He lifted me gently, his arms firm around me. "What happened, Penelope? You look so weak," he said, his voice heavy with concern as he carried me toward my room.
I didn't respond, not even when we reached my bed. He laid me down softly, and I turned my head away, my eyes distant. If I hadn't overheard his conversation with Cressida, if I hadn't seen the way he looked at her earlier, I might have believed him. I might have even let myself believe that he truly cared.
"You were about to tell me something, weren't you? When we were dancing," he said, his voice hesitant, as if probing for a truth he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.
"It doesn't matter anymore," I muttered, rolling over onto my back, and avoiding his gaze.
"Did I do something wrong?" He asked, his voice quieter now, a tremor of uncertainty in the words.
The air between us grew thick and heavy. I didn't answer right away. I couldn't. I turned to face him, my voice tight as I asked, "Did you?"
His eyes widened slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you. You're my best friend, Penelope. Like a sister to me."
The last part hit me like a punch to the chest. *Like a sister*. The words echoed in my mind, each one a blade. I stared at him, my heart sinking deeper. I felt like a fool forever believing that there could be something more between us.
"Why Cressida?" My voice trembled with the bitterness I couldn't hold back. "Of all the women... you chose her?"
His face hardened, and suddenly the room felt colder. "No, Penelope," he said sharply, "you don't have the right to tell me who I can and can't be with."
His shout caught me off guard, but it was the final straw. The tears, which I had been holding back, started to burn at the corners of my eyes. I could feel them threatening to spill over, but I refused to let him see me break.
"You know how she treated me," I said, my voice breaking as the tears began to fall. "And you still want to be with her? Do I mean *nothing* to you?"
He scoffed, his tone venomous now. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. You're so *judgmental*," he hissed, his words sharp as knives. "Not everything revolves around you, Penelope. Get a grip of yourself."
I staggered back as if I had been slapped. This wasn't Collins. This wasn't the man I had known, the one I had trusted. He was a stranger now—cruel, callous, and cold.
"To think I *fell in love* with someone like you," I screamed, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. My chest felt tight, my throat raw with emotion.
His face twisted, a mix of shock and hurt flashing across his features. "You...?" He began, but I couldn't bear to hear anymore.
"Get out," I cried, my voice breaking with the weight of everything I was feeling.
Collins stood there, frozen, and I saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes. But it didn't matter. Not anymore. The man I thought I knew was gone. The man I loved was gone.
"Get out!" I screamed again, louder this time, the words tearing from my throat.
I think Anthony must have heard me because the next thing I knew, the door slammed open. Collin left immediately Anthony entered the room.
Anthony rushed in, his face full of worry, but when he saw me, his expression softened, and he stepped forward, pulling me into his arms.
I didn't fight him. I couldn't. I just let go. I let the tears spill, the sobs wracking my body as I cried in his embrace, the weight of everything I had lost crashing down on me.
I don't know how much time passed before I fell into an exhausted sleep, my face pressed against his chest.
When I woke, the room was quiet. Anthony was gone, and the space beside me on the bed was empty. But the ache in my chest remained.