Capture

Relics Of His Past

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night. I just lay there next to Liam, wide awake, my mind consumed by Harry.

The slap, the words I threw like daggers, the way his face crumpled right before I turned away—all of it replayed over and over like a broken record. I told myself he needed to hear it, needed to believe I didn't love him, but the lie had burned on my tongue, and now it smoldered in my chest.

More than once, I nearly slipped out of bed to go to his door. To apologize. To take it all back, but I didn't because I couldn't.

When the clock finally ticked over to 5 a.m., the first sliver of dawn creeping through the curtains, I slid carefully out of bed, trying not to wake Liam. I padded into the living room, my footsteps soft, like guilt had weight.

I pulled Harry's ring from my bag—silver and sharp and far too heavy for something so small—and held it up in the pale morning light. The diamond caught the sun, shimmering like it still held a promise. In some parallel universe, I'd have been wearing this ring. Smiling and happy, but that universe wasn't mine.

No matter how much I wanted to love Harry the way he deserved... Liam had my heart. All of it. He had from the moment I let him see the parts of me I kept hidden—even from myself.

I curled my fingers around the ring until the metal pressed hard into my palm, leaving deep grooves in my skin. I would give it back. Next time I saw Harry, I'd give him back the future he thought we had. It was the least I could do.

Sighing, I dropped the ring back into my bag and stood. My heart felt heavier now, but also clearer. 

I walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the steam rise and wrap around me like fog.

There was no going back, not that I wanted to.

When I stepped out of the steaming bathroom, towel clutched tight around me, Liam's eyes lit up from the bed. My damp hair clung to my shoulders in messy tangles, and his gaze followed every drop of water that rolled down my skin.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still husky with sleep, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," I replied, crossing the room and leaning down to kiss him. His hands found the edge of my towel almost instantly, tugging at it like a mischievous child unwrapping a present.

I held it firmly in place, grinning against his mouth. "Babe, I have to go to work," I whispered, our lips still brushing.

"Call in sick," he whispered back, his fingers stubbornly seeking the knot holding the towel together.

"I can't, love," I said, pulling gently away. "It's Monday, and there's a big client on the books. My boss would murder me."

Liam groaned, flopping dramatically onto his back with a pout. "Why must you torture me like this?"

"I'm not torturing you," I laughed, grabbing a pair of jeans from the chair. "I'm being responsible."

"You're wrapped in nothing but a towel, Emma," he said, eyes trailing after me. "That feels a lot like torture."

"You're still healing," I reminded him, raising an eyebrow as I turned toward the closet. "And for the record, I want it to be romantic. Not rushed."

He sat up, smirking. "Are you saying a quickie with me right now wouldn't be romantic?"

"Funnily enough... yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying," I teased over my shoulder.

"Fair point," he chuckled, sinking back into the pillows as I headed into the closet to change.