Chapter 8

Five days until I left the country.

That morning. I finally told Pax it was over. That night, he kicked down my door.

The crash echoed through the tiny apartment, the flimsy frame rattling, hinges groaning under the impact. A crack splintered along the cheap wood, a jagged reminder of just how easily things broke–just how easily we had broken.

Pax stood in the doorway, breath uneven, fury barely restrained beneath a thin layer of composure.

His eyes–dark, burning–scanned the room before landing on me.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he bit out, voice taut with frustration. “Nina and I grew up together. Our families were close–she’s spoiled, sure, but she doesn’t mean half the shit she says.”

I didn’t respond.

“She was out of line, I get it,” he continued, stepping further in, closing the distance between us. “But you shouldn’t take it so personally.”

I let out a slow breath, my expression unreadable.

His jaw clenched, a flicker of impatience flashing in his gaze.

like a little sister to me, Cecilia. That’s it.

between us, heavy,

dropped lower,

There’s a limit to how far you can take this.”

had fought before.

arguments, doors slammed in frustration, stubborn silences that stretched

had we reached

word breakup been

time and I

the door he had just

chin, my

“I’m serious, Pax.”

23.06

of Love, Seven

Chapter 8

added, “And while you’re at it, you

a

this, do you?” His fingers raked through his hair, exasperation dripping from every word. “You’re

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