Untouchable

0.13

Alistair’s POV

The house was quiet.

Too quiet.

I leaned against the balcony railing, a cigarette dangling between my fingers, unlit. The city stretched out before me, its lights flickering like stars trapped beneath smog and glass. Even with the doors shut, I could still hear the faint echoes of a party from downstairs—people laughing, music pulsing.

It was exhausting.

Ivy should’ve been here.

Not that I’d admit that to anyone.

I exhaled, rolling the cigarette between my fingers before flicking it into an ashtray. I didn’t even smoke. I just liked the way it felt—something to do with my hands. Something to keep me from thinking.

Too bad it wasn’t working.

I pushed off the railing and stepped inside, shutting the balcony doors behind me. The air was thick with expensive cologne and perfume, but the second I turned toward the bar, I knew.

I wasn’t alone.

“Alistair.”

I didn’t react.

Didn’t even glance at her.

Kennedy stood near the doorway, arms crossed, her dark eyes gleaming like she had something to say. Which, knowing her, meant she was about to piss me off.

I poured myself a drink, taking my time before finally meeting her gaze. “What do you want, Kennedy?”

She took a slow step forward, her lips curving into something between a smile and a plea. “You know what I want.”

I swirled the amber liquid in my glass. “Can’t say I care.”

That got to her. For half a second, something flickered across her face—frustration, desperation—before she masked it with a sigh. “Alistair, come on,” she said, softer now. “I know I messed up, but we can fix this. We were good together.”

I took a sip, letting the silence stretch.

She reached for my arm, but I stepped back.

Her jaw tightened. “You don’t have to act like you don’t miss me.”

I gave her a slow, lazy smile. “Who said I was acting?”

Kennedy’s nails curled into her palms.

I turned away, setting my glass down, but then—

“Ivy doesn’t actually mean anything to you, does she?”

Something in my chest tightened.

I kept my expression blank. “You’re reaching, Kennedy.”

She hummed, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Am I?”

I glanced at the screen.

And froze.

A picture.

Ivy. Nathaniel.

Kissing.

The glass in my hand nearly cracked.

Jealousy coiled sharp and hot in my stomach, but I forced it down, forced my face to stay unreadable.

Kennedy watched me closely, waiting for a reaction.

She didn’t get one.

She sighed, shaking her head. “You don’t even look surprised. That’s how I know it’s fake.”

I finally met her gaze. “What?”

She tilted her head. “You and Ivy. It’s not real, is it?” Her voice was laced with triumph. “If it were, you’d actually care.”

I did care.

More than I wanted to.

But I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You really think you can manipulate me, Kennedy?”

She faltered. Just for a second.

Then she crossed her arms, stubborn as ever. “I don’t need to. The proof is right in front of you.”

I stared at her for a moment longer, then grabbed my jacket.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t look back.

I just walked out, leaving her standing there, still waiting for a reaction she was never going to get.

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