She turned her neck away, unable to keep her eyes on him, anger coming to the forefront of her mind again. "So you lied to me by omission."
He didn't say anything.
A dark laugh left her. "So what? Now that I love you, it's okay for me to know? Was that your plan? To make my stupid heart fall for you every damn day until I had no choice but to be with you? So that even if I left, I'd be with you? Was that it?"
His silence spoke volumes.
Done with him, done with everything, she pushed off from the ground. He started to get up but she pushed her palm out, stopping him. "I can't see you right now. I need some fucking space. Don't you dare come after me."
His jaw clenched but he stayed where he was, and she walked away the same way she'd come, hands in her pockets, not looking back at him. She walked back to the industrial block, past the factory now burning, her eyes lingering on the flames and smoke of her past. Whoever she had been in there months ago, the shell of a girl, ashes of her own being, was gone. She had risen, been reborn, and watching the flames, she could feel the heat of their kiss on her skin. The fire, once terrifying, was now her lover, and it was this fire that had purified her, reset her, rekindled her.
Acknowledging that, remembering the power she had taken back before she had killed her tormentor, she walked past the factory and toward the main street, merging into the noise and hustle of the city. She didn't know if he followed her, and frankly, she didn't care. She just walked and walked and walked, one with the crowd, her mind numb and reeling simultaneously.
The scent of tea broke through her haze. She looked to the side to find a small food shop, the wonderful scent wafting from the inside, and she entered. It was quaint. Going to the back of the shop, she ordered herself some herbal tea and a pastry, and took her phone out. Dainn had given her the device when they'd left home, guiding her on how to use it for everything—from calling to paying someone to sending a text.
But as she stared at the screen, she opened the search bar, her fingers hesitating.
And then she typed.
'Tristan Caine'.
She found a few hits, some newspaper articles, some images. Hands shaking, she clicked on one of the photos, to look down at a good-looking man with bright blue eyes. Lyla stared at the photo for a long second, unable to grasp if it was his features that looked familiar or if she'd seen him somewhere. Scrolling to the next photo, she gasped. It was him with a brunette in glasses, both of them looking at each other, the caption reading 'Tristan Caine and Morana Vitalio rumored to be engaged'.
Morana.
She remembered that name. She remembered the girl that night in her club, the night she had almost ended her life. He had been there. Her brother had been right there, and she hadn't even known. Instead, she had gone up to her room and overdosed herself.
The messed up situation messed with her head. She put the phone down, drawing in short, sharp breaths to calm herself.
Tristan and Morana were together, and they were taking care of Xander. That was good. That, at least, was the biggest relief she had felt in a long time. She didn't know what she was going to do, didn't know how she was going to process anything, but she was glad from the glimpse of them she'd had that they'd seemed good, good enough to raise her baby boy.
The waiter brought her tea and pastries, and she just looked at them blankly, unknowing about the outside world.
Her brother, Tristan, was looking for her, for the sister he'd lost. But she wasn't that girl anymore. She wasn't Luna, and she didn't know how she could meet him, didn't know how she could put her broken self out there. What if she didn't live up to who he had in his mind? What if she wasn't enough? What if she fell short? Would he be disappointed that he'd spent so much time looking for her? Would he be frustrated and try to make her into someone else? And after all this time, would she be able to trust anyone on the outside? What did she even know about family? And what about Xander? What would she even say to him? If he was happy and settled, how could she ever destroy that?
As the self-sabotaging thoughts filled her mind, she closed her eyes and snapped the hair tie on her wrist.
It didn't work.
Thoughts and questions swirled in her head, drowning her, and she breathed through her mouth, trying to calm herself down.
It didn't work.
The phone in her hand vibrated, an unknown number calling. Focusing on her breathing, she picked up, staying silent.
There was silence on the other end.
She looked down to see if the call was still engaged, and put it back to her ear. There was a dark chuckle on the other end. Slightly creeped out, she bit her lip.
"Luna Caine," a man's deep voice, evil voice said over the line. "The bane of my existence for twenty years."
She gripped the phone in hand. "You've got the wrong number."
"No, little girl," the familiar voice spoke. "I've got the right number. Do you remember me?"
Her heart began to pound, old, old memories washing over her mind.
'Such a pretty little girl.'