Yours Truly

Shadows at the Door

The morning after Ariana's visit was too quiet.

Jay moved around the kitchen with deliberate care, the scrape of chair legs, the muted clink of spoon against mug, the hiss of coffee dripping into the pot. Ordinary sounds, but weighted somehow, heavy enough to press against the air between us.

I sat at the table with my hands wrapped around my own mug, staring into the steam like it could give me answers. My head still ached from too little sleep, and under the ache was something sharper: fear, doubt, the residue of Ariana's words.

I loved you, Jay. I still do.

The echo wouldn't leave me.

Jay slid a plate of toast across the table. "Eat."

I shook my head. "Not hungry."

"Deja." His voice carried the same weariness I felt in my bones, but underneath it was steel. The kind of tone that dared me to fight him.

I looked up at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. He wasn't just tired. He was unraveling, too. Trying to hold us together by sheer will.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this," I whispered.

He stilled, knife hovering halfway through a slice of butter. "Doing what?"

"This." I gestured helplessly between us, the kitchen, the apartment that still smelled faintly of grilled cheese and syrup. "Living in a war zone. Every time I walk through your door, it feels like she's waiting right outside. Watching. And now she's pulling your son into it. What happens when it's too much for him? Or for us?"

His gaze sharpened, jaw clenching. "That's what she wants. To make you doubt. To scare you off. Don't let her win."

I pressed a hand to my chest. "It's not just about winning, Jay. This isn't some game she's playing."

"Yes, it is," he snapped, then softened immediately, like he'd startled himself. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling. "It's always been a game to her. Control. Power. And now she's using him."

The ache in my chest deepened. His son. The way he'd looked at me yesterday, coloring at the counter, voice so innocent when he asked if I was going to be his new mommy. He didn't understand what Ariana was doing. He just wanted something steady. And here we were, shaking the ground under his feet.

Jay leaned against the counter, arms crossed. His eyes locked on me, desperate. "Don't give her that power, Deja. Don't let her run you off."

I wanted to believe him. God, I did. But the memory of Ariana's voice—raw, broken, furious—slid back in like a knife. I still love you.

What if that wasn't something she could let go?

Before I could answer, Jay's phone buzzed on the counter. Once. Twice. Then three times in rapid succession.

He glanced at the screen. His entire expression shifted, color draining from his face, jaw going rigid.

"What is it?" My stomach tightened.

He hesitated, then turned the phone so I could see.

A string of unread messages lit up the screen. All from her.

Ariana: You think this is over?

Ariana: You think you've won?

Ariana: Check your front door.

The words crawled over my skin like something alive.

Jay swore under his breath, shoving the phone into his pocket. "Stay here."