MIRA

Adrian's confession still hangs between us. He steps closer, too close, and his breath is a warm contrast to the cold Paris wind brushing my cheeks.

“Mira… leave him.” His voice cracks. Genuine or just perfectly crafted, I can’t tell anymore with these faux humans. “Jackson always hurts you. He has and He always will.”

“No,” I whisper. “You’re wrong.”

"Am I?" He asks, basking in his ego.

Adrain shakes his head slowly, as though I’m the one blinded by fantasy. ...