The Lies He Told | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER ROMANCE |

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Royce moved with deliberate haste toward the back door, his fingers already seeking out the familiar shape of his keys.

The locked door thwarted his usual expectation of effortless passage, eliciting a brief, muffled expletive. He inserted the key into the lock, then left, darting across the car park without looking back.

My heart knew that home held no love, no answers, no solace. All that I longed for lay here, with him and the others. And so, despite the inevitable fury that would ensue, I defied orders and trailed him into the garden. No longer would this madness be permitted to continue unchecked. I had to stand up for what I believed was right.

Royce sprinted toward the motorcycle situated beside the seldom-used monster truck that habitually collected dust in the communal car park. He maintained his forward trajectory, offering no indication of acknowledging my hurried pursuit.

In spite of the obscurity of the night, his search proved swift. He reached the designated parking area for his motorcycle and cast a cursory glance towards the beach house, perhaps to verify my absence. But then, out I popped (his worst-case scenario) to ruin his plans. His shoulders sagged like a grumpy teenager facing chores. Round one: decided in my favour.

"Liv..." He was noticeably dismayed that I had disobeyed him yet again. "For fuck's sake."

Deep breath, Olivia

"I told you to leave," he growled, the sentence heavy with icy finality. "This is your last warning. I won't ask you again."

I watched as he swung his leg over the saddle and settled onto the motorcycle, finding his footing on the pegs. His lack of a helmet was concerning. He blipped the throttle a few times, then worked the shift lever with his boot, testing the clutch engagement.

My brow wrinkled in thought.

Where on earth did all this newfound motorcycle knowledge come from? Given my complete lack of prior exposure to the subject, the source of this knowledge remained wholly perplexing.

"Take me with you." My voice, barely a whisper, fought against the howl of the wind whipping strands of hair across my face. My fingers tightened on the handlebar, right on top of his hand, as my eyes pleaded with him to relent for me. "You owe me this much."

Royce's hypnotic gaze held me hostage, the stray hairs of his dark locks dancing over his mesmerising heterochromatic eyes—one a deep ocean blue, the other a warm, earthy brown. "Why are you so stubborn?"

"Someone has to fight for my future." In that heart-stopping moment, I was lost in the enigmatic depths of his stare, transfixed by the mystical fusion of colours that spoke of boundless dreams and whispered of a comforting home. He was an exquisite masterpiece, every feature perfectly crafted with the accuracy of an artist. "It might as well be me."

He sighed, and in that soft exhale, I saw a battle fought and lost. His rigid jaw relaxed, and the spark of defiance flickered out of his eyes. Bit by bit, he was conceding ground.

"Please," I begged, mustering every ounce of dignity I could summon. "Do not shut the door in my face. Not this time."

His relentless examination of my face bore into me with such ferocity that it left me vulnerable and defenceless. In a trance, he slowly reached for the front of my long-sleeved jumper, his fingers delicately tracing the fabric before gripping it tightly in his fist. He tugged me closer, like the distance was too much for him, adding another layer of confusion to our—friendship?—for he seemed to hate me in one breath and be fascinated with me in another.

It's no wonder my chest fluttered whenever he was around. He made it impossible to ignore our complex chemistry.

"Liv..." His bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he focused on the structure of my slightly exposed collarbone. "I'm trying to do the right thing here, but you're not making it easy for me."