Maybe he'll stop them. Maybe he'll tell them I'm not like that.
Then he opened his mouth again, and the hope died.
"She's still technically my girlfriend. If this gets out, I'm the one who looks bad. So let's drop it."
Not defense. Just damage control for his own reputation.
"Wait, you're seriously still going to marry her after all that?"
Camille pressed closer to him, tugging at his arm with a pout.
"What about me? I'm not going to be some mistress."
"If you don't give me an answer soon, we're done."
"That's not going to happen!"
Kevin's composure cracked. Panic flashed across his face.
My fingers curled into fists.
He had never once lost his cool like that for me. Not once.
"Why should I be the one stuck cleaning up someone else's mess?" His voice turned cold, dripping with contempt. "If my parents weren't always nagging me to 'take care of her,' I would've ended it ages ago."
As he spoke, his expression shifted—disgust settling over his features like a mask he'd finally stopped hiding.
I couldn't move. My arms dropped to my sides.
So this is how he really feels about me.
Then why didn't he just say so?
All those years together—the gentleness, the patience—was any of it real?