>
His smile fades slowly. He doesn’t look at me again. His gaze drifts to the pond, to the koi fish gliding beneath the surface, like he’s been pulled into a memory he didn’t ask for.
For a second, I think he’s thinking about Chloe. How could he not? He built this place for her… But then a thought strikes me. Would he really be thinking about his wife while sitting here with me? His ex. Do I even count as an ex? Or was I just his emotional support sponge back then? Something to lean on while Chloe had broken up with him, something disposable once she came back?
The thought stings more than I expect. It’s a possibility I’ve turned over in my head for years. Every time I did, I came to the same conclusion: that I never meant to him what he meant to me. Otherwise, why did he always go back to her?
Noah exhales slowly, his voice quieter when he finally speaks. “They’ve always hoped p>
I’m honestly surprised that he’s talking about this so calmly. If it were before, he would have lashed out. He never liked hearing my name and his in the same sentence.
I let out a humorless laugh. “They were always hoping for something that would never happen p>
“Is that what you think?” he asks.
I don’t answer.
“There was a time…” His voice is low and distant, like he’s speaking to a version of himself frozen in the past. “I thought happily ever after would be ours p>
I turn toward him. “I know how you feel. When you married her, I’m sure you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with her. You believed you’d finally found your happy ending with the woman you loved p>
The words sting a little as they leave my mouth but that doesn’t matter. Chloe may have been terrible, but that doesn’t erase the truth. Losing her still hurt. Even after everything she did, part of me still mourned the girl she used to be. The friend I once loved.
Noah exhales slowly, his gaze fixed on the water. “I didn’t mean Chloe p>
My breath catches.
“I meant you p>
“Me?” My eyes widen.
There’s no way. No fucking way. I’m sure I heard him wrong.
“Yes p>
Shock gives way to anger so fast it makes my head spin.
“What game are you playing, Noah?” I snap. “Why are you lying p>
He finally turns to me, expression tight. “I’m not lying. I’m telling you the truth p>
I let out a harsh laugh. “You expect me to believe that? That you once pictured a future with me?” My voice rises despite myself. “You hated me, Noah. You used me. You hurt me and tore out my fucking heart. Do any of those sound like the actions of a man dreaming of a future with a woman p>
“That’s not what happened and you know that.” His brows knit together, frustration flashing across his face.
I bite back, my chest burning “That’s exactly what happened. So what? Now that Chloe is gone, you think you can come back to me? Say a few pretty words and I’ll just believe you? I’m not that naïve, stupid girl anymore. I won’t let you use me as a substitute the way you did back then, when Chloe broke with you and you needed someone to fill the space p>
up with
The words hang between us, and for the first time since this conversation started, Noah looks like I’ve struck something real.
“That’s not p>
I don’t let him finish. “We’re done here p>
I stand so fast the bench scrapes softly against the ground. I don’t look back. I just turn and storm toward the house, my pulse roaring in my ears.
I hear him call my name. His footsteps follow, faster now, but I refuse to slow down. I need distance from him, from his words, from whatever twisted version of the past he’s trying to sell me.
I won’t stand there and let him rewrite history. I won’t let him dress old wounds up as truth.
I reach the house and shove the door open, my breath coming hard. I’m halfway up the stairs when a hand catches my wrist and yanks me back.
I spin and we end up chest to chest.
“Would you just listen?” he growls, frustration etched deep into his voice, his grip tight but not painful.
I shake my head violently. I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off when the front door slams open so hard it rattles the walls.
“Where is that fucking psychotic bitch?” 13