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Ignoring the protests of my aching body, I stagger towards the nearest bystander, desperation lending urgency to my voice. “Have you seen a woman? Dark hair, about this tall?” I gesture wildly, my words tumbling out in a frantic rush. “Her name’s Angelica. Please, she might be in danger.”
The bystander shakes his head, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. “I haven’t seen anyone like that, mate. Are you alright? You look like you took a pretty hard knock.”
I barely register his words as I continue to scan the crowd, searching desperately for any sign of Angelica’s familiar figure. But as the minutes tick by with no sign of her, a cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. I need to find Angelica, no matter what it takes. Ignoring the protests of my battered body, I begin to weave through the wreckage, calling out her name with increasing desperation.
As sirens wail in the distance and emergency responders rush to the scene, I realise that she’s not here…she never was. Relief floods my body and I sag. But then I keep sagging and I’m falling…
Darkness threatens to claim me once more and I just have enough time to whisper a silent prayer of gratitude for Angelica’s safety before I’m claimed by pain.
ChapterTwenty-Three
Angelica
Ishould have been excited to be given the week off by Mr Mortimer. I’d been looking forward to taking some holiday later in the year, but it was a nice surprise to suddenly be given time off now.
A break from the relentless hustle at work and from having to see, be around and work with Lycus should be a welcome relief. But instead of lounging on the couch with a book or getting out of the city for a break, I find myself consumed by thoughts of Lycus.
It’s ridiculous, really. He’s my colleague, my nemesis even. But lately, there’s been this undeniable tension between us, a spark that refuses to be ignored. And against my better judgement, I’ve found myself developing feelings for him.
But now, with this week off, all I can think about is him. It’s like he’s infiltrated every corner of my mind, leaving no room for anything else. And the worst part? He’s gone completely silent.
I’ve tried calling, texting, emailing—every form of communication I can think of. But there’s been no response. Not a single word from him. And the more time that passes, the more my anxiety grows.
I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, or that he’s deliberately ignoring me. But why? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?
Unable to stand the uncertainty any longer, I find myself outside his apartment, heart pounding in my chest. I pound the door frantically, hoping beyond hope that he’ll answer.
But there’s nothing. No sound, no movement from inside. Just silence.
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes as I realise what’s happening. He’s ghosting me. The realisation hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me reeling with a mix of anger, sadness, confusion, and fear.
I try to hold it together, try to push down the rising tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. But it’s no use. The floodgates burst open, and before I know it, I’m sobbing uncontrollably on the doorstep of the man who’s broken down my walls and thawed my heart without even saying a word.
How could he do this to me? How could he just disappear without a trace, leaving me to pick up the pieces of…whatever it is I’m feeling for him?
But amidst the pain and the tears, there’s something else bubbling to the surface—a fierce determination not to let him get away with this. I may be hurt, I may be broken, but I refuse to let him have the satisfaction of seeing me crumble.
With a shaky breath, I wipe away my tears and straighten my shoulders. This isn’t the end. When I return to work on Monday, I’ll confront him. He can’t run from me forever, not when we’ve been assigned this account to collaborate on.
With a resolve hardened by hurt and confusion, I step back from Lycus’s door, my hand trembling as I wipe away tears. Being ghosted by someone I’ve grown to care for cuts deep, but I refuse to let it define me.
This is why I don’t date. And okay, so Lycus and I were never dating, but this just proves that I’m right to keepeveryoneat arm’s length. Being lonely beats being hurt any day.
As I walk away from his apartment and back to my own, the weight of unanswered questions presses down on me. What could have caused him to suddenly cut off all communication?
Did I do something wrong? Was it all just a game to him? Fuck with my head, so I was off my game for the trip, hoping to sabotage me somehow?
Each step I take feels heavier than the last, the uncertainty gnawing at my insides. But amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of determination flickers to life. I won’t let Lycus’s actions dictate my worth or my happiness.
No, only cheese can do that.
Returning home, I find myself torn between wanting to bury myself in distractions and needing to confront the truth head-on. With a deep breath, I reach for my laptop and pull up my work emails. Perhaps there’s a clue hidden in our recent correspondences, something to shed light on his sudden disappearance.
But as I sift through the countless messages, there’s nothing. No indication of any impending conflict or strained relations. It only deepens the mystery surrounding Lycus’s vanishing act.
Frustration simmers beneath the surface as I close my laptop, feeling no closer to understanding his motives. But I refuse to wallow in despair. If Lycus wants to play games, then fine—I’ll play along. But on my terms.
