Until The Last Day (Claire and Lorenzo) novel Chapter 24

Lorenzo’s POV 

I watched as she frantically zipped up her bag, then tossed the whole thing onto the back seat as if it were a hot potato. I locked the car doors and all the windows. 

Aria froze, a forced smile wobbling on her lips. She curled against the door as if metal could protect her. “What’s wrong?” she said in a small, pretending voice. “Are your eyes acting up again?” 

I tapped the folder on the passenger seat and kept my voice flat, like I was reading minutes at a meeting. “Do these look familiar?” 

She followed my hand with eyes that went wide. “W-what is that?” 

“Printouts. Pictures. Chats.” I said. 

Her smile died completely. She tried to laugh it off and failed. “You’re scaring me, Lorenzo. What-what do you mean?” 

I copied her innocent tone back at her. “My eyes didn’t start bothering me until I saw those transcripts. Did yours?” 

She stilled, then put on a smile that was all teeth. “No, of course not,’ she said too quickly. 

“You are right. I should have known what kind of person you are.” 

Her voice broke. Her face changed in a second; the pretense collapsed. “Lorenzo, I didn’t do anything. Claire-Claire killed herself.”  

I let the sentence hang between us. “I know she killed herself,” I said. “But that doesn’t make you clean. If you hadn’t kept pushing, if you hadn’t kept showing these things, she wouldn’t have relapsed. She wouldn’t have died.” 

Aria’s hands clenched the suitcase handle so hard her knuckles shone white. “That’s not true! I didn’t know. I didn’t know she was this sensitive. I never meant for any of this to happen. I only wanted you.” 

“You only wanted me,” I echoed, slow as a verdict. “You wanted me enough to shove a wedge between us. You sent pictures, made her feel depressed again, and you didn’t think about what that would do. Claire’ s depression was in remission. She had fought for that peace for months. Why would it flare up in November unless-?” 

“Unless what?” she snapped.  

“Unless someone pulled at a loose thread,” I said. “Photos. Messages. Little things that pushed her back to the edge. Don’t tell me you know.” 

Aria’s face collapsed into pleading. “I swear I swear I didn’t know she was depressed again. I didn’t know she’d fall. I was selfish, yes, but I wasn’t trying to kill her. I wanted you. I wanted-please, believe me this one time.” 

I watched her mouth move and the words sounded like a script rehearsed to survive. The thing that finally killed me wasn’t whether she had meant harm. It was that she could give a clean reason, and it sounded like a way to escape. From the moment I read the messages, the part of me that wanted to believe her died. All I felt then was cold, tidy certainty: she would say anything to save herself. 

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