part 8 : don't follow me

Fiona tore herself away—gasping, as if the kiss had sucked the oxygen from her lungs. Dominic's hands lingered, unwilling to let her go, fingers grazing her arms like shackles. But she slapped them away with trembling fury.

"No!" she choked, voice raw. "You don't get to just—just take from me like I'm yours!"

The sting in her words seemed to land. Dominic's brow furrowed, a flash of confusion and anger washing over his face. His lips parted, but whatever he meant to say drowned beneath the storm breaking behind her eyes.

"You both act like I'm a prize. Like this is some competition. You show up, you fight, you kiss me like you're claiming territory—but not once. Not once have you asked what I want!"

Damien flinched. Just slightly. It was the first time she'd ever seen him look unsure.

"Fiona…" he murmured, stepping forward, tone too soft, too careful.

She held up a hand, and he stopped in his tracks. "Don't."

Her voice trembled, but it didn't falter. Her eyes—usually soft, so easy to read—were lit now with fire. "I'm suffocating. Do you even get that? You follow me. You watch me. You fight over me like I'm a trophy to win—but neither of you sees me."

Damien's jaw clenched. Dominic's hands curled into fists. But neither dared speak.

"You say I make you lose control. That you can't stop. That I'm yours." She laughed bitterly, a sound too hollow to carry hope. "Do you know how that sounds to me? That's not love. That's possession."

Dominic took a step forward, voice low and firm. "I would burn the world to keep you safe."

"I don't want it burned!" she shouted. "I want peace. I want to breathe without looking over my shoulder to find one of you waiting in the shadows like a wolf."

The room went still. Rain hit the windows harder, as if the storm outside echoed the one inside her.

"I need air," she whispered. "I need time. And you—both of you—are poison right now."

She turned, but paused at the door. Her shoulders shook.

"I loved the way you made me feel," she admitted quietly. "But now? I don't even recognize myself when I'm around you."

Her fingers curled around the doorknob. Neither of them moved. They just watched—broken, angry, desperate.

And then—

"Don't follow me!" she screamed, the sound ripping through the hotel room like glass shattering.

And she was gone.

She didn't wait for footsteps. She didn't look back.

Because if she did… she wasn't sure she'd be strong enough to keep walking.