Val's pov
The shoe came in a box.
Not glass. Not wrapped in ribbon. Just… cardboard. Taped like a package. Cold and impersonal.
Worse?
A driver handed it over. Not him.
Theo Dodge didn't even have the decency to look me in the eye while returning the damn evidence of my escape.
I stood by the door, fingers curling around the box like it was radioactive. My stomach twisted.
So that's what I was now? A package? A task for someone else to cross off?
I didn't even open it for a good five minutes. Just stared at it like it would explode.
And when I finally did—there it was.
My left shoe. A little muddy. The one I left behind when I jumped out of his window like some stupid storybook disaster. Cinderella, but if she had anxiety and commitment issues.
I could still hear the echo of that moment.
The silence of his room. The clean sheets. The food untouched on the counter. And the wind curling in like a whisper of guilt. I had told myself it was a good idea. Told myself I needed to go.
But now?
Now I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my own reflection in the mirror like she owed me answers.
What the hell was I thinking?
He probably thinks I'm a coward.
I bit the inside of my cheek, hard.
Running wasn't graceful. It wasn't even smart. It was impulsive and messy and so me. But facing him felt impossible. The weight of my father's words still rang in my ears like chains:
> "You were with that boy, weren't you?"
"Love is distraction."
"You better not see him again."
And what did I do? Came home in the clothes I wore to his place. Slipped inside before dawn. Tried to lie. Failed. Got called out. Humiliated.
I told him, I like him—and it felt like confession and rebellion and surrender all in one.
But now?
Now I was just the girl who ran away from him.
Theo.
He probably thinks I'm pathetic. He probably laughed. Probably smirked like he always does and said something smug like, "Figures."
God, that would hurt more than anything.
And the worst part?
He didn't even come himself.
He sent a driver.
No note. No text. Not even a passive-aggressive post.
Just silence.
I laced my fingers together tightly, nails digging into skin. I wanted him to show up. Even angry. Even sarcastic. I wanted him to fight for me, tell me that being enemies didn't matter, that none of it mattered.
I wanted a stupid cliché.
But of course, I didn't get it.
Because life doesn't give you what you want. Especially not when you finally want something with your whole heart.
I leaned back on the bed, the shoe still beside me. Like it was mocking me.
He kept it long enough to return it.
And didn't say a single thing.
So yeah.
Maybe I was a coward.
But that didn't mean I stopped thinking about him. Or about that night. Or the way he looked at me like I was already something his.
I closed my eyes, pressing my knuckles against my mouth.
It wasn't supposed to feel like this.