Page 58 of Gatsby's Starlet
The air felt thinner.
Harder to pull in.
“You don’t get that luxury,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“And if I don’t do it the way you want?” I asked before I could stop myself, the question slipping out before I could stop it, like some part of me still thought I had a say in any of this.
That shifted something, not big, not obvious, but enough, and I saw it in the way his eyes darkened just a fraction, something colder settling beneath everything else as he said, “Then I fix it,” with no anger, no edge, just a certainty that sankin slow and heavy, impossible to ignore while he held my gaze like he needed to make sure I understood, like he was waiting for it to land exactly where he wanted it, and then he stepped back just enough to give me space again, like it had always been his to take, and his to give.
“I’ve been watchin’ you more than you think,” he added, almost casually as he turned toward the door, like it didn’t matter, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that should make my stomach drop the way it did.
My chest tightened hard at that, my mind racing through moments I hadn’t questioned before, through spaces that suddenly didn’t feel as private as they should have.
“So you might wanna be real careful,” he went on, his hand already on the door, “about what you start feelin’…”
He paused, glancing back at me, his gaze settling in a way that felt heavier than anything else he’d said.
“…and who you let yourself feel it for.”
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak.
All I could do was stand there and feel it settle in, piece by piece, the realization creeping in slow and cold that no matter how hard I tried there was no way out of this.
“And Evie,” he added softly.
My breath hitched.
“Don’t make me decide you’re a problem.”
The door opened, then shut behind him, and just like that, I was alone, but the house didn’t feel like mine anymore. It felt like somewhere I was being allowed to stay.
***
I STOOD THERE, my eyes locked on the door like it might open again, afraid he might walk back in without knocking, without warning, scared to death this hadn’t been a one-time thing but something that could happen whenever he decided it would.
My breath came slow and uneven, and I forced myself to move, forced my body to do something instead of just stand there and feel it, crossing the room to check the lock first even though I already knew it hadn’t mattered before, twisting it harder than necessary, testing it once, then again, like I could undo what had already happened if I just made sure it held this time.
Then the windows, every one of them, moving through the house methodically but faster than I wanted to, my pulse still too high, my thoughts running ahead of me as I checked each latch, each frame, each dark reflection staring back from the glass like something might be on the other side watching, waiting for me to slip.
Nothing.
Everything was closed. Locked. Exactly the way it had been before.
And somehow that made it worse, because it meant it hadn’t stopped him, and it wouldn’t stop him the next time either.
I swallowed hard, dragging a hand over my arms like I could shake the feeling off, but it clung there anyway, low and constant, settling into my chest in a way that refused to ease.
“You’re fine,” I muttered under my breath, even though the words didn’t land, didn’t hold, didn’t change a damn thing.
I turned off the lights one by one, leaving the house dark and too quiet, every small sound louder now, the creak of the floor, the shift of air, the faint sound of something I’d never noticed before, and when I finally made my way to my room, I didn’t relax when I stepped inside, I just closed the door slower thistime, listening, waiting, like silence itself might give something away.
Nothing.
I changed without really thinking about it, my movements automatic while my mind strayed to Gatsby, caught on the way he’d looked at me… and worse, the way he’d made me feel, because I wasn’t allowed to keep him.
I sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, my hands resting in my lap as my thoughts circled back to Drago and Kane, to what they were planning, to what I knew they were capable of, and the second it settled in fully my eyes burned, tears pressing up hard because I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t be part of whatever they had coming, not if it meant people getting hurt.
