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Nathan's house. Our house.
I reached out, but the space beside me was empty.
Sitting up, I saw him on the balcony. Back to me, phone to his ear, voice hushed but urgent.
"...need you to file the papers today... No, it can't wait until Monday... I don't care how much it costs..."
What emergency was he dealing with? Was it about the Scotts?
When he turned and saw I was awake, he hung up immediately, pasting a warm smile on his face.
"Morning, sleeping beauty."
"Morning," I said, trying to decipher his expression.
"Everything okay?"
"Perfect," he said, a little too quickly.
"I made breakfast. Coffee's ready."
Downstairs, I found an elaborate spread on the kitchen island: avocado toast, fruit platter, and an oat milk latte—my favorite.
"You remembered," I said softly.
"I remember everything about you," he answered simply.
But as we sat down to eat, his phone buzzed again.
He glanced at it, his face tightening.
"Do you need to get that?" I asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head.
"Nothing important."
I knew he was lying.
And I didn't know if I should push.
After breakfast, Sophia arrived. She hugged me tight the second she walked in.
"Are you okay? I heard Brandon showed up last night?"
I nodded, filling her in briefly.
"God," she breathed. "And then? Did you guys...?" She raised an eyebrow toward the stairs.
"Sophia!" I blushed.
"What? I want details!"
"We're... taking it slow," I said, glancing at Nathan working in his study.
Sophia's face turned serious.
"Listen, there's something you need to know. Brandon posted some... cryptic shit on social media last night."
She pulled out her phone. Brandon's Instagram story was a photo of a sunrise. Caption: "Some people are worth the wait. Others aren't worth the trust. #TruthWillOut"
"That could be about anyone," I said, knowing it wasn't.
"And this," Sophia swiped to another story.
"Chloe posted this morning: 'Thankful for real friends who show up when you need them. Some people pretend to be something else. #TrueColors'"
I felt a wave of nausea. "Do people believe them?"
"The comments are supportive," Sophia said cautiously.
"Emily, they're building a narrative. And you're the villain."
Just then, my phone rang. It was Patricia Scott, Brandon's mother.
Should I answer?
