Part 3No More Funding My Traitor

Luna looked at me, her face a portrait of guilt and anxiety. She twisted the hem of her cardigan, her fingers shaking.

"No, I can't let you do that, Cora... I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess. Forget I said anything, I'll just run for the bus."

She turned to go, but Everett caught her arm. His grip was firm, protective. He looked at me again, his lips thinned into a hard line.

But his thoughts? They were a riot.

Here comes the tantrum. I am so done with her drama.

She’s spent her whole life thinking the world revolves around the Aria family fortune. She thinks she owns me.

But I’m not playing along anymore. I love Luna. I want to scream it just to see the look on Cora’s face.

Luna can’t get sick. I won't let her.

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the street. Something inside me—some old, dusty hope—finally cracked and turned to ash. Before he could say another word, I took a step back.

"Just go," I said.

Everett’s shoulders slumped in visible relief. He turned to her, his voice softening into a register I’d never heard him use with me. "Luna, give me your bag. I’ve got you."

Luna gave me one last, lingering look of pity before she tucked herself under Everett’s umbrella. Within seconds, they were two silhouettes blending into the grey curtain of the rain.

I looked down at the broken umbrella in my hand. Then, I tossed it into the gutter and walked into the downpour.

At the gate, our driver, Arthur, scrambled out with a large canopy, looking panicked. "Miss Aria! Where is Mr. Sinclair? Why are you all alone?"

"Just drive, Arthur," I said, leaning back into the leather seat, feeling the cold water seep into my skin. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear fall.