The Emerald Serpent Cruise Ship

Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Truth Beneath the Lies

Florence’s POV

The knocking stops, but my pulse doesn’t. It beats in my ears, heavy and anxious, as if it’s trying to remind me that, no matter how much I want to pretend otherwise, George is still here — still a part of this twisted mess I’ve found myself in.

I stand frozen in front of the door, the sound of my heart thudding in my chest louder than anything else. I don’t know how long I stay there, just breathing, just thinking, trying to ignore the knot of dread in my stomach. The cool air of the cabin is heavy with tension, and my hands feel clammy.

I want to pretend I’m fine. I want to believe this is just some petty game, some revenge plot that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But it does matter. It matters because George’s betrayal wasn’t just a mistake — it was a choice. And I don’t think I can let it slide.

The moment I hear George’s footsteps fade away, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Slowly, I walk over to the small window and pull back the curtain just enough to see the corridor outside. No sign of him. I lean my forehead against the cool glass, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Then the sound of a knock comes again. This time, it’s softer, almost hesitant.

I know who it is before I even check.

I don’t move. I don’t open the door. My thoughts are a mess, swirling around in my head like a storm. Part of me wants to ignore Conan, to pretend nothing happened. But that’s not who I am, and he’s not exactly the kind of man you can ignore for long.

The knock comes again, a little more urgent this time.

“Florence,” Conan’s voice calls out, low and steady. “I know you’re in there. We need to talk.”

I stay quiet, not trusting myself to speak. What is there to say, anyway? What do I even want to say?

“I’m not going anywhere until you open this door,” he adds, his tone still calm but with an edge that sends a shiver down my spine.

Part of me wants to give him a piece of my mind. To tell him that he can’t keep showing up in my life like this, turning everything upside down with his silence and those looks that make it impossible to know where I stand with him. But another part of me wants to open the door, wants to face whatever storm he’s about to bring with him.

After a long moment, I turn the handle and pull the door open.

Conan stands there, looking effortlessly composed, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders are just slightly hunched, like he’s been waiting for this conversation to happen. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me. His silver-gray eyes flicker, and I feel the weight of his gaze like it’s a physical thing.

“Don’t just stand there,” I say, my voice colder than I intended.

“Didn’t know you were in such a hurry to kick me out,” Conan says, stepping into the room before I can say anything else. His presence fills the space, bigger than life, and I instinctively take a step back, even though I’m not sure why.

“I’m not kicking you out,” I say, crossing my arms. “I just don’t think we have anything left to talk about.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning against the wall casually, as if he’s testing me. “You don’t think we have something to discuss? Like, I don’t know... George?”

I freeze at the mention of his name. It’s like a cold wave crashes over me. George’s face flashes through my mind, his smile, his lies, everything.

I force myself to speak, even though it feels like a battle to push the words past my lips. “What about him?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Florence,” Conan says, his voice suddenly sharper. “You and I both know you’ve been trying to get a rise out of him.”

I don’t respond, just stare at him.

His expression softens, but only a little. “And I’m guessing you don’t want to admit it, but that kiss we shared wasn’t just for fun, was it?”

I swallow hard, my heart racing as the memory of the moment floods my mind. The closeness, the heat, the strange pull that I still can’t quite explain. “It was part of the plan.”

“Right,” Conan says, pushing off from the wall. “The plan. Which I agreed to, remember?” He steps closer, his voice lowering. “But let me ask you something, Florence.” He pauses, his gaze narrowing. “Do you really think that kiss was part of the plan?”

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog in my brain. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” Conan’s voice drops to a whisper as he steps even closer, closing the space between us. I feel my breath catch in my throat as his hand brushes against mine, just the lightest touch. “But I’m not just here to mess with George.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“To see if you’re still in control.” His gaze is intense, and for a moment, I wonder if he can see right through me. “If you’ve really convinced yourself this is all about revenge, or if you’re lying to yourself.”

I take a deep breath, but my hands tremble. I’ve never been good at lying — not to myself, at least. And right now, it’s hard to even know what’s real anymore.

“You’re messing with my head,” I say, my voice coming out shakier than I intended. “All of this — it was supposed to be simple. Get back at George, make him feel what he did to me, and that’s it.”

“But you’re not simple, Florence,” Conan says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You never were.”

I look up at him, my breath catching. His eyes are unreadable, and I feel a flicker of doubt start to creep in. “What does that mean?”

He steps even closer, so close I can feel the heat of his body. “It means that you’ve been lying to yourself. You’ve been running from something you can’t outrun. And the more you try to convince yourself this is just about revenge, the more you’ll see that it’s never been about George.”

My heart skips a beat, and I take a step back, but Conan follows, not giving me the space I need.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

He reaches out, gently lifting my chin with one finger so that I have no choice but to look at him. His gaze is intense, searching, like he’s trying to find something buried deep inside me.

“Florence,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

I swallow hard, feeling the words catch in my throat. “I don’t need you to fix me, Conan.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he replies, his voice soft but full of something I can’t quite understand. “I’m trying to help you see what you’re really fighting against.”

I close my eyes, shaking my head. “I’m not... I don’t need your help.”

But even as the words leave my lips, I feel a c***k in the wall I’ve built around myself. It’s like his words are unraveling something inside me, pulling me toward him in a way I don’t want to admit.

When I open my eyes, he’s still there, his hand hovering near my face. His eyes are soft, but there’s something dark behind them, something I don’t understand but can’t escape.

“Then why do you feel this pull?” he whispers.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

---

The silence between us stretches for what feels like an eternity, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I don’t know what to say.

But Conan doesn’t push. He just stands there, watching me, waiting.

And I can’t help but feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I’m afraid to face.