Hostage to you | B.E

24 breach

Raven's POV

It's been ten days since I last saw her.

Ten days since she walked out of that courthouse without a word of explanation, ten days since her hand brushed mine in the backseat of that car only for her to pull away like I burned her.

Ten days since I realized I didn't recognize the woman I thought I loved.

I haven't slept properly since. My mind loops through every second of that last night like a glitchy reel, trying to decode the shift—the sharp, sudden detachment. Was it something I said? Something I did? I don't know. All I have is the echo of her silence and the cold taste of her goodbye.

And now, she's standing outside my apartment building.

Billie fucking Eilish.

Hood pulled up, sunglasses tucked into her collar, arms crossed like she's protecting herself from the world—or maybe just from me.

She doesn't say anything when I open the door. She just stares, mouth slightly open like she didn't think I'd actually answer her call.

"Come in," I say, voice low. Tight.

She follows me wordlessly. Her shoes are quiet against the stairs, like she's trying not to take up space. And I let her. I don't look back. I don't ask why she's here. I don't ask if she brought apologies or closure or more confusion in her pocket.

Inside, the apartment feels too bright. I didn't think to dim the lights. I didn't think at all.

"Want something?" I ask. "Water?"

She nods once.

I fill a glass from the tap and slide it across the counter. She doesn't drink it. Just stares at it, like it's a bomb she doesn't know how to defuse.

"I didn't want to hurt you," she says finally.

I laugh. A dry, humorless sound. "But you did."

"I know."

"No," I snap, turning to face her. "You don't. You don't get to come here, say a couple lines like we're in a bad Netflix drama, and act like you know. You don't know anything, Billie."

She flinches at the way I say her name. I don't care.

"You ghosted me in a moving vehicle," I continue. "You let me sit next to you after everything, and you just... shut down. You looked at me like I was nothing. Like you couldn't even stand to breathe the same air."

Her lips part. She doesn't deny it.

And that hurts worse than anything.

"I thought you cared," I whisper. "I really thought you—never mind."

I turn away, but her voice stops me.

"I did. I do."

My stomach knots. I want so badly to believe her. To turn around and throw myself into her arms and pretend the last ten days were just a nightmare. But I'm not stupid. I can't afford to be.

"Then why did you do it?" I ask. "Why did you end it like that?"

She hesitates, and I already know the answer isn't coming. Not the real one, anyway. Just more half-truths. More deflections. Maybe she's bored. Maybe she feels guilty. Maybe her PR team told her to patch things up before it leaks.

Whatever it is, it isn't love. It isn't real.

"I was scared," she says finally.

"Of what?" I ask, voice cracking despite myself.