"Scarlett, wait—-"
A shadow falls over me just as someone takes the phone out of my hands, and when I look up—-
Slater.
I find myself swallowing hard as Slater cuts the call with a touch of a button.
He hands me back my phone, saying curtly, "We need to talk."
Getting scolded by Slater is nothing new to me, but this is the first time he's made me feel like running away in fear. I truly wish he's shouted at me instead. It would've been so much better than this awful cold silence between us, with Slater wordlessly walking away while I follow behind him with legs that seem in danger of folding at any moment.
I close the door quietly, but I'm unable to turn around and face him right away. I know I need to start thinking about how to best convince him that Uncle Nic finding about us isn't the end of the world.
But how can I do that when my mind is spinning, and my heart feels like it's about to crack into pieces?
I want to believe that I can do this, but when Slater suddenly breaks the silence between us—-
"It's over."
I don't even have to think after that. I whirl around, fully intent on running towards him...until I see the expression on his gorgeous face.
I have never seen someone look at me so coldly before, and for it to be Slater, of all people—-
"I'm sure Uncle Nic must've said something awful," I say tremulously, "but it doesn't have to—-"
"Your uncle only pointed out what I should've seen from the start," Slater says flatly.
"And what's that?" I ask jerkily.
"Someone like you would never fit in my life."
I used to think that I'm immune to other people's insults, but now I realize it's completely different when the person who's hurting you is someone you love.
I thought he'd say I was too young for him.
I thought he'd say he didn't want to risk ruining his friendship with Uncle Nic.
There were so many thing I imagined him saying, things that I already have vague plans on how best to counter—-
"I'm sorry, Ms. Duke, but I need someone who won't bring shame to my family."
But in the end, what he says is just too much, and there is nothing I'm able to say or do since his words have already stopped my heart from beating.
Slater
A month has passed since I last saw Scarlett, and the past few weeks have seen me turn into a liar and a stalker.
After telling her I didn't see myself spending the rest of my life with her, she's all I've been able to think of. I lose sleep every night with thoughts of her, and I wake up every morning wondering if she's started to hate me.
I wonder if she's started to forget me and moved on with another guy, and it's this fucking possibility that has me stalking her online.
Like most girls her age, Scarlett practically broadcasts her every move on social media, and I'm both thankful and uneasy at the fact that all of her accounts are set to public.
On one hand, it makes things easy for me; I know where she is, what she's doing, and who she's with.
But on the other hand, everything I see, the rest of the world does as well, and it's this knowledge that fucks me up every time I see Scarlett uploading sexy photos of herself online.
There's one where she's clad in a barely-there bikini at a pool party, and then there's another where she takes a selfie while in the fucking bath, her naked shoulders peeping over the foamy bubbles.
The moment I see these photos, I can't help jerking myself off to them, but even as I find release, there's this sickening thought that lingers in my mind, wondering if in all those photos she's really alone or there's a boy she's hiding in the background—-
A boy who's her age.
A boy who's right for her.
A boy who obviously can't be me.
ANOTHER WEEK HAS PASSED when I bump into Nicolaas and Stone's capable-looking secretary.
She appears surprised at first, then uneasy, and surprisingly enough, concerned as well.
"Hello, Mr. Stanford." She meets me halfway at the hotel lobby, her tone soft and grave.
"Ms. Cavendish." I nod back in greeting. "Is Nicolaas or Stone around?"
"It's just me. I'm here to meet with other secretaries."
An uneasy silence follows, and I say hollowly, "You don't have to try so hard not to stare. I know I look like shit."
"You rather do, yes," she acknowledges.
I stare at her, and she stares back at me calmly.
I tell myself to let things go, but instead I hear myself ask, "How is she?"
"Scarlett is doing relatively well in Switzerland."
"She parties a lot, doesn't she?"
"She knows how to have fun responsibly," Ms. Cavendish says with a shrug, "so it's never been a concern for us." Her gaze narrows. "Do you find it a problem?"