Her laugh was brittle. “And when does this stop? When do we stop pretending?” Her voice dropped, frustration spilling through. “I didn’t sign up to play house with a ghost. I want this to end, Maxon. I want to be with Lewis as soon as possible, so we better end this.”
He held her gaze, unreadable. “It ends when it has to.”
A beat of silence stretched between them. Then Maxon straightened, the mask sliding back into place—composed, distant, controlled.
“Smile,” he said quietly. “They’re watching.”
Victoria exhaled sharply, then forced her expression into something soft, affectionate. She slipped her arm through his, fingers curling possessively as if it were natural—real.
Inside, though, her thoughts were anything but calm. She was already searching the room for Lewis, instinctively, desperately, as if he might appear and make sense of the mess they’d created.
She hated the waiting, the pretending, the way this charade refused to end. She wanted it over—wanted her life back, wanted clarity instead of lies layered over lies.