Chapter 3: The Cost of Loyalty

After the party, Derek and his friends smoked in the hallway.

The air was thick with cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. I lingered in the shadow of the stairwell, fingers trembling in my pocket.

He slouched against the hallway wall, flicking Dad’s old gold lighter open and shut, the click echoing between their jokes.

The flame flickered, bright and dim.

He snapped the lighter shut, staring at the flame like it held all the answers. Light danced over his sharp jawline, tracing the lines of tension in his face.

One friend teased, “With today’s setup, I thought Aubrey was going to confess to you.”

He nudged Derek with an elbow, grinning in that way guys do after too many drinks and an awkward party.

“Didn’t expect it was all just a feint.”

The group laughed, but Derek’s expression stayed guarded. The joke fell flat for him.

Derek closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, empty smile.

That was his tell—a smile that never touched his eyes. I’d seen it a hundred times before.

“A young girl’s thoughts—don’t overthink it.”

His voice was low, dismissive, like he was trying to convince himself as much as his friends. Hearing him call me a ‘young girl’ made me want to scream.

“I have no other feelings for Aubrey. Taking care of her is just because of the friendship between our families.”

He said it like reciting a script. I knew the story—our parents’ bond, summers at Lake Michigan, our families tangled together. But now, it sounded like a lie.

His friend didn’t buy it.

“You’re just too close to see it clearly. Did you see the way your girl looked at you? You think we’re all fools?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice, but not enough for me to miss it. My heart jumped at ‘your girl.’

“If you were really innocent, then back when that little boy confessed to your girl, why did you warn him? Even acted as her boyfriend.”

I remembered that day—the awkward silence, the confusion on the boy’s face when Derek put his arm around me. I never understood why, not until now.

Derek fell silent.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, lips pressed into a thin line. I wished I could read his mind.

I didn’t listen any further. I melted into the darkness.

I slipped away, boots silent on the marble, leaving their laughter behind. The ache in my chest was too familiar—it felt like getting the wind knocked out of me.

In my last life, Derek was always like this. His kindness to me had long since crossed the line, yet he stubbornly refused to admit it.

I clung to every smile, every touch, every time he put me first. But he never said what I wanted to hear.