The Girl He Called Practice

Kiera Case POV:

The silence in the kitchen was deafening after Felix left, broken only by my ragged breathing. I stood there, rooted to the spot, the dampness of tears still clinging to my cheeks. My phone lay where it had fallen, unnoticed until a notification flashed across the screen. It was Chloe again, but this time, it wasn't a call. It was a screenshot. A social media post. From Bella Ramsey.

My stomach seized. The photo was a selfie, Bella pouting playfully, her hair perfectly tousled. But it was the caption that twisted the knife. "First morning coffee in Paris with my amazing Felix! So glad he arranged this little getaway for us. He even remembered my favorite French press! So thoughtful. #ParisianNights #FelixAndBella #Blessed"

My eyes zeroed in on two details: the French press, a sleek chrome and glass device that had been my gift to Felix for his birthday last year, because he'd mentioned wanting to learn to make "proper coffee." And the "little getaway," which was obviously a lie, given he' d only just arrived and was supposed to be working on the "Ramsey Tower acquisition." A cruel irony that he was now acquiring Ramsey herself.

He'd brought my gift, a symbol of my thoughtful gesture, to impress her. He'd given her the credit for my effort. The sheer audacity, the effortless cruelty of it, stole my breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears blurring the screen. I closed my phone, the small black rectangle suddenly too heavy, too painful to hold. It clattered to the counter, echoing the shattered fragments of my heart.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Henderson, the Decker' s housekeeper, bustled into the kitchen, a quiet, efficient woman who had seen me grow up. Her eyes, usually warm, widened slightly at the sight of the spilled juice and my tear-streaked face. She didn' t say anything, just started methodically cleaning the counter, her movements a quiet testament to the chaos Felix had left behind.

"Mrs. Henderson," I managed, my voice hoarse. "Can you… can you get rid of that French press? And anything else he might have left here?" My gaze swept over the kitchen, suddenly seeing all the small tokens of Felix' s presence, gifts he' d given me, things he' d left behind. Each one now felt tainted.

She paused, looking at me with a knowing sadness in her eyes. "Of course, dear. Consider it done." Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, a silent offer of comfort, before she returned to her task.

I spent the rest of the morning in a haze, systematically going through my own room, gathering every single item Felix had ever given me. A delicate silver bracelet, a ridiculously fluffy bathrobe, a collection of first-edition architecture books he' d bought for my birthday. Each item held a memory, a whisper of a promise, now brutally broken. I boxed them all up, methodically, dispassionately. The act of purging felt like cauterizing a wound, painful but necessary.

Days blurred into a week. Felix didn' t call. He didn't text. Not from his blocked number, not from any new number. And I didn't reach out. Not once. The Kiera of old would have been frantic, would have convinced herself it was her fault, would have found a way to bridge the silence, to apologize for a crime she didn' t commit. But that Kiera was gone. She had died in that kitchen, listening to Felix' s cruel French words.

I blocked every new number that vaguely resembled his. I unfriended him on all social media platforms. I even changed the access code to the guest house, a symbolic gesture of reclaiming my space, my privacy. No more unexpected entrances. No more casual violations.

Then came Chloe' s call. "Kiera! Pack your bags! My parents are letting me take their private jet to our villa in Tuscany. You' re coming with me. No arguments. We leave tomorrow morning."

The idea of escaping, of putting an ocean between myself and Felix' s ghost, was intoxicating. "Yes," I said, without hesitation. "Yes, I' m coming."

I told my parents about the trip. They were concerned, of course, about my sudden change of plans, about me canceling Columbia. But they also saw the haunted look in my eyes, the quiet devastation I was trying to hide. They knew something was deeply wrong, even if I hadn't explicitly told them about Felix' s betrayal.

"I' m not coming back here before university starts," I told them, my voice firm. "I' ll fly directly from Tuscany to Stanford." The words felt powerful, a declaration of independence.

The next morning, as I walked out of the guest house, my suitcase in hand, I saw Mrs. Decker, Felix' s mother, tending to her rose garden. She looked up, her smile warm. "Kiera, dear! Such a surprise! Felix told me you were going on a trip with Chloe. How wonderful! Some time away will do you good before Columbia."

My heart did a strange, painful flutter. Felix told her? He had lied to his own mother, making it seem like my trip was a joint decision, not a desperate escape. He' d spun a narrative where I was still his, still going to his university. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I forced a polite smile. "Yes, Mrs. Decker. It will be lovely." I couldn't bring myself to correct her about Columbia. Not yet.

At the airport, the sleek, private jet sat waiting on the tarmac. Chloe was already there, bouncing with excitement. As we walked towards the gate, a sudden flash of movement caught my eye. My breath hitched. There, in the main terminal, was Felix. And beside him, impossibly beautiful, was Bella Ramsey.

They were engrossed in each other, Felix laughing, pulling Bella closer, his hand resting on the small of her back. She was pouting, then smiling, then playfully slapping his arm. He was carrying her carry-on, a small, pink designer bag.

A sharp, almost physical pain lanced through me. He was carrying her bag. He had never carried mine. Not once in ten years. He' d always said, "You' re perfectly capable, Kiera. Independence, right?" He'd called it fostering my independence. Now I saw it for what it was: a lack of care, a blatant disregard. He only extended courtesy, thoughtfulness, real affection, to those he truly wanted to impress, to those he valued. And I had never been one of them.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the air into my lungs. This was it. The final, undeniable proof. He wasn' t just dismissive; he was indifferent. And that indifference was a thousand times more painful than any anger.

"Kiera? Are you okay?" Chloe whispered, pulling me along. Her eyes followed my gaze, and she stiffened, her jaw clenching. "Oh, for crying out loud. He' s everywhere."

I didn' t answer. I just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, steering clear of them. Felix, for his part, was deeply engrossed. He was checking his phone every few seconds, his brow furrowed, then he' d turn back to Bella with a forced smile. He seemed… distracted. Bella, however, seemed to have his full attention, her voice a little too loud, her laughter a little too bright.

We finally reached our gate, out of sight of Felix and Bella. Relief washed over me, a fragile wave. Just as I was about to board, my phone rang. A blocked number. My heart leaped, a flicker of that old, toxic hope. No. I knew better.

I answered, my voice tight. "Hello?"

"Kiera," Felix' s voice, raw and low, ripped through the line. "Where the hell are you? Why aren' t you answering my calls? Why did you block me?" His voice grew louder, laced with an unnerving mixture of anger and panic. "I saw you! You were right there! Why did you ignore me?"

My blood ran cold. He had seen me. And he was furious. "I' m going on a trip, Felix," I said, my voice deliberately calm, even though my hands were trembling.

"A trip? With who? To where?" he demanded, his voice escalating. "What about Columbia? What about our plans? You' re supposed to be planning our life together, Kiera! Don' t tell me you' re going to run off with some… some random guy from your architecture class. Don't think for a second you can just ghost me and expect no consequences. You'll be all alone there, Kiera. No one will help you. You'll regret it."

He still had no idea. The thought was a small, bitter victory. "My plans are my own, Felix," I stated, finding a surprising strength in my voice. "And they don' t involve you anymore."

"Don' t be childish, Kiera!" he snapped. "Unblock me! Now! I' m going to be gone for a few days for the Ramsey deal. When I get back, I expect to hear from you. Understand?"

He hung up before I could respond. My hand, still trembling, hovered over the screen. Then, with a decisive tap, I blocked the new number.

I glanced back, over my shoulder. Felix was standing at the boarding gate, his phone still in his hand, his face a mask of furious disbelief. Our eyes met across the terminal. His were blazing, a mixture of anger, confusion, and something else – a raw, wounded surprise.

"Let' s go, Kiera," Chloe said softly, taking my hand and pulling me toward the private jet. I didn' t look back. I wouldn' t.