Chapter 6

The crash brought them running. Jacob burst in first, then Luther, both faces storm-dark and eyes wide. Jacob dropped to his knees beside Lavenia without looking at me, scooping her into his arms like she was glass already broken. He murmured her name again and again, like saying it might fix her.

Luther turned on me, fire in his gaze. “What did you do to her?”

I didn’t answer, not yet.

Lavenia clutched Jacob’s shirt, her hands shaking. Her voice came out soft and pitiful. “I only wanted to offer her milk,” she said, eyes wet, big, and trembling. “Like how she pushed the cake at my birthday.”

Jacob’s arms tightened around her, and he turned that same burning look on me. “You pushed her?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I said nothing. I just watched. My face didn’t change, and my heart didn’t jump. I was too drained to argue and too smart to try.

Luther stepped toward me, fists clenched. “If you ever lay a hand on her again, I’ll make you end up in prison. I don’t care who you are.”

I didn’t flinch. “She dropped the glass herself,” I said, my voice calm, almost detached. “I never touched her.”

But it didn’t matter. Jacob wasn’t listening. He was too busy calling for the first-aid kit, too busy checking her wrist, too busy brushing hair out of her face like she was made of something sacred.

Lavenia sobbed again and buried her face in his chest, as if she needed to be held tighter. “It’s okay, Jacob,” she whispered, so gentle it was venom. “Maybe she didn’t mean to. I just wanted to be kind.”

Luther looked at me like I was filth. “You’re jealous and unstable,” he said through clenched teeth. “Maybe you should stay somewhere else until you can control yourself.”

I didn’t defend myself. I stared at the milk-soaked rug, then turned without a word and walked out of my own bedroom. My feet felt heavy on the stairs, and the house felt smaller with every step.

Behind me, I could hear Jacob’s voice, soft and urgent as he soothed her, telling her it would be alright, promising to take her to Switzerland as soon as she was well enough. Then I heard the front door open, then close as they rushed her back to the hospital.

I walked to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. My hands shook so badly the glass nearly tipped, but I steadied it with both palms and sat down at the table.

Chapter 6

The house was silent except for the hum of the fridge and the pulse in my ears. It was past midnight, and the house had that kind of silence that felt staged, like everyone was pretending to be asleep just to avoid me. I sat in my room, back against the headboard, scrolling through old photos even though I told myself I wouldn’t.

My thumb hovered over the screen like it was searching for something that used to be there. Jacob’s smile. Luther’s arm around my shoulder. Lavenia’s fake innocence tucked neatly in the background like a virus waiting to spread. I smirked without humor, and then the stabbing pain in my side flared up again, sharp and predictable. I didn’t flinch. I just breathed through it and started deleting. One photo. Then another. And another.

The room was quiet, too quiet, so my mind did what it always did—it wandered. I remembered when Jacob used to look at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“Pearl,” he whispered once, forehead against mine on the couch after a long day, “you’re my compass. I swear to God, if you ever left, I’d be lost.”

I had laughed back then, soft and stupid. “You’re too dramatic.”

“No, I’m not,” he insisted, eyes too serious. “You keep me sane. You make things make sense.”

And Luther—he’d show up at my office with takeout I never ordered and a frown that didn’t ask for permission.

“You skipped lunch again,” he muttered, setting down the bag. “And don’t lie, your assistant told me.”

“I had deadlines, Luther.”

“I don’t care. Eat. Or I’ll feed you myself like a damn toddler.”

We were good. It was weird and unconventional and maybe messed up, but it was ours. We had weekends filled with burned pasta, old movie marathons we never finished, and arguments about whether to adopt a cat or a dog first.

Then came Lavenia. She came back with tears in her eyes and a suitcase full of shame. Her degree unfinished, her pride cracked open, and I—like the fool I’ve always been—welcomed her in.

“It’s okay,” I told her, rubbing her back while she cried into my shoulder. “You’ll figure things out.”

“I just… I didn’t know who else to go to,” she sniffled. “You’re all I have, Pearl.”

And when her parents died, I paid for her therapist, made sure her rent was handled, and gave her enough money to live without asking questions. Because that’s what family does.

“You don’t have to do this,” she had said, voice small. “I feel like such a burden.”

“You’re not,” I lied. “You’re family. You’re my responsibility.”

I worked fourteen-hour days and still found time to check in on her, to leave dinner in the fridge, to make sure she never felt alone.

And then, she started sitting too close to Jacob.

“You’re so funny, Jacob,” she giggled one night at dinner, leaning into him like gravity demanded it. “Why didn’t I notice that before?”

Jacob just chuckled, not noticing the way her fingers grazed his arm like a claim.

I raised a brow. “Lavenia, could you pass the salt?”

She blinked at me, innocent as sin. “Oh—sorry. I was just… laughing.”

And then it became routine. Her touching his shoulder, him offering her wine, her laughing too hard at jokes that weren’t funny.

One night, I asked him.

“Are you sleeping with her?” I asked, quiet but firm.

Jacob stared at me like I’d spoken another language. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A valid one,” I said, crossing my arms. “She’s in our house. She’s at our table. She looks at you like she wants more.”

He scoffed. “She’s your friend, Pearl. Why are you jealous of your own friend?”