For a long moment after Frank and Clarissa leave, the silence in my apartment feels like it's been carved into the walls. Heavy. Thick. Unbreathable.
Edward is still standing in front of me, chest rising and falling, eyes locked on mine like he's afraid I'll disappear.
But I can't look at him.
Not yet.
My hands won't stop shaking.
My heartbeat won't calm down.
My mind keeps replaying one awful sentence:
"This is Clarissa. Edward's fiancée."
Fiancée.
Fiancée.
Fiancée.
The word slams around inside my skull like a hammer.
I turn away from him, pressing my hands against my temples.
"Leah," he says softly.
Softly… as if that will fix the chaos unraveling inside me.
I take a step back.
Then another.
And the pain that flashes across his face nearly breaks me but I need space before I break completely.
I draw in a trembling breath.
"Tell me it's not true."
"It's not," he says immediately.
"Tell me you didn't hide this."
I look up at him, my voice cracking. "Tell me you didn't keep this from me while you were… while we were…"
His jaw tightens. "I didn't hide anything. I didn't think there was anything to hide."
That only makes my stomach twist more.
"Edward," I snap, "your father just brought a woman to my house. A woman dressed like she's about to pose for engagement photos. A woman who said her father expects a wedding."
He flinches but only a little. "Because they arranged it. Not me."
"But you didn't tell me."
My voice shakes with anger… and fear… and disbelief.
"You didn't think I should know your father planned a marriage for you? Before before this? Before us?"
He runs a hand through his damp hair, pacing once, twice, like he's trying to control the fury simmering in him.
"I should have told you," he admits tightly.
"I didn't because I thought it was over. Because I rejected it. Because I told my father to keep me out of his business deals months ago."
"Months," I repeat hollowly.
"You said nothing for months?"
He stops pacing and turns to me, stepping closer. I step away again.
And it kills him.
"Leah," he says quietly, "she means nothing to me."
"Maybe not," I whisper, "but she exists. And she showed up here like she had every right to."
"Because my father is manipulative and arrogant and refuses to accept that I don't want the life he planned."
"Then why didn't you warn me?" The anger starts to break through the shock. "You told me you loved me. You looked me in the eyes last night and said you chose me. But you didn't think to mention that your father has a whole woman ready to walk you down an aisle?"
His chest rises sharply.
"I wasn't thinking about her," he says.
"I was thinking about you."
"That is not an excuse," I fire back.
He closes the distance between us slowly, cautiously until he's a breath away.
His voice drops, low and raw.
"You want the truth? I didn't tell you because I didn't want to give you another reason to walk away."
My breath stutters.
He looks down, his voice shaking with honesty.
"I'm afraid of losing you, Leah. More than I've ever been afraid of anything."
The confession is like a blow to my chest soft but devastating.
But the hurt is still there.
"Edward… I can't just pretend this didn't shake me."
His eyes soften. "I know."
"I can't pretend I'm okay when I'm not."
"I know." He swallows. "But please don't assume the worst about me."
I finally sink onto the couch, my legs too weak to hold me.
He kneels in front of me.
Not above me.
Not towering.
Not superior.
But level.
Human.
Raw.
"I never agreed to that engagement," he says firmly.
"Not even once. Not in words. Not in actions. Not in any reality where I have a choice."
I force myself to meet his eyes. "Why her?"
"Because my father likes alliances." His jaw clenches. "Clarissa's family is wealthy. Influential. Convenient."
"So you were a bargaining chip."
"Yes," he says bitterly. "Exactly."
"And you didn't think that mattered?"
"It mattered," he says quietly.
"But not compared to you."
A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it.
Edward reaches up slowly giving me time to pull back if I want to.
I don't.
He wipes the tear away with the softest touch I've ever felt from him.
"You think I could lie to you?" he whispers. "You think I could sleep beside you, wake up with you, breathe you in every morning… while allowing someone else to believe she has a place in my life?"
His voice trembles.
Edward never trembles.
"Leah… when I said I love you, I meant every word. I wasn't choosing between you and her. There was no choice."
The silence stretches.
Not heavy this time.
Just fragile.
I breathe out shakily. "I don't know what scares me more her existence… or the fact that your father can still interfere this deeply."
His eyes darken.
Cold.
Deadly.
A kind of anger I'm learning is reserved for one person: his father.
"He won't touch us," Edward says. "He won't shape my life. Not anymore."
"And Clarissa?" I ask quietly.
He stands, walks to the window, and stares out hands on his hips, chest rising with controlled rage.
"She'll be fine," he says. "Girls like her always land on their feet."
"Edward."
He turns to face me again.
"I'll call her father," he says simply. "End it officially. Permanently."
The certainty in his voice steadies me… but doesn't erase the sting entirely.
"Why didn't you tell me about her before you asked to be with me?" I whisper.
He exhales slowly. "Because you were already running from me. Already fighting what you felt. If I had told you about Clarissa before you gave us a chance, you would've walked away."
I don't deny it.
Because he's right.
He walks back toward me, slower this time, giving me space to breathe.
When he reaches me, he sits beside me not touching, not pulling but close enough that I feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence.
"I'm not perfect," he murmurs. "I make mistakes. And the biggest one was thinking I could outrun my father's shadow before it touched you."
His voice cracks for the first time.
"But I won't lose you over this. Tell me what you need from me, and I'll do it."
The raw vulnerability in his voice…
The sincerity…
The trembling edge of fear…
It breaks something inside me.
Something that was holding onto the pain too tightly.
I finally look at him really look at him and my anger shifts, softening into something more complicated.
"I need the truth," I whisper. "Even the parts you think will scare me away."
He nods. "Then you'll get it. Every time."
"And I need you to understand something," I continue, voice shaking. "What your father did today it hurt. A lot. But what scared me wasn't Clarissa."
He blinks. "Then what?"
"That you didn't trust me with the truth."
He goes still.
Completely still.
Then he reaches for my hand not forcefully, not claiming but asking silently for permission.
I let him take it.
"I trust you more than anyone," he whispers.
"But I didn't trust myself not to ruin this."
I lift his hand to my lips and kiss it softly.
His breath catches.
"We'll figure it out," I say quietly. "But no more secrets."
"No more secrets," he vows, leaning forward until his forehead touches mine.
The hurt doesn't vanish.
But it loosens.
And in its place… something steadier settles between us.
A fragile truce.
A vow.
A breath of hope.
Shock.
Anger.
Disbelief.
But underneath it all…
Love.
And we both know it.