“I said I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The words fall out automatically. A reflex honed over the years.
Evan laughs, sharp and humorless. “Sorry doesn’t erase embarrassment, Faith. Sorry doesn’t undo the fact that you humiliated me in front of everyone who matters.”
That word again.
Humiliated.
He moves closer, and I take a step back without meaning to. My shoulder blades hit the wall, and my pulse spikes hard enough to make me dizzy.
“We can still fix this,” Evan continues, his tone shifting smoother, more controlled. That shift terrifies me more than the yelling. “That’s the important part. We fix it before it becomes permanent.”
Fix it.
Control it.
“You come back,” he says, gesturing around the room like it’s already decided. “You lay low. We issue a statement about the wedding. You apologize publicly. Your father’s already laid the groundwork.”
My throat tightens. “What groundwork?”
He waves a hand dismissively. “Hospital. Exhaustion. Emotional collapse. People understand that brides break. It plays well.”
I feel sick.
“So now,” Evan says, watching me closely, “you do what you need to do to make this go away.”
Evan changes when he smiles like that.
It’s subtle. An absence of emotion that terrifies me most. The way his face smooths out, the way his eyes go cold and calculating, like he’s already five steps ahead and I’m standing still.
I’ve never been afraid of Evan before.
Annoyed, yes. Overwhelmed. Frustrated. Tired of shrinking myself to fit beside him. But fear crawling up my spine is new.It feels wrong in my body, like my instincts are screaming something my brain is too slow to translate.
I tell myself to stay calm. To keep my voice low. To nod, apologize, make this end.
That’s what I’ve always done with Evan.
I was good at it, once. Sweet. Easy. Agreeable. I learned early that opinions complicated things, that resistance made people withdraw affection or patience. Around Evan, I learned how to disappear just enough to keep the peace. Smile when expected. Laugh softly. Say,you’re probably right.
That version of me is right there, hovering at the edges of my mind, ready to step back in like a familiar coat.
I feel myself slipping toward her now.
“Okay,” I say again, too quickly. “I just… I need some time. I’m tired.”
Evan exhales, clearly pleased by my retreat. “That’s better. You’ve been emotional. Anyone would be, after a stunt like this.”
Stunt.
I swallow the word down, along with the instinct to argue.
He turns away from me, pacing again, already rewriting the night in his head. “We’ll keep you off social media. I’ll talk to my PR guy in the morning. Your father’s already doing damage control with his contacts.”
My stomach twists. “He knows you have me?”
“Of course he does,” Evan says, like it’s obvious. “He’s furious, Faith. Do you have any idea how this reflects on him?”
