The Keys to freedom

The fine line between love and hate

Oz hesitated in front of the large wooden door, she could feel her friends' eyes on her from the truck behind her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit hall and made her way down it.

Pyke stood in the center of the living room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His posture was tense, his expression unreadable.

"You came," he said, his voice low.

"You said you could make it right," she replied, cutting straight to the point.

He nodded moving closer toward her. But she retreated taking multiple steps back from him, keeping the distance.

He halted, tilting his head. "Why are you doing that?" he murmured.

"Doing what?" She breathed.

"Acting like you're afraid of me."

"Who said it's an act?"

His expression faltered, genuine hurt flickering across his face. "You know I'd never hurt you."

"No," she said quietly. "I don't know that." Even thought she knew with all her heart and soul, he wouldn't.

Glancing around the room, she changed the subject. "Is your dad around?"

He shook his head. "He's out of town. It's just me."

Relieved but still wary, she crossed her arms. "So, where is it then?"

He didn't respond right away. Instead, he took a few slow steps closer, his eyes never leaving her. This time she let him approach her, but his silence made her pulse quicken, and she shifted uneasily under his gaze. When he reached her, he stopped just close enough for the air between them to feel charged. His hand reached out, almost absentmindedly and he gently tugged on one of her curls, a faint, bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

Her breath caught, and the silence stretched long enough to feel unbearable. Finally, he exhaled deeply. "I was going to propose," he said quietly, softer than she'd ever heard it.

Her stomach flipped, and her heart began to pound in her chest at his sudden confession. She couldn't form a response, couldn't even process what he had just said before he continued.

"After we graduated," he went on, his eyes dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting hers again. "I had my grandmother's ring resized for you."

Reaching beneath the collar of his shirt, he pulled out a long chain that had been hidden against his skin. At the end of it, dangling from the silver links, was a diamond ring—small but beautiful, catching the light with every movement.

Oz's breath caught in her throat.

"It's just been sitting here," he admitted, his fingers brushing over the ring, almost hesitant to let it go. "Waiting." He cleared his throat. "I had it all planned—when, where, how I'd say it. Every detail."

He swallowed hard, his thumb rubbing over the band as if the motion could somehow erase the reality of how things had turned out.

He gave a hollow laugh. "My whole life I've never loved anything else," he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia and regret. "And for the first time, I knew what I wanted, nothing was clearer. I wanted you," he laughed again.  "But  then you pulled that rug out from under me so fast," His voice cracked. "You shattered my world, Oz. But even then, I still saw you as the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. The woman that would eventually wear this ring. That never changed and still hasn't."

She shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. "Why are you telling me this?"

He let the chain slip from his fingers, the ring settling perfectly against his chest. "Because in a few moments, you're going to really hate me," he said, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. "And I need you to know how much you mean to me before that happens."

Her chest tightened, panic bubbling up. "What are you talking about?"

Before he could answer, a slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room. Oz turned sharply, her stomach sinking as Lance Hastings stepped out from the shadows.

"Cue my entrance," he announced, spreading his arms as if the moment were staged just for him.

Oz's hands curled into fists at her sides.

Lance's eyes flicked to Pyke, amusement glinting in them. "You must forgive my boy," he continued, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "He's always been a blabber mouth." He tilted his head, gaze shifting to the ring still dangling from Pyke's chain. His smirk widened. "And unfortunately, quite the romantic."

She took a step back, her breath hitching. "You—"

Lance smiled coldly, his eyes gleaming. "Now Miss Harris, let's talk about that box."