Page 72 of Gatsby's Starlet
By the time I flipped the sign to closed and locked the front door, the street outside had already gone quiet, late afternoon slipping into evening in that slow, creeping way that made everything feel more final than it should have, and I stood there for a second with my hand still resting on the lock, staring out through the glass like I might change my mind, even though I already knew I wouldn’t.
I couldn’t.
The drive home blurred into something I couldn’t fully hold onto, just the feel of my hands gripping the wheel too tight and my thoughts running too fast to catch, the weight of what I was about to do pressing heavier with every mile until, by the time I pulled into the driveway, it had settled into something solid, something real, something I couldn’t ignore anymore.
Inside, the house felt the same as it always did, quiet, familiar, safe, or at least it used to, before everything shifted into something I didn’t recognize anymore, and I didn’t give myself time to sit with that, didn’t let myself think too hard about what it meant, because I knew if I did, I wouldn’t move, and I had to move.
I went straight to my room, grabbing my bag and dropping it onto the bed, my movements quicker now, more focused, because if I slowed down, even for a second, I was going tostart thinking about what I was leaving behind, about him, and I couldn’t afford that, not if I actually wanted to walk out of here.
I moved through it on instinct, pulling clothes from drawers, grabbing toiletries, folding without really seeing what I was doing, just knowing I needed to keep going, needed to get out before something stopped me, before I stopped me, and even though my hands weren’t as steady as I wanted them to be, they didn’t hesitate, didn’t give me time to second-guess anything.
The bag filled faster than it should have, or maybe time just wasn’t moving right, stretching and compressing in ways that made it impossible to track, and when I zipped it shut, I stood there for a second, staring at it like it didn’t belong to me, like this wasn’t really happening, before my gaze shifted toward the nightstand, landing on the pen and the paper like I’d known all along I wasn’t getting out of this without one last thing.
The note.
I crossed the room slower this time, the urgency from before giving way to something heavier as I sat on the edge of the bed, the pen settling into my hand with more weight than it should have, my eyes fixed on the blank page for too long as I thought about not writing it, about just leaving and letting silence do the rest, even though I knew that wasn’t an option.
He’d come looking.
Of course he would.
So I wrote, not everything, not even close, just enough, enough to make him stay away, enough to keep him safe, even if it meant he’d hate me for it, and when I finished, I folded it carefully and set it where he’d see it, where he wouldn’t miss it when he came by, because that part wasn’t even a question, even if the thought of it pressed something sharp into my chest that I didn’t have time to deal with.
I stood, grabbed my bag, and forced myself toward the door before whatever nerve I had left slipped out from under me,my grip tightening on the strap as I stepped into the hallway, already turning toward the front, and that was when something shifted.
It wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious, just a subtle wrongness that slid into place like something I should have noticed sooner, the air heavier than it should have been, the house too still in a way that didn’t feel empty anymore, and I slowed without meaning to, my gaze moving over the hallway, over the corners and the walls and the familiar spaces.
My pulse kicked hard against my ribs as instinct finally caught up, my body starting to turn, and I walked straight into him.
The impact knocked the breath out of me, my body jerking back as my heart slammed hard against my ribs, my head snapping up to find Kane standing there, too close, too solid, too real, the smell of leather and oil hitting me all at once like he hadn’t just come in, like he’d been here long enough for it to settle into the space.
Waiting.
“No,” I breathed before I could stop it, the word slipping out on instinct.
His hand came up fast, catching my arm before I could pull away again, his grip tight and unyielding as his voice stayed low, almost conversational, like we were having any kind of normal interaction. “Yeah… we ain’t doin’ this.”
Panic hit fast and hard, my pulse spiking as I tried to twist free, but it didn’t move him, didn’t even shift his stance, and my eyes flicked past him automatically, searching for doors, windows, anything that might give me space, even though I already knew there wasn’t any.
“You need to leave,” I said, the words tight and urgent, even as they felt useless the second they left my mouth.
His mouth tipped slightly, not a smile, not even close. “Funny… that’s exactly what you were about to do.”
My stomach dropped hard, the realization hitting all at once.
He knew.
Not guessed.
Knew.
“Please,” I said, my voice breaking just enough to betray me, because this wasn’t something I could fight, not like this, not alone. “You don’t have to—”
His grip tightened just enough to cut me off. “Don’t,” he said, sharper now, the edge finally breaking through. “Don’t start beggin’. Ain’t gonna help you.”
Fear slid cold down my spine as I forced myself to hold his gaze, even when every instinct told me to look away, to run, to do anything but stand there.
“Drago doesn’t want this,” I said, grasping for anything that might slow this down, anything that might give me even a second.
