Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Each word hits like truth, like hope, like everything I’m losing.
“Salem—”
“No. I’m many things, but I will not be a part of your self-destruction.” She steps back again, creating more distance. “I won’t be collateral damage in this war you rage against yourself. I owe myself more than that. And you owe yourself more than this.”
Charlotte tries to touch my arm again, but I shake her off roughly. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Lee.” Salem’s voice gentles even more. “Go home. Get sober. Figure out who you want to be. But don’t expect me to stay and watch you choose destruction over healing. I’ve seen enough people destroy themselves trying to be everything for other people. Be something for yourself. Choose you.”
The reference to Chelsea hits even through my drunk haze. Because she’s right. She’s always been right. About everything.
And I’m losing her anyway.
Because I’m exactly what Pastor James said I’d be.
Unlovable
Unworthy.
Unfixable.
Just like always.
“Lee Sterling.” Mother’s voice cuts through the awkward silence, sharp as broken crystal. “You’re making a scene. Control yourself.”
My father steps forward, only just now noticing something is off. “Lee.” His tone is a low threat, but I scoff.
Something snaps inside me—maybe it’s the bourbon, maybe it’s watching Salem walk away, or maybe it’s seeing Pastor James hovering at the edges of my breakdown like a vulture waiting to help “fix” me again.
“Control myself?” I laugh, and it sounds unhinged even to my ears. “Like you controlled me? Shipped me off to conversion therapy? Tried to pray away everything that made me different?”
“Lower your voice.” She steps closer, perfect smile cracking slightly. “This is your sister’s engagement party—”
“Fuck the party.” The words explode out of me. “Fuck your perfect society events. Fuck your suitable matches. Fuck everything about this fake fucking world you’ve built.” I wave at my father. “And fuck you too, because we both know who runs this family, and it’s sure as hell not you or grandfather.”
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Charlotte retreats, finally getting the message. Pastor James starts forward, probably ready to offer more therapy, but I’m not done.
“You want to cut me off? Do it. Want to take my trust fund? Take it. Want to erase me from the family photos? Be my fucking guest.” My voice carries through the stunned silence. “I don’t want any part of this anymore. Don’t want your money or your connections or your fucking approval.”
“You’re drunk,” Mother hisses. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“No, Mother. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what I’m saying.” I meet her eyes steadily, even as the room spins. “I’m done. Done pretending. Done trying to be suitable. Done letting you make me hate myself for who I am.”
Her perfect composure finally cracks. “You will regret this, Son.”
“No.” I glance at Emma, seeing something like pride beneath her shock. “My only regret in life was letting you convince me that I needed to be fixed.”
I turn to leave, my legs unsteady but my determination solid. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, no one wanting to touch the Sterling heir’s very public meltdown.
“If you walk out that door,” Mother calls after me, “don’t bother coming back.”
I don’t turn around. Don’t acknowledge her threat. Don’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how much everything hurts.
Instead, I walk away from it all—the family legacy, the societal expectations, the lies.
I’ve already lost the only real thing I ever had, anyway.
Might as well lose everything else, too.
TWENTY-NINE
salem
The dress Lee chose fans out around me as I slide into the rideshare car. The burgundy silk is a stark contrast to the worn leather seats. Every instinct in my brain screams about germs, about strange cars, about drivers I don’t know. But Chelsea’s last text burns stronger than my anxiety. “Meet me at our spot. Please. I need you.”
I didn’t see it until morning.
Didn’t check my phone that night because I was organizing my sock drawer by color and texture, needing everything to be perfect, controlled, orderly. While my best friend stood on those cliffs alone. While she made a choice I didn’t understand until much later.
“The Mill?” the driver confirms, eyeing my formal wear in his rearview mirror.
I nod, not trusting my voice. He probably thinks I’m running from a bad date, not running toward ghosts I’ve avoided for two years.
The night wraps around us as we drive, streetlights becoming scarcer until nothing but starlight and memory light the way. Chelsea loved the cliffs by The Mill. Said they made her feel infinite, standing at the edge of everything. I never understood that—how chaos could feel like freedom. Not until Lee taught me that some patterns exist in the midst of disorder. That sometimes the most beautiful things are the ones that don’t align perfectly.
Lee.
My hands clench in my lap, but I force the thought away. I can’t think about him right now. Can’t think about how he looked tonight, drowning himself in bourbon and self-hatred. Can’t think about how much I wanted to stay, to help, to fix everything.