Theodore
There’s something about Lily Thompson that ruins a man quietly.
It’s not just her face, though God knows she has the kind that sticks in your mind long after she’s gone. It’s not just her laugh either, sharp and unexpected, like she’s surprised herself every time it slips out.
It’s the fire. The way she walks into a room like she’s already bracing for a fight. The way her chin tips up when the world tries to crush her down. She looks fragile at first glance—but stand too close, and you realize she’s made of iron.
And I? I’ve been standing too close for far too long.
I tell myself she doesn’t belong to me.
I repeat it like prayer, like penance.
She’s Ryan’s.
She’s always been Ryan’s.
But my chest doesn’t listen. My chest clenches every time I see her fake a smile for the c
