knock at my door, only this was quite a bit later than the first.

I'd packed up most things, not that I had much to begin with. Why it had taken so long, I didn't know. Was I stalling?

I shook my head of the thought. All I needed, right now, was to be as far away from the chalet, from the Redwoods, from Archer as possible.

Remembering someone was at my door, I rushed to it so fast I forgot that it could be the one person, or one of the four people, I so wanted to avoid. So, when Archer stood— still in his suit that, even now, I had to admit he looked incredibly handsome in— I had to steady myself against the door from the round of emotions that suddenly swept through me. I regained myself quickly, though.

I went to close the door, but his expertly polished shoe got in the way. Sighing, I looked up.

"Yes?" I questioned, harsher than I had intended but no more harsh than he deserved.

He attempted to step into the room.

Again, I pushed the door forward, only this time not to close it fully. I needed distance between us but I knew if I just shut the door now, it would only make things harder. And by the determined look in his eye, I knew he wasn't going to leave without saying whatever he'd been meaning to say.

"Jolie," his voice was soft, laced with sympathy and... remorse? Who knew Archer Redwood could feel something for someone other than himself, let alone remorse? "Please— are you leaving?" His eyes had flicked behind me, the space over my head showing him my packed bag.

I stood a little straighter. "Yes," and after a pause, "Not that it has anything to do with you."

His dark eyebrows furrowed, eyes forcing mine to remain on his. How strange that now he could look me in the face. "Don't be like that."

"I'll be however I wa—" I breathed, reigning in my anger. He wasn't worth it. "If that's all you came to say, I think we're done here." The door felt heavier than I expected as I tried to close it once more. I looked to see his hand holding it.

"Let me apologise." It wasn't a question.

I sighed, but nodded all the same. He gestured inside and, not being arsed to argue, I stepped back to provide a gap big enough for him to walk through.

He looked unsure as he walked further into the room, like it was a completely new surrounding, despite it being his room, technically.

"Well?" I was growing impatient, feeling my resolve waver as I looked at his familiar form. I was angry, yes, but I couldn't just switch off how I felt about him. And I hated myself for it.

"Your dad was cruel and vindictive," he began, like it was new information. "I wouldn't have done it if he hadn't been."

I raised my hand. I was tired enough as it was with bullshit, to be dosed with it from him, too. "Enough with the excuses," I said, gritting my teeth to keep my eyes on his, to keep him from seeing how close I was to falling apart. "You can't blame anyone else but yourself for your actions, Archer."

"He—"

"Did he force you to make that deal with me?" I asked, stepping closer. "Did he force you to pretend to care for me?" Again, I stepped closer, prodding his chest, ignoring the throbbing of my finger as I repeatedly hit the hard panes there. "No, that was all your doing, everything that you've done with me has been on your own account. Don't be such a coward to blame someone else. Take some accountability for once in your life."

I moved away from him, back turned as I closed my eyes to compose myself.

"You won't even listen to what I have to say?"

I looked at him over my shoulder.

"How can I?" I asked, genuinely. "Who knows when you are lying anymore, Archer?"

He scoffed, face hard but emotion bubbling beneath the surface, threatening to overspill. I probably looked much the same. "You act like this whole thing was meant to go the way it did." I kept my back to him, properly now. "We agreed to be in a pretend relationship, nothing more."

I spun, quickly. "You used me!"

His voice raised just as mine had. "And you act like you didn't benefit at all from this whole—" he gestured between us. "— agreement. Or did you forget that minuscule detail?"

"About to hold your money over my head again?" I raged.

"Well," he said, fingers pulling at his hair. "This is what it was all about, wasn't it? To pay for whatever it is you needed my money for."

"Obviously not," I said, our faces so close I could feel the anger radiating off him like waves of fire. Mine was equally as fierce, equally as scorching. "It was about revenge. Stupid, immature, ignorant revenge. Weak men are consumed by revenge, Archer."

"Yes," he conceited. "Yes, it was. It was all about revenge." His eyes softened, then, so suddenly I would have lost my footing, had his hands not reached for mine. "How was I suppose to know I was going to fall in love with you?"

Love?

"How was I supposed to know the one girl I was set to despise, set to hate because of who her father was, would make me feel more comfortable than I would with anyone else?" He gauged my reaction for a moment, before continuing when I didn't move. I couldn't. "That I would miss her even when she was standing right next to me? That I would crave to be around her in anyway possible? I'm a selfish man, Jolie, an awful man, really. But you make me aspire to be good."

We lapped into silence. Heavy, smothering silence.

The air around us weighed on me, buzzing with his words, his now revealed feelings.

He claimed to love me. But, did I love him?

The answer felt like the most natural thing I'd ever known. As I stared up into those stormy eyes, an intangible shade of blue, I saw the man, the boy— whatever he was— I loved. The one I wanted to be with more than anything else in the world.

But it didn't change what he did.

I took my hands from his, and separated our bodies. The crestfallen look overtaking his beautiful features tugged at my heartstrings, but I knew nothing else could be done.

"Words are not going to fix it this time, Archer," I said. "They told me you were heartless, that you were spiteful and conniving, that you'd do anything you could to manipulate the board. And I believed them, for a long time I believed them.

"But then you showed me a side I didn't think anyone had ever seen and I forgot their warnings or maybe I just didn't care about them anymore because all I thought about you was that you were the person I couldn't be without, whether you were all these things or not. I didn't think in a million years that you'd do it to me. Yet, here we are."

He reached for me, hands on my shoulders. Begging, he said, "Tell me, tell me what I can do to fix this. I can't be without you."

"That's the thing," I said, taking his hands from my shoulders and letting them go, almost wincing at the loss of their warmth. "I don't think you can."

***

Leaving had been easier than I'd expected. After Archer had left the room, he hadn't shown his face to me again. And Autumn, though she did show her face, kept quiet as I took my bag to the front door.

"Have a safe flight, Jolie," Autumn said, an almost whisper. Her voice was hoarse, like she'd been crying, but I couldn't conjure much sympathy for her. Not even as I caught her slightly swollen eyes and patchy, red face.

"Yeah," I said on a slight laugh as I watched Noah place a comforting hand on her back. "I'm sure I will."

I turned away from them and didn't bother with pleasantries as I passed Mrs Redwood.

"Rich boys don't have hearts," she said to me with a slight shrug as her parting words.

God, I thought. "Then I pity them. I pity you all."

Her eyes betrayed her shock, but she kept her mouth in a straight line. To show no emotion must be a frightfully miserable life, I thought to myself.

The taxi beeped once. And I turned away from them all, taking my bag with me as I watched my step down the stairs.

It hit me, properly I mean, at the airport. I'd watched dozens of people pass, hundreds even, each leading their own lives, going to knew places or maybe familiar ones. I thought maybe the not knowing was the beauty in it.

But it seemed like they each had a purpose. They each knew what they were doing. Even the family of five who'd been lost for several minutes and arguing amongst each other, knew where they were heading eventually. It made me realise just how little I knew.

For the past weeks, I'd moulded my life around a boy— something I'd sworn never to do. I'd dropped friends, the first real ones I'd had in a while, ever really, for a boy who I'd always known, deep down, would hurt me.

I took my head in my hands.

I'm such an idiot.

I was too busy feeling sorry for myself that I almost missed my flight being called. I grabbed my things and hurried towards the terminal.

Everything went by pretty smoothly, all things considering. Like even with shaking fingers, the woman accepted my ticket and passport with nothing more than an artificial smile. I mustered a lopsided one in return.

My phone began buzzing in my bag just as I passed her.

"You'll have to turn that off, Madame," she said, the accent lilting her words prominent.

I nodded, promising to do so.

Just as I was about to turn it off, I glanced at it. A number I didn't recognise flashed on the screen. My eyebrows furrowed.

I swiped, and brought it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a painfully professional voice said on the other end. "Is this Miss Jolie Dubois?"

"Yes?" I answered, confused, and aware of the people trying to get round me. The woman gave me a look, and I continued on my way with an apologetic wave. I'd entered the tunnel to the plane, holding my phone between my face and shoulder, as I reached for my ticket for the next check.

I tried to keep moving, despite bending my neck a little awkwardly.

"This is Doctor Khan," he said. "Your mother's been admitted to hospital."