Page 118 of Manic

His voice was throaty and low, a soft lull but strong enough to bring me back, turning my insides straight to liquid. A voice I wanted to hear more of.

Then his words registered, and I blinked.

I promise. He’d promised me.

The exhale that left my lungs was one of relief, because I believed him. I didn’t want to, but I did. And for a moment, peace re-entered my chest as my pulse began to slow. The landscape was calm and cold and dark, save for the stars' glittering reflection along the water.

When I finally turned, his expression was warm but laced with curiosity, lit up by his headlights. Snow drifted between us, melding with the soft strands of his blond hair. God, he was beautiful.

But I knew what was coming.

Now that we were here, there would be no point in withholding my knowledge of him. Mortification from my panic clawed at my insides, but I steeled my spine anyway and feigned confidence.

“You’re my stalker,” I breathed.

Warmth spread throughout my body as the corner of his lip turned up. In the span of a single second, his expression went from curious to amused, confirmation written all over his face. My entire body locked as he closed the gap between us, his shoes a dull crunch against the gravel.

He lifted my chin with a finger, a cruel smile twisting his mouth as he whispered, “And you killed Noah Sterling.”

30

SUTTON

5 YEARS EARLIER

God, I didn’t want to be here.

The Mortaine mansion ballroom lit up beneath its gaudy chandeliers, distant music dipping and swelling near the back. I stood beside my parents and held a glass of wine, passed out by maids who drifted between lingering guests. Even though I was only nineteen, they let me drink when I was around them. I fixed my attention on the chandelier again, my nose scrunching.

A business event. Please.

In all the years he worked, my father had never once attended an event that required my presence, so why did he force me along now? To annoy me, probably. To ruin my plans to read a good book while Noah laid beside me.

I raised my glass, taking a heaping gulp until its warmth flushed my skin. I scowled. Too sweet. I preferred the whiskey-sour I had an hour ago, but this was fine too. After my third glass of whatever this was, I was beginning to feel a little lightheaded, my body now warm and loose.

I stole a fleeting glance toward my parents, and shame reignited beneath my ribs. Another sip, and I tugged at my too-short dress, recalling my father’s harsh words from earlier. Honestly, being scolded by him for a dress he’d approved should have made me leave sooner, but the looming threat of being scolded again had me staying.

This place was ridiculous.

I scanned the room again, immediately landing on the man I met outside just minutes ago, leaned against one of the back walls. An unfamiliar heat spread throughout my body, aware of his lingering gaze. His eyes settled on me as he sipped from his glass, and annoyance flooded my system.

I already knew I hated him.

He wore his arrogance like it was a luxurious piece of fabric.

I’d thought I was making a friend—putting myself out there despite not wanting to attend this… gala. And yet, all the interaction did was make me want to leave. I wanted to tear off this dress and dive beneath my quilts. I wanted to see Noah.

Manic—at least that was what he’d called himself before—pulled out his phone and placed it to his ear. His brows dropped as his mouth moved unnervingly fast. He looked furious. Then he was out the foyer doors, shoving them open until he disappeared into the night.

I breathed a sigh as the weight of his gaze faded and pulled my own phone out, eager to talk to Noah.

I’d visited my father at the casino the day I met Noah. He was an intern, working beneath my father and a few others as an accountant. A finance major. We’d been inseparable since, and after a year of dating, he’d become someone I could wholeheartedly rely on. Someone who’d showered me with undivided attention without appearing annoyed. A stark contrast to the attention my parents gave me—which was none.

Noah wasn’t flawless, but I didn’t care. He had days where he would obsess over his father’s death and became more blunt than usual, but he was perfect to me. When those days happened, I reminded myself that he was still grieving. That it was only a reaction to buried emotions.

I swiped open my phone screen, my brows dipping at the five missed calls and a single text from Noah. Worry soared through my bloodstream.

Noah: I need to see you. Tonight. Call me.