Chapter 29

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I step out of the back of the sleek black Mercedes and follow my father and sister up the steps of the private jet

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I step out of the back of the sleek black Mercedes and follow my father and sister up the steps of the private jet. My sunglasses remain perched on my nose, serving as a shield for my eyes. These are the very sunglasses I bought specifically so that Henry couldn't see my gaze on him at the beach.

Today, however, they serve a different purpose. An attempt to conceal my bloodshot eyes. I've been struggling to hold back tears, struggling to hold myself together, since I walked out on Henry, but they seem to keep escaping my control.

Boarding the plane, I trail behind my sister, maintaining a detached demeanor as we make our way to the back. I select a seat that faces the front of the plane, while she opts for the opposite side, sitting directly in front of me. Our father settles in at the very front.

Removing my sunglasses, I gaze out of the window, attempting to suppress every feeling, every emotion I have for Henry. But no matter how hard I try, the desire to break down into tears remains overwhelming.

"Here," Margot's voice interrupts my thoughts as she settles into her seat across from me, "I got the flight attendant to make us mimosas before we take off."

Turning my gaze toward her, I accept the drink and take a sip. A small smile of gratitude forms on my lips, but as she locks eyes with me, her expression shifts.

"Thanks," I murmur, my tone muted by the turmoil inside me.

Despite turning my attention to the window again, I can feel Margot continuing to study my face. The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken questions.

"You broke up with him again, didn't you?"

Our eyes meet, and a tear slips through my eyes before quickly brushing it away. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say softly.

Her eyes hold mine, a mix of concern and annoyance. "How many times are you going to leave him, Clo?"

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. "This is the last time," I assure her, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Chloe, don't let what Dad said last night get into your head."

I shake my head, trying to convince myself as much as her. "It's not. I'm not"

"You love him though. I know you do. Why else would you have been here all summer?" she observes, her gaze unwavering.

"I don't. I don't love him," I lie, my words a fragile shield against the truth I refuse to admit.

"In the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from the overhead compartments...."

The flight attendant's voice comes over the speakers, Margot's persistence lingering in the air.

"There's still time to go back. You can get off right now. I'll come with you," she murmurs, her voice almost pleading.

My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand, and I meet her gaze with a determination that only thinly veils the hurt beneath. "I don't want him," I say, the lie becoming more painful each time I say it.

I feel the plane start to move, slowly at first, then gaining momentum. The world outside blurs as we pick up speed. "I think you're making a mistake," Margot's voice reaches me, and I turn to look away from her.

It's the same script I ran through my mind three months ago, and it's the script I'm clinging to now. A desperate mantra on an endless loop: you don't love him, you don't love him, you don't love him.

But for some inexplicable reason, it's losing its power, fraying at the edges, like a worn-out safety net unable to hold the weight of my emotions any longer.

Notes

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