“I’m not…” I choke. “I’m not crying because of you.”
“Sure,” he says. “You’re crying because you feel guilty.”
“I don’t feel guilty for leaving,” I say, and it comes out stronger than I expect. “I feel guilty that I ever let myself think I owed you…”
Evan slams his palm against the steering wheel.
The sound makes me flinch so hard my shoulders jerk.
“You owed me respect,” he snaps. “You owed me basic decency. You don’t get to waste a year of my life and walk away like it’s some cute self-discovery journey.”
Year.
He says it like a contract term.
Like he paid for access.
My throat tightens. “I didn’t waste your life.”
“You did,” he cries out, his control slipping. “Because I built a future around you. I made room for you. I defended you to people who thought you were just…”
Just what?
A small-town accessory? A daughter with connections? A pretty thing with a last name that looked good next to his?
I don’t ask. I don’t want the answer.
My phone buzzes in my lap, but Evan grabs it before I can do anything about it.
“No,” he growls. “You’re not answering it. And you’re not calling anyone. You’re going to listen to me.”
“Give it back.”
His eyes flare. “Faith?—”
“Give it back.”
For a split second, I think he might actually do it.
Instead, he looks at it like it’s an insect, and then he brings it down against the dashboard. The screen spiderwebs instantly.
I make a sound that doesn’t feel human. “Evan!”
He slams it again. Harder.
The phone goes dark.
My whole body goes numb. My hands fly to my mouth. I’m shaking so badly my teeth chatter.
He tosses it into the cup holder like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t just cut my last thread to safety.
“You don’t get to summon reinforcements,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”
Terror blooms in my chest, fast and hot.
“I… I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper, and I hate how small I sound.
Evan’s face turns toward me fully now, and his expression is not of love or hurt. It’s entitlement.
