They turned away, walking hand in hand toward our—no, their—home. I stood still, watching their retreating figures, but I felt no pain. Just a quiet, simmering exhaustion.
Without hesitation, I booked myself a hotel.
But the air in the room felt suffocating, so I changed into my running gear and headed to a nearby park.
The rhythmic pounding of my footsteps against the pavement was grounding, but the tightness in my chest refused to ease. I pushed forward, completing one lap, then another, letting the motion carry me through the hollow ache of betrayal.
And then I saw them.
Jonah and Nadia, fingers interlocked, strolling through the park.
Jonah had never liked night runs. But there he was, indulging her, listening as she whispered sweet nothings, her laughter like a delicate chime in the night air.
I had no interest in their love-struck performance.
Slipping on my headphones, I turned in the opposite direction, increasing my pace. My mind was already elsewhere—so much so that I didn't notice I was being followed.
Until it was too late.
A hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me backward with brutal force. My body slammed against something solid—a car.