Beastly: Sequel to "Mr. Perfect"

Chapter 27: Flyers and Therapists

✨Evan (P.O.V.)

The second I stepped into the house, I froze.

Brittany was sitting on my couch, like she belonged there. Her posture was too neat, too staged—her hands clutched tightly in her lap, her back stiff against the cushions. Her eyes flicked toward the floor and stayed there, unblinking.

Mom was right beside her, leaning forward with that tired softness she always wore when she was worried about someone.

Her voice was low, strained, like she'd been repeating herself for a while:

"Are you sure you're alright, Brittany? Do you want some tea? Should I call someone?"

She kept asking, but Brittany didn't say anything.

Jake stood nearby, arms crossed tight over his chest, glaring down at the scene like he was trapped in it for hours.

"What the hell is going on here?" I asked, joining them.

All three of them snapped toward me.

Jake's face cracked first—his shoulders sagging in relief, his glare softening into something that said, finally, you can deal with this mess.

"Good," he exhaled. "You're finally here."

Brittany's head shot up too, her expression shifting instantly—relief sparkling in her eyes. She jumped to her feet and started toward me, as if I were the answer she'd been waiting for.

I held up my hand, stopping her dead.

"What the hell are you doing in my house, Brittany?" I asked.

Her steps faltered mid-stride, and the relief drained into something tight and nervous, her lips parting but no words coming out.

Jake groaned, dragging both hands down his face before throwing them out wide.

"Oh my god, just say it already," he said. "This little mute routine is beyond tiring."

Still, nothing from her as her wide eyes remained fixed on me.

Mom reached for her gently, her brow creased in worry.

"Evan...she's been like this since she came here," Mom said. "I don't know what's wrong, but I am worried about her. She hasn't said a word."

I barked a humorless laugh.

"What's wrong? Nothing," I said. "There's nothing wrong with her."

"Exactly," Jake jumped in. "It's all an act. She loves the drama; she thrives on it. You don't know the half of what she pulled before you got here, Evan."

"Jake," Mom said, frowning. "Don't dismiss this. Something could seriously be wrong. There has to be a reason why she came here."

"She didn't just come, she barged in. She forced her way past me, as if she owned the place. And now? She's sitting here acting like some fragile, helpless victim. It's pathetic."

Mom and Jake might have the time and patience to stand there and deal with Brittany's bullsh*t all this time, but I don't.

She doesn't get to disturb my peace, create such a ruckus in my home, then sit there like some victim.

I strode across the room, grabbed Brittany's arm, and yanked her to face me.

Her eyes flicked up reluctantly, but still—no words.

"What the hell are you up to now?" I hissed.

"Evan—" Mom rose from the couch, panic in her voice. "Calm down, honey. There's no need to get aggressive."