Twisted Vows

CHAPTER4

Jacob

I left before I could make it worse.

The door shut behind me with a sound that felt final, and I welcomed it. Distance was easier. Space meant I didn’t have to look at her, didn’t have to sit with the expression on her face or the weight pressing down on my chest.

The hallway felt too bright. Too quiet.

Every step away from her room made my skin prickle, like I was walking out of something I wasn’t ready to name. My head throbbed, the dull ache behind my eyes a reminder of the night before. Of the drinking. Of the mistakes stacked too close together to separate.

I told myself it never would have happened if I’d been sober. It was easier than asking why I hadn’t stopped myself.

The thought came easily. Too easily.

It settled into place like a shield.

Downstairs, the remnants of the party lingered. Empty glasses. Half cleared tables. The smell of alcohol and expensive perfume clung to the air. Evidence of celebration. Of a night that had continued on for everyone else while something else quietly imploded.

I poured myself a glass of water and drank it too fast. It did nothing to steady the restless energy buzzing beneath my skin.

I shouldn’t have been in her room.

The memory pressed in anyway.

Her voice when she said my name. The way she’d looked at me like I mattered. Like I wasn’t broken open and bleeding from a rejection I still couldn’t wrap my head around.

I clenched my jaw and turned away from the counter.

This wasn’t about her.

It couldn’t be.

If it was, then I would have to admit I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. That I’d seen her — really seen her — and still let myself step forward instead of back.

I ran a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the kitchen.

I hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t gone looking for her. I’d been angry. Drunk. Off balance. My world had tilted, and she’d been there, steady in a way nothing else was. She always had been.

That didn’t make it right. I was older. Sober enough to know better. Angry enough not to care.

It made it dangerous.

The image of the bed forced its way into my thoughts before I could stop it. The rumpled sheets. The stain I hadn’t been prepared to see.

The realization had knocked the air from my lungs.

Virgin.

The word still felt sharp, uncomfortable, impossible to sit with.

I hadn’t known.

The truth lodged in my chest, heavy and unyielding. If I’d known, I would have stopped. I was sure of it. Certain. I clung to that certainty like it might save me from what I’d already done.

But certainty didn’t change the fact that I hadn’t stopped.

I exhaled hard, bracing my hands on the edge of the counter.

I told myself she hadn’t said no. I didn’t ask myself why I needed that distinction.

That she’d chosen it too.

The thought rang hollow even as I repeated it.

Because choice required clarity, and I hadn’t been clear about anything last night. Not about Lizzie. Not about myself. And not about Leah.

Her name settled uncomfortably in my mind.

I hadn’t thought of her that way before. Hadn’t allowed myself to. She’d always been there, hovering just outside the frame. Quiet. Observant. Easy to overlook.

Except Leah wasn’t plain, not really. Even back then. She had this soft kind of beauty that didn’t ask for attention, which meant you had to be looking to see it.

That, more than anything, made my stomach twist.

I’d accused her of seeing an opportunity. It was easier to believe that than admit I’d wanted her there.

The memory made my chest tighten.

I straightened abruptly, as if I could physically shake the thought loose. This wasn’t helping. None of it was. Guilt was useless. Regret even more so.

What mattered now was control.

Boundaries.

Distance.

I couldn’t afford to blur lines any further. Not with Lizzie. Not with her sister. Not with the fragile remains of the life I was supposed to be building.

I would keep my distance.

I would pretend last night hadn’t happened.

It was the only way forward.

The decision settled over me with cold clarity.

I picked up my jacket from the back of a chair, hesitating only a second before leaving the room. I didn’t look back toward the stairs. I didn’t allow myself to think about whether she was still crying, or standing under scalding water, or sitting alone with questions I didn’t have the courage to answer.

Avoidance felt like survival.

And right now, survival was all I had.

I was almost out the door when I heard her voice.

“Jacob?”

Lizzie stood at the foot of the staircase. Her hair was loose, her face bare, her eyes red rimmed and shining. She looked breakable in a way that immediately made my chest tighten — the way she always did when things didn’t go the way she expected them to.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “I thought maybe you slept in one of the guest rooms.”

Guilt hit hard and fast.

“I was just leaving,” I said.

She crossed the space between us quickly, like she was afraid I might disappear. “Don’t.” Her voice wavered. “Please. I didn’t sleep at all. I was awake all night thinking.”

I stayed still.

“I panicked,” she said. “When you asked me, it felt like everything was happening at once. Marriage. Kids. I just graduated. I wasn’t ready to give my life over to something before it even started.”

She swallowed, then rushed on. “But that’s not what you were asking, was it? You just wanted us to plan our life together. I know that now.” Her hand closed around mine. “I love you. I want to marry you.”

For a moment, everything I’d wanted was standing right in front of me.

And I had already ruined it.

“I can’t,” I said.

Her hand stilled. “What do you mean?”

I should have lied.

The thought was instant. Clean. Easy.

Instead, I told the truth.

“There’s something you need to know.”

Her expression tightened. “Jacob—”

“I slept with Leah.”

The silence was absolute.

She stared at me like she hadn’t understood the words. “You what?”

“I was drunk,” I said quickly. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I was upset. About us. About the proposal.”

Her laugh was sharp and disbelieving. “You slept with my sister.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

“You don’t plan to betray someone,” she snapped. “You just do it.”

I flinched.

“She knew I was drunk,” I said. “She knew I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

Lizzie went very still.

“She knew,” she repeated softly.

Then her face crumpled.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway.

Ruth and Edward appeared almost immediately, drawn by the raised voices. Ruth took one look at Lizzie and moved straight to her side, instinctive and protective.

“What happened?” Edward demanded.

Lizzie’s voice shook. “He slept with Leah.”

The reaction was instant.

Ruth’s mouth tightened. Edward’s face darkened. Neither of them looked surprised — only angry.

“He was drunk,” Lizzie said, clinging to her mother now. “He wasn’t thinking straight.”

Edward let out a sharp breath. “Of course he wasn’t.”

Ruth’s hand smoothed Lizzie’s hair. “This is not your fault.”

I opened my mouth. “I—”

“She’s always wanted what Lizzie has,” Edward said flatly. “Always watching. Always waiting.”

Ruth nodded once, decisively. “She’s never known her place.”

The words landed heavily in my chest.

No one asked where Leah was.

No one questioned Lizzie.

No one asked me why I hadn’t left.

The story assembled itself with frightening ease.

“I should have been clearer,” I said, too quietly to interrupt anything. “I was the one who—”

“You were drunk,” Ruth cut in, firm. “You weren’t in your right mind.”

Lizzie sobbed into her shoulder.

And Leah wasn’t there to defend herself.

The realization burned low and hot in my chest. I knew — even then — that something was wrong. That the way this was unfolding felt too simple, too clean.

But I said nothing — and felt the moment seal itself shut

Because correcting them would mean admitting that what happened wasn’t manipulation — it was desire.

It was mutual.

And that truth scared me more than the lie.