EVIE

I jolted awake, my heart hammering like it was trying to escape my chest. The warmth of Saint’s body beside me had vanished into the shadows of the morning, leaving only emptiness and that dull ache in my chest where it had been.

My eyes landed on a face I knew all too well—Mrs. Kline, the church gossip, standing in the doorway like a hawk ready to swoop down. My stomach dropped so fast I thought I might actually throw up.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

I scrambled off the bed, fumbling to cover myself with the thin sheet. My limbs felt like lead, and my mind was spinning, searching for any excuse, any explanation that might make her turn away. “Mrs. Kline—please, wait! I can explain!” My voice came out small, panicked, almost childlike.

But she didn’t stop. She didn’t slow her steps or look back. She walked with purpose, like every step was calculated to crush me, and I swear I could feel my chest tightening with each one. The floorboards groaned under her weight, every sound amplified in my head.

“Saint!” I hissed over my shoulder, desperate. “Help me!”

He was there in an instant, stepping into the hallway behind me like a materialized shadow. His eyes were sharp, scanning the room with a focus that made my pulse skip even faster.

His presence alone steadied me, like a shield I could lean on. “Evie, stay close,” he muttered, voice low and firm. I nodded, keeping the smallest distance I could from him, trying to keep my dignity intact while letting his strength protect me.

By the time we reached the front of the church, my worst fear had already solidified. My father stood there, rigid as a statue, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw me. Every instinct screamed at me to run, hide, and disappear, but there was nowhere to go.

And then Mrs. Kline spoke, her voice cutting through the morning air like a whip. “I saw her! I saw your daughter in the basement… with that man!” She raised her voice with theatrical horror, dripping with fake outrage. “They were… on top of each other! I screamed, and that’s how it stopped!”

I froze. My brain short-circuited. My throat tightened so much I thought I might suffocate. Every nerve in my body screamed, “No, this isn’t true!” but the words had already hit the air, landing like stones.

How do you stop someone from believing what they’ve already heard?

My father’s gaze snapped from her to me, then back to the man standing beside me. “Is this true?” His voice was sharp, each syllable cutting through me like fire. My heart raced so fast I thought it would crack my ribs.

I shook my head violently, my voice trembling. “No! It’s a lie! She’s lying, Father! It’s not true!”

But Mrs. Kline’s face twisted with self-righteous indignation, and she stepped closer, waving her hands as if to punctuate her story. “Calling me a liar? Trying to shame me? That’s rich, girl! You expect me to let this slide? I saw them with my own eyes!”

I opened my mouth, trying to shout, trying to make her see she was twisting everything, but the words wouldn’t come out. My tongue felt heavy. My lungs burned.

Saint moved subtly beside me, a quiet presence that steadied my shaking limbs. I felt a flicker of relief, though not enough to drown out the panic clawing at my chest.

“You’ve gone too far this time,” my father growled, taking a step forward, the muscles in his jaw tight. His eyes were dark and furious, and I felt like every accusation he’d ever thrown at me was crashing down all at once.

I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not true. Please… you have to believe me. It’s a lie.”

Mrs. Kline smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos she had created, her eyes gleaming with vindictive pleasure. “A lie? That’s your story? You think calling me a liar will erase what I saw?”

I wanted to vanish. I wanted to sink into the ground and never come back. But as my father’s gaze locked onto mine, the fury in his eyes burning into me, I realized there was nowhere to hide. I was trapped, exposed, and completely at his mercy.

At that moment, the house seemed to empty itself. My stepmom Edna appeared, followed by my stepbrothers, then Mia, each of them watching like spectators at a spectacle I hadn’t signed up for.

Edna’s voice was calm, but it carried ice. “You said she was hiding something in that basement, didn’t you?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came.

And then… the unthinkable. My father, his face red with fury, raised his hand. I flinched, expecting a slap, but before it could land, Saint stepped forward like a wall of iron.

“Don’t you dare,” he said, low and dangerous. His hand pressed firmly against my father’s chest, and for the first time in my life, I saw my father hesitate.

I looked at Saint, my Saint, and my stomach twisted in awe and fear.

My father’s gaze shifted to Saint, scanning him head to toe. “I… I am ashamed to call you my daughter,” he spat, rage boiling over. “Frolicking with the devil himself, covered in tattoos, corrupting this family… this church!”

Saint didn’t flinch. Not once. He held my father’s gaze, silent but unyielding. And then, with a final, cutting glare at my father and a glance at me that held both promise and protection, he turned and walked away.

I wanted to call him back. I wanted to run after him. But my legs refused to move. The air was heavy, thick with fury and shame.

When Saint’s figure disappeared from view, my father’s attention snapped back to me. The look in his eyes made my chest tighten like my heart was being squeezed. Rage, disappointment, disbelief—it was all there, swirling and burning, aimed straight at me.

“Evie!” His voice roared, echoing through the empty street. “What have you done?”

I swallowed hard, heat rising to my cheeks. My throat felt dry, my mind fuzzy with a thousand thoughts at once, none of which could form into words.

“Father, please…” I tried, voice trembling, small. “It’s not what she said...”

“Silence!” His hand swept through the air, sharp, cutting. “Do not speak! You are a disgrace!”

I flinched instinctively, but I stayed rooted, standing my ground as best I could.

My father’s chest heaved. “I will not tolerate this in my church! You are a sinner, Evie! A foolish, reckless girl who thinks she can act without consequence!”

I wanted to shrink into the ground. I wanted to disappear entirely. But the tiniest ember inside me refused to die. I had made mistakes, yes, and perhaps I had sinned in his eyes, but I wasn’t weak. Not entirely.

I watched, my stomach twisting, my chest aching, as he shook his head, muttering about shame, corruption, and the ruin of his daughter.

My thoughts spiraled. What would happen now? Could Saint come back? Could I explain? Could I undo the damage Mrs. Kline had done with a few well-chosen lies?