Kianna Mckinney POV:
The sounds from Jordan's room next door were muffled, but unmistakable. Whispers, soft laughter, the creak of the bed. Gwyneth had stayed over. Again. It had been like this for weeks, a slow, agonizing torture, each night a fresh reminder of the life he was building without me. Sleep was a distant memory. I tossed and turned, the sounds echoing in my head, amplifying the hollowness in my chest.
Frustration simmering, I reached for the cigarette pack on my nightstand. Another one. It was becoming a habit, a bitter ritual to mark the passing of sleepless nights. The smoke filled my lungs, a harsh scrape against my throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the relentless ache in my heart.
I dragged myself out of bed the next morning, my reflection in the mirror confirming the sleepless night. Dark circles under my eyes, hair disheveled. I looked like a ghost haunting my own life. Downstairs, the smell of fresh coffee and Gwyneth' s sickly sweet perfume already permeated the air.
"Good morning, Kianna!" Gwyneth trilled, too bright for this early hour. She was perched at the kitchen island, perfectly coiffed, a vision of effortless chic. Jordan stood beside her, his arm wrapped around her waist, their posture a silent declaration of their bond. "Sleep well?"
I managed a strained smile. "Like a baby," I lied, the words tasting like ash. I poured myself a cup of black coffee, the bitterness a familiar comfort.
"Jordan, darling," Gwyneth turned to him, her voice a soft purr. "You know how much I love the new espresso machine you bought. It makes the coffee perfectly. But I was wondering," she paused, batting her eyelashes, "what's your absolute favorite blend? I want to make sure I get it right."
A flash of memory. Years ago, a small, worn coffee grinder, a gift from me. Hours spent researching, finding the perfect beans, the perfect roast, just for him. He had always insisted that my coffee was his favorite.
He liked the Colombian roast, rich and dark, with a hint of chocolate. We used to spend Sunday mornings on the patio, sharing a pot, talking about everything and nothing.
I remembered the way he used to pull me close, his arm around my waist, as we watched the sunrise. "This is perfect, Kianna," he'd murmur, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "You always know just what I like."
Now, he simply shrugged. "Anything you make, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You know I'm not picky."
My heart twisted. Not picky. He had forgotten. Or perhaps, he had simply erased me from that memory, replacing my careful efforts with Gwyneth' s effortless charm. The truth was a cold, hard stone in my stomach. He had truly forgotten. And it stung, a sharp, unexpected pain.
A bitter laugh threatened to escape my lips. He truly had no idea.
"Actually, Jordan," I began, my voice quiet, almost a whisper, "you've always preferred the single-origin Colombian. Remember the little cafe we found downtown? You spent weeks trying to recreate that exact taste."
Before Jordan could respond, Gwyneth cut me off, her smile tightening. "Oh, Kianna, darling. That was ages ago, wasn't it? People change. Tastes evolve. You can't expect Jordan to be stuck in the past, can you?" She turned to Jordan, her eyes wide and innocent. "Poor Kianna, she just doesn't understand you like I do, does she, my love?"
Jordan chuckled, pulling her closer. "She's right, Kianna. You wouldn't understand. My palate has matured." He said it with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if I were a child who couldn't grasp the complexities of adult tastes.
The dismissal was swift, brutal, and complete. I felt a wave of humiliation wash over me, a familiar, unwelcome guest. My ears burned. "You're right," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "I suppose I wouldn't."
I turned, the coffee in my hand sloshing precariously. "I'm going to the library," I announced, desperate to escape. "I have a lot of research to do for my law school application."
Jordan' s head shot up. "The library? Again? You've been practically living there. What's so important that you can't spend time with us?" There was a possessive edge to his voice, a familiar control that, in the past, would have thrilled me. Now, it just grated.
"I have an interview coming up," I said, my voice carefully neutral. "For Chicago Law."
Gwyneth gasped, her eyes wide. "Chicago? Oh, Kianna, darling, that's so far away. And a law school? Are you sure you're cut out for that? It's so… intense. And you're so… delicate." Her words, cloaked in concern, were a thinly veiled attempt to undermine me.
"She's right, Kianna," Jordan chimed in. "Law school? That's a huge commitment. And what about your grades? I always thought you were more suited for something creative, something less... stressful." He always had. He always saw me as fragile, as someone who needed protection, not ambition.
"I can do it," I insisted, my voice firm, though my hands trembled slightly. The words were for them, but mostly, they were for me.
Jordan scoffed. "Don't be silly. You're just a little stressed. Maybe you should take a break. A vacation, perhaps? Gwyneth and I are going to the Hamptons next month. You could come with us. Get your mind off things."
The casual dismissal of my dreams, the assumption that I was simply "stressed," that my ambition was just a phase, infuriated me. He saw me as an extension of his life, a little sister to be taken care of, not a woman with her own aspirations.
"No, thank you," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "I appreciate the offer, but I have other plans."
Jordan narrowed his eyes. "What other plans? You're not seeing anyone, are you? I told you, Kianna, you need to be careful. There are a lot of bad people out there." His possessiveness, once a comfort, now felt like a suffocating cage.
"Jordan, darling," Gwyneth interjected, her hand on his arm, "don't be so hard on her. Kianna's a big girl now. She can make her own choices. And if she wants to explore a little romance, who are we to stop her? Besides," she winked at me, a sly, knowing glint in her eyes, "maybe it's good for her to experience life. You know, before she settles down."
The irony was not lost on me. Gwyneth, encouraging me to "explore romance," knowing full well that my heart belonged to the man beside her. It was a subtle, cruel twist of the knife.
I felt a surge of cold fury. "I'm going to the library," I repeated, my voice clipped, "and I'll be back when I'm done." I didn't wait for a response, turning on my heel and walking out the door. The air outside was damp, heavy with the promise of rain.
"Kianna! Where are you going?" Jordan's voice, tinged with annoyance and control, followed me out.
"I told you," I called back, not turning around, "the library."
"Don't be out too late!" he shouted, his voice fading as I walked further away. "And wear something warm!" The words, once a sign of his care, now felt like a leash.
I walked faster, the damp air doing little to cool the heat in my cheeks. His casual possessiveness, Gwyneth' s subtle barbs, it was all too much. My entire youth, spent orbiting around him, believing his protection was love, his possessiveness a sign of care. I had sacrificed my own identity, my own desires, to fit into the mold he had created for me. And for what? To be dismissed, forgotten, replaced.
Only two days left. Two days until I was free. Two days until I could finally be myself, whoever that was. The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying.
I stepped out into the steady drizzle. The sky was a bruised purple, mirroring the turmoil in my soul. Rain. Always the rain. I remembered a different rain, years ago, when Jordan had held an umbrella over my head, shielding me from the downpour, his warmth a comforting presence beside me. "I'll always keep you safe, Kianna," he'd promised, his voice soft against the drumming rain. "Always."
But that Jordan was gone. And this Kianna, the new Kianna, had to learn to stand in the rain alone. I had to learn to be my own umbrella. I took a deep breath, letting the cool rain wash over my face, blurring the line between tears and raindrops. I was alone. But I was also, finally, free. I pulled my jacket tighter, and walked into the downpour, my destination, not the library, but a future where I was my own protector.
