Chapter 5: Refusing to Break

Night fell.

I showered for a long time, as if trying to scrub off a layer of skin.

The water ran hot, scalding almost, but nothing could wash away the ache. I let the steam fill the room, fogging up the mirror until I could barely see myself.

Afterward, I went to sit before Mom’s photo on the mantel.

The living room was dark except for the flicker of the old lamp, and the house felt emptier than ever.

It seemed like the only way I could keep a shred of dignity before her.

A woman’s reputation is so fragile.

If Dad hadn’t appeased Evan by promising to marry my half-sister to him, and if Evan had spread rumors, I would have been ruined by gossip.

Chicago’s grapevine is vicious—news would’ve spread from our block to the church choir and beyond before sundown.

But even so, Dad was already disappointed in me.

I once walked past the strip on Halsted, where the girls in miniskirts laughed together at the bus stop. Men came and went, not ashamed, but proud.

Sometimes I’d catch the girls laughing together, not a care in the world, and I’d wonder how they did it.

Why is it that for women, such things are so disgraceful?

I couldn’t understand, but I no longer had the strength to think about it.

The memory of that night surged back again. Evan’s burning touch and sweet words still echoed in my ears.

I almost gagged.

Just then, someone climbed over the backyard fence.

The security light snapped on, casting long shadows across the lawn. Evan, dressed in white, stood before me with his usual swagger.

He pulled me into his arms and said possessively, "You’re mine, Morgan. Don’t forget that. Why did you leave me today? Do you know how much I missed you?"

His words were syrupy, but his grip was rough. I could smell cheap whiskey on his breath.

"I know I said some harsh things earlier—don’t be mad."

His mouth apologized, but his hands slipped under my shirt.

He said he missed me.

I didn’t know if he missed me, or just missed being with me...

My body stiffened. I instinctively resisted and struggled.

"Evan, Mom’s photo is right there."

I pointed to the mantel, my voice shaking.

"Why are you still shy? It’s not like we haven’t slept together before."

He smirked, acting like this was some private joke between us. I pushed him away with all my strength.

Evan staggered back from my shove.

He caught himself on the coffee table, knocking over a stack of old yearbooks. For a second, I thought he might throw something, but he didn’t.

After steadying himself, a flash of shame and anger crossed his face. He paced the living room, fists clenching and unclenching, like he was looking for something to break. "Morgan Grant, what are you making a fuss about?"

He couldn’t hide his frustration, but I squared my shoulders and stared him down, refusing to flinch. I looked at him stubbornly and said, "Evan, please leave."

Evan’s voice turned cold. "Morgan Grant, I came to you because I like you."

Like me?

Is this how he shows it?

Luckily, I wasn’t so easily fooled anymore.

I caught the scent on Evan. It was the same perfume my half-sister always wore.

He must have just been with Willa, and, unable to have her, came to me instead.

Then what am I to him?

I was so angry I nearly slapped him.

My hand twitched at my side, but I held back, unwilling to stoop to his level.

"You’re going to marry me anyway. What’s the rush?"

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. I recoiled, stomach churning.

"Remember, when you become my side piece in the future, you’d better never act superior to your half-sister, the real wife."

I shook my head and said,

"I will not marry you."

I met his eyes, steady as stone. The words echoed in the empty house, daring him to prove me wrong.

As soon as I finished speaking, Evan was instantly stunned.

He stared at me, mouth open, as if I’d just spoken in tongues. He wasn’t used to being told no.