Chapter 4 Let's go wayward

I didn't look back. My heels clicked against the pavement as I stormed across campus, holding my chin high even though every step felt like I was walking through wet cement. My chest ached from holding in the sobs, but I wasn't going to break, not here. Not in front of them.

Let them whisper. Let them laugh.

Let them think I'm broken.

One day, they'll see me differently.

One day, he will.

And maybe that day isn't today.

But it's coming.

"Anabelle!" a voice shouted behind me. "Wait! Belle, stop!"

I didn't stop until I felt a hand grab my wrist. Lana.

She was breathless, her cheeks flushed from running, but her eyes, those fierce green eyes, burned with something more than concern. She didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me. I knew what she saw. Smudged mascara. Glossy eyes. A barely-holding-it-together version of her best friend.

"I'm fine," I said quickly, voice cracking.

"You're not," she replied. "And it's okay."

"I just want to go home."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that. But no." She pulled me toward the grass at the side of the lot. "You're not going home to drown yourself in more wine and self-pity. You need to get out."

"I don't, Lana."

"Yes. You do." She squeezed my hand. "Look, I know you're hurting. I know seeing him with that girl again shattered what was left. And I know you're pretending you're okay, but I also know you've been holding it in for too long."

I blinked, lips trembling. "What am I supposed to do, Lana? Pretend it didn't happen? Act like I didn't matter to him when I did everything and gave him everything?"

Lana shook her head. "You're supposed to remember who you are. You are Anabelle Kingston. Daughter of one of the most powerful men in New York. You don't get walked over by some pretty-boy prick and let it destroy you."

I looked away. "I just want to forget."

"Good," she said. "Then let's help you forget. Just for tonight."

I turned to her slowly, suspicious. "What are you talking about?"

"We're going out."

I raised an eyebrow. "Out?"

"A club. Music. Drinks. Dancing. Laughter. Hot strangers. The whole cliché, messy, healing experience. One night of not being the girl who got humiliated at a party. One night of not being Julian's ex."

I stared at her. "You think clubbing is going to fix this?"

"No," she said honestly. "But I think it'll remind you that your life didn't end at that party. That you're still beautiful, fierce, and worth so much more than him."

I hesitated. The idea of going out felt... wrong. Like I should be curled up in my bed, buried in memories and what-ifs. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe I was too used to the sadness now.

"...I don't even have anything to wear."

She grinned. "Oh, honey, you know you have so many things to wear."

"Lana..."

"Say yes, Belle. Just say yes. Let loose for one night. Let him be the last thing on your mind instead of the first."

I looked at her, at the friend who had been my anchor when everything else felt like it was sinking. And I nodded.

"Okay. One night."

She squealed and hugged me so tight I almost fell backward. "You won't regret it!"

I sighed and tried to smile. "I probably will."

"No, you won't. I'll pick you up at nine."

I shook my head. "I'll drive. I need some time alone first."

"Fair," she said. "Just promise me you won't back out."

"I won't."

As I headed toward the parking lot, Lana's voice rang out behind me.

"And wear something black and sexy! We're making a heartbreak begging for mercy tonight!"

Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. And for the first time in days... it felt real.

The ride home was quiet. Too quiet.

The city buzzed outside the car window, a blur of golden lights and people who weren't aching like I was. I rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, our mansion, and killed the engine.

But as I stepped out of the car, I noticed the black sedan parked in front. Our driver, Jacob, was lifting suitcases into the trunk. My brows knit.

Suitcases?

And then I saw him.

My father stood at the front steps in his tailored navy suit, phone tucked to his ear, barking something about stock projections and shipment delays. He looked... untouched. Like the world hadn't moved under my feet just days ago. Like his daughter hadn't been shattered in front of the entire university.

Like I didn't exist.

"Dad?" I called, my voice carrying across the stone driveway.

He glanced up briefly, not surprised to see me. "Anabelle," he said, lowering the phone. "You're back."

I blinked. "What's going on? Why are you?..."

"I'm flying to Shanghai," he cut in, already checking his watch. "There's an urgent series of meetings with our logistics partners. I'll be gone in a month."

A month.

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. "You're leaving?" I asked, my voice quieter than I wanted. "Just like that?"

"It came up this morning. I left a word with Mrs. Bloom, she'll take care of everything while I'm away."

I stared at him. "So you weren't going to tell me yourself?"

He gave a tight smile, the kind he always wore when he didn't want to deal with emotions. "I didn't want to wake you. Besides, I assumed you were out with your friends."

"I was at school," I said, stepping closer. "Trying to keep myself from falling apart. But of course, you wouldn't know that."

His brows twitched, but he didn't respond. Instead, he pulled out his phone again, typing something.

"Right," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Of course. Urgent meetings."

"You'll be fine, Anabelle. You always are."

He stepped past me, and just like that, he was gone down the stairs, into the car, doors shut, wheels rolling away.

No goodbye. No hug. Not even a glance back.

I stood in the marble entrance as the silence rushed in to greet me.

Empty.

The house had never felt so loud in its silence.

I turned slowly, heels echoing against the floors as I moved through the hallway. I could still smell his cologne lingering in the air.

Why did I even bother asking? He was always leaving. Always choosing boardrooms over birthday candles. Business over his only daughter.

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms.

My voice came out in a whisper, low and tired and bitter.

"Let's go wayward tonight."