### Chapter 7 I can’t pinpoint when the chaos began, but it’s safe to say it ignited soon after Bridge’s departure. Was it intensified emotions? An unsettling distraction permeating the air? Or perhaps it was simply the thrill of sneaking around that set our hearts racing. What I do know is it felt unplanned, an impromptu spark that catapulted us into a tangled mess. Tonight, we're gathered for Arrie’s birthday dinner—a family affair, though it feels anything but familial. As we step into the living room, my eyes instantly lock on Arrie, sitting there with Mars and Harley. The moment our gazes meet, hers flicker with guilt, and I can’t shake the feeling she knows what’s brewing beneath the surface. We all understand this isn’t a grey area; it’s a full-blown catastrophe. My heart sinks with the weight of it, and I avert my gaze, hoping Parks won’t read my thoughts. The truth is, I’ll have to break it to her at some point, but I dread the idea of adding to her already burdened heart. Without Bridge, how could she even begin to process what’s happening? Honestly, it seems like she’s barely coping at all. As for Harley? Oblivious, as always. “Do you think her dad got her a car?” one of my siblings wonders aloud. “An S-Class,” I reply, half-jokingly. “A sleek, white 2023 Mercedes-Benz S 580, no less.” I can almost hear the engine purring—a four-liter, eight-cylinder beast, a real head-turner. Yet here I sit, thinking of the last four months spent in a car where Arrie gripped my hand so tightly in fear that it drew blood. I’d give anything for her to realize she’s terrified. Honestly, the rest of them? They’re blind to it—through some fog of ignorance, they miss the signs that are glaringly obvious to me. Mars, once the steady hand in our chaotic lives, has taken a back seat. Catering has become her new norm, and it doesn’t sit well with me. For all her talents, she relishes in cooking—turning out meals with finesse each day she worked for the Parkses. Now, we invite someone else to prepare our dinner, and it feels wrong, like we’re losing a vital part of who she was. Hen arrives shortly after us, accompanied by my parents and Allie, who gleefully presents Arrie with a Panthère de Cartier watch—mini, sparkling yellow gold with diamonds. While she beams, I see a hint of sadness lurking just beneath her smile. Al, who’s been grappling with Bridget’s loss, seems to find solace in Magnolia’s presence. It’s bittersweet; she’s clinging to whatever makes her feel close to her sister. I used to escape my own pain by focusing on Parks, ensuring she felt no hurt. But pain’s relentless, persistent—it sits there until it’s forced out into the open. Most nights, Magnolia suppresses it, holding her breath, and then gasps like she’s inhaling smoke. Dinner is served, and as laughter forges around the table, Parks and Henry reminisce about their mischievous school days. In a particularly entertaining tale, Magnolia fabricates an unbelievable excuse for Henry’s absence that spirals into absolute chaos—a tale of missed attendance due to a “bubonic plague” that led to all dorms being quarantined. It’s hilarious, and it distracts everyone—until Harley checks his phone. “Shit,” he breathes, begrudgingly apologizing to my parents. “I need to take this.” He leaves a quick peck on Mars’ cheek, and the atmosphere shifts. My heart sinks as Arrie unobtrusively rises from the table. Our eyes connect, and a wave of dread crashes over me. Not again. I finish my drink, feigning a trip to the bathroom. Instead, I make my way straight to Harley’s office, steeling myself before pushing the door open—only to discover it was already ajar. What greets me is precisely what I feared. Arrina Parks, her dress hiked up, tangled with her ex-husband, Harley. In a split second, they notice me, horror etched across their faces—Harley mutters an obscenity as Arrie tries to regain her composure. “What the hell?” My voice is low, incredulous as I shake my head in disbelief. “Don’t,” Harley growls, hurriedly yanking up his zipper. “No, you don’t get to say that.” I step closer, closing the door behind me. “Not with this.” “We didn’t plan this!” Arrie insists, trying to fix her appearance. “Really?” I counter, throwing her a look of disbelief. “Because it certainly looks like a premeditated rendezvous to me.” Arrie brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture revealing her vulnerability. “I meant the affair.” I let out a tense breath, casting my gaze back and forth between the two of them. “So this is an affair?” Harley eyes me with irritation. “Of course it’s an affair.” I nod, grim-faced. “Why is this your business?” Harley shoots back, and I blink at him in disbelief. “How can it not be?” “Because neither of us is involved with you,” he says bluntly. “Don’t twist this, darling. It’s only about Magnolia,” Arrie interrupts, her tone more placating than I expected. “Believe me, if you weren’t connected to my daughter—” “Absolutely not,” Harley interjects firmly. Arrie shrugs, nonchalantly, as if it’s a minor inconvenience. “You both need to stop this,” I say, my frustration bubbling. “She can’t handle this drama right now.” Harley rolls his eyes dismissively. “Why does it concern her?” I stare at him, realization dawning—the sheer disregard for his daughter’s emotions is staggering. “If you’re being serious, you might be a worse father than I thought.” Harley scoffs, challenging me, “What did you just call me?” I square my shoulders, ready to throw down. I wouldn’t mind a little physicality now; hitting Harley feels like the only option left. Then, the door swings open behind me, and the most beautiful voice cuts through the tension. “Oh, there you are.” I pivot to face Parks, quickly erasing any signs of confrontation and donning a bright smile. “Here I am.” I pull her into my arms, kissing the top of her head, savoring the moment. Her brow furrows, eyes darting between me and her parents. “What’s going on in here?” “Oh, nothing much.” I shift, glancing back at Harley. “Just tell her, Harley.” Frozen in place, he doesn’t utter a word. “Can’t hide anything from her,” I tease, waving my hand dismissively. “Your dad just realized that a car wasn’t the best gift, so—he got you an island instead!” Harley shifts uncomfortably, and Arrie struggles to contain a grin. Magnolia’s face lights up, wide-eyed. “An island? Really?” I nod, pretending to hold back my amusement. “In the Caribbean.” Her eager gaze flits between me and Harley. “Bigger than mine?” “Much,” I confirm, relishing the joy flickering in her eyes. Her dad’s jaw tightens, and she spins around, gratitude radiating from her. “Thank you, Dad!” “Yeah—uh, of course,” he stammers, awkwardly nodding. She moves closer, almost hugging him but stops short, opting for a quick pat on his arm instead. Their strange dynamic hangs in the air, heavy with unresolved tension, as she bounces out of the room. I can’t help but send Harley a smirk before following her back into the lively world full of plans and discussions about the wedding. The night continues on, with her parents dissecting every little detail, my sister bombarding Parks with questions from her floral dress to potential bridesmaids. Meanwhile, Harley and I exchange glances laden with unsaid challenges across the table—my instinct to protect her battling with his disdain for being pushed around. The irony is almost laughable; he resents being told what to do while I can’t tolerate anything that could harm her. How absurdly tangled our lives have become. When it’s finally time to leave, we abandon the car they gifted her behind and walk home together in a comfortable silence. She tightly clasps my hand with both of hers, leaning into me like she’s seeking refuge. The way she relies on me is intoxicating; it’s an unparalleled high. I’ve combed the depths of my heart, yet nothing compares to being needed by her. Want is a luxury, yes, but need? It’s essential—intertwined with purpose in a way I’ve never known before. Back home, the evening unfolds into intimacy as we find ourselves together in the shower—a rendezvous I’ve missed more than I’ll ever admit. She undresses me without words, pulling me into her warmth as the water cascades around us. I can feel her anxiety cling to me, an unspoken fear that she’s on the precipice of losing me too. Afterwards, we fall into an easy slumber, but I wish I could wake early on her birthday, sneaking out to prepare a small surprise—flowers, coffee, balloons, the works. Yet I know better; she sleeps light, if at all, often curling against me seeking solace. Her birthday dawns, and as her eyes flutter open, I smile down at her, brushing my fingers across her cheek. Instantly, a wave of sorrow crashes over her, and in moments like this, I feel utterly powerless. Every tremor of her body resonates against me as she struggles with waves of grief. Holding her feels like the only thing I can do in the face of such intense pain. Breathing out words of comfort, I wish I could believe in the promises I’m making. After a long twenty minutes, she inhales deeply, wiping the remnants of her sorrow away and mustering a smile—a façade that’s beautiful yet hauntingly incomplete. “Fancy Bridget Dorothy Parks ruining my birthday from beyond the grave,” she quips, her gaze falling on the urn that holds her sister’s ashes. Like she thinks her sister would want to be disturbed from her resting place, she frequently repositions it. I chuckle softly, my heart aching. “Seems fitting.” She nods, offering me a tender smile, but I can see the wavering beneath it. “So what did you get me?” Leaning in, I brush my lips against hers, a playful gesture. “Not enough.” I’ve tried to gather every token I think might bring her joy—another edition of *The Little Prince*, a few chic bags and shoes, a diamond bracelet she has longed for, promises of future trips to distant places, and a vintage Paddington bear from the year she was born. She chuckles at the bear; it resonates with her sentimental side, but still, I know it’s all trivial compared to what she truly longs for—the one thing I can’t offer her. In the haze of the evening, as we sit together, I hold onto the knowledge that she deserves more than I might ever be able to give.