Twisted love

Twisted Fate

Chapter Thirty-three
Katherine’s POV

I couldn’t shake the image—the handcuffs, Oliver’s defiant glare, and the police leading him away like a stranger. I felt like the ground had opened beneath me, leaving me free-falling with nothing to hold onto. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. This was Oliver—my Oliver, the man I trusted with everything.

The cold reality gnawed at me, twisting in my chest like a knife. I thought I’d known him, thought that under all the bitterness and broken promises there was still a glimpse of the man who’d once looked at me with so much warmth. But seeing him like that… It was like looking at a stranger.

The whispers around me—his name and accusations mixing into a sickening chant—grew louder, and I wanted to block them out, to unhear them all. Every word felt like a crack spreading through my heart, chipping away at the Oliver I had loved, replacing him with this version I didn’t recognize, couldn’t recognize.

And then came the flood of guilt, hot and unrelenting. What if I’d been wrong all this time? What if he was just as dangerous as people said?

A rush of memories flashed through my mind—those tender, fleeting moments when he’d held me close, whispered promises of forever. I’d believed him. I’d let him in, let him shape a piece of my heart that now felt shattered beyond repair. Watching him get dragged away was the final blow, the painful reminder that perhaps I’d been a fool all along.

But even as that anger surged, there was a part of me that wanted to believe in him, wanted to cling to the hope that this was all some terrible misunderstanding. It hurt to want that, hurt to feel anything at all for him. But denying it would have been a lie.

My legs felt weak, the world blurring as I stumbled back, desperate for something—someone—to hold me steady. In my haze, I turned and met Andrew’s gaze. He stood there, watching me with that quiet intensity, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something I couldn’t quite name.

Without a second thought, I moved toward him. His arms wrapped around me as soon as I got close, and I let myself sink into his warmth. I felt the weight of everything in that embrace—my heartbreak, my confusion, my lingering doubts. With Oliver gone, Andrew was all I had, the one constant that seemed to make sense when everything else was falling apart.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice steady. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

I felt the tears, silent and hot, streak down my face. There were no words, just the raw ache in my chest and the quiet strength in Andrew’s hold. The chaos in my mind quieted, just a little, as he pulled me closer. For a moment, I let myself lean into that silence, holding on to the one person who hadn’t let me down yet.

As Andrew guided me away from the chaos, his arm secure around my shoulders, I felt myself lean into him, craving the calm he always brought. Each step we took felt like a retreat from everything broken, and for a moment, I let myself believe that I could find shelter in his presence. It was like that night eight years ago—when he’d pulled me back from the edge, offering his steady strength just when I thought I couldn’t keep going.

He had been my refuge then, my lifeline, and here he was now, carrying me through the storm once again. In his embrace, the world quieted; with him, I felt protected, safe in a way I could never explain, as though he were the one place I could return to, no matter how lost I felt.

I couldn’t shake the image—the handcuffs, Oliver’s defiant glare, and the police leading him away like a stranger. I felt like the ground had opened beneath me, leaving me free-falling with nothing to hold onto. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. This was Oliver—my Oliver, the man I trusted with everything.