I couldn’t take it anymore. Without another word, I slipped away from the crowd, heading for the exit. Palmer called after me, but I didn’t stop. I needed air. I needed to get out of there before I completely fell apart.
As I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my face, and I took a deep breath. I had never felt so humiliated, so small. I was never supposed to come here. What was I thinking? Trying to act like I could handle this, like I could just move on.
But the truth was, I wasn’t over it. I wasn’t over him. And maybe I never would be.
Since the day I woke up from the coma, Giovanni was the only one who came to visit me. At first, it felt comforting, knowing someone was there, that someone cared. But with time, I noticed the absence of others—the cold, empty hospital room, the silence that stretched for days. I didn’t know my family, didn’t remember them, so it wasn’t a surprise they weren’t around. But it stung a little to realize how alone I truly was.
Giovanni, though, he was always there. Or at least, he used to be. Now, things were different.
His friends—our friends, as he liked to call them—never warmed to me. They made it clear I was an outsider. Every time I was around them, the tension thickened, their eyes flicking between me and Giovanni like I didn’t belong. I could feel the judgment, the whispers behind my back. Anya was their choice for him, not me. Anya, with her perfect life and flawless reputation.
I knew they were rooting for her. It didn’t matter what I felt, what Giovanni had promised me. In their eyes, I wasn’t enough. I had no name, no family, no status. I wasn’t the girl they wanted for him. I tried to ignore it, to brush off their comments, but tonight, it was too much.
I half-expected Giovanni to come after me, to pull me back and ask what was wrong. But he didn’t. He didn’t even notice. How could he when he barely looked in my direction.
That hurt more than anything. The weight of it settled in my chest, heavy and suffocating.
When I got home, I felt numb. I couldn’t keep pretending this was going to work. I couldn’t keep pretending like I was fine being a shadow in someone else’s life. Giovanni had made his choice—maybe not in words, but in actions. And his actions screamed that I wasn’t the one he truly wanted.