The Rejected True Heiress (Liora) novel Chapter 92

Callum

I stayed under the bleachers long after she was gone, staring at the space she’d just occupied, as if the air itself still held her shape.

I’d told myself, again and again, that I was done. That the bond breaking meant I could start over. That I could choose Bianca and everything that came with her. The peace, the alliance, and the perfectly drawn map of a life that made sense.

But the truth was still raw in my chest: the moment Liora looked at me, all of that felt like a lie.

I dragged a hand through my hair and forced myself to leave the shadows. The gym was buzzing again, but none of it reached me. I went through the motions once back in class, notes, budgets, Thomas endless questions, all while acting like that didn’t almost happen.

By the time I reached the hall late in the day, the weight of it hit.

She shouldn’t matter, not anymore, at least. And yet, standing that close, I’d felt every reason why she still did.

I looked down at my hand. The ring for Bianca and I caught the light, bright and perfect. It felt heavy.

I twisted it on my finger, slow, deliberate, as if I could make it fit better.

It didn’t.

No matter how much I wanted it to, it didn’t.

A small part of me had hoped, stupidly, that I could learn to love her. That with the bond severed, my heart would finally be free to belong to someone else.

But it still felt wrong.

Why?

I tightened my hand into a fist and slipped the ring into my pocket before anyone could see, the cool band pressed against my palm like a question I didn’t have an answer for.

Liora

The bathroom tiles were cold under my palms.

I had paused in here just to breathe, but all I could hear was the echo of that moment under the bleachers. How close Callum’s face had been to mine, the heat of his breath, and the wild, reckless thought that for a single heartbeat.

I had wanted him to close the space between us.

I gripped the edge of the sink, trying to banish it.

What was wrong with me? This should be gone!

I hate him. I should hate all of it, the ring on his hand, Bianca’s perfect little smirk, every reason I came here in the first place.

Instead, I hated my brain for clouding my judgement, for remembering what it felt like when he looked at me that way.

I closed my eyes, feeling weak. I was better, stronger then whatever this is.

And then, like a tide pressing at the edge of my mind, came the pull I’d been ignoring.

Liora.

Father.

This time I didn’t slam the door on it. I let it in.

The world dimmed, the room fading away, and I heard his voice as if he were standing right behind me.

“You finally answer,” my father said, sharp with irritation. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve called? Do you enjoy making me look like a fool?”

“I was busy,” I said evenly, even in my head. “And I had nothing to say to you.”

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