The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FIFTY

The front door exploded open with a deafening bang, the sheer power of it rattling the very foundation of the house. Royce stormed out, his face contorted with unbridled fury as he directed his blazing gaze towards me. He stepped onto the creaking porch, fingers curled into tight fists behind his head, and surveyed the chaotic scene before him.

It took a moment for his raging expression to soften into one of shock as he saw the shattered window, the wild flurry of curtains caught in the wind and the fragments of glass scattered on the floor. In an instant, his dark focus returned to me like a fierce lightning strike.

Yes, he was going to kill me for the damage I had caused.

Panic set in as I braced myself for the inevitable backlash of accidentally causing destruction to his beloved beach house, not to mention the fury his roommate would surely unleash upon learning of the blunder.

"Seriously?" His anger reverberated across every curve of the coast. "You bricked my fucking window?"

A profound feeling of remorse and self-recrimination flooded my senses. I did not set out to damage the man's window. 

In a precipitous surge of indignation and helplessness, I acted on blind impulse, and regrettably, the pot was in my way. I thought it would land harmlessly on the floor somewhere.

My words stumbled over each other as I tried to explain myself. "Actually, it was a dead plant..." His frown deepened, and his expression became darker, his jaw clenching tightly as he gritted his teeth. "I swear, I never wanted this to happen. It was an accident!"

"That's your go-to response every time!" He was gearing up for a heated argument, prepared to bury me in the sand without a second thought, regardless of anyone listening or watching nearby. "You never take responsibility for your actions! Never! It's always someone else's fault or something else that caused it!"

The manner of his speech implied knowledge derived from previous experiences, but I had no knowledge of analogous circumstances. I solely relied on the insights offered by others, however, these were notably insufficient.

"You bulldoze through people's lives like a wrecking ball, expecting everyone to clean up the mess you leave behind. Well, I'm done cleaning up after you." His words were like the shards of glass on the floor, stabbing into my heart, but I held back the flood of tears. "You've caused more damage than you'll ever fucking know."

God, what did I do to this man to make him hate me so much?

"Go home, Liv." It was not a request. It was a decree, a harsh finality like he never wanted to see me again. "Before I say something I might regret."

I swallowed the lump of tension forming in my throat, refusing to show any emotion in front of the neighbours or, more importantly, him. He looked away and headed for the front door, ready to close the chapter of us, but I could no longer hold back my emotions. We needed to have this uncomfortable conversation—this argument—and address the lies between us, regardless of any obstacles that may arise.

"You are so quick to point out my flaws," I entered into the dispute, abandoning all pretence of tranquillity, and addressed the matter, regardless of his inclination to engage. "But when the situation is reversed, I make a concerted effort to allow events to unfold naturally and afford you the benefit of the doubt."

Royce froze, his shoulders squared, his back a rigid wall of tension.

"Why does this generosity of courtesy not extend in both directions?" My feet caught up with him on the veranda, the prying eyes of onlookers irrelevant now. I was done abiding by unspoken social contracts. "Moreover, why should I allow you access to my intentions when you are forever concealing yours?"