CHAPTER 121: WHEN SURVIVAL FEELS LIKE DEATH

Zaara’s POV

I watched Vincent from across the room.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even blink, I think.

He just sat there, as if someone had ripped out everything inside him and left the shell.

The worst part?

I couldn’t help.

Nothing I said could fix this.

Because he wasn’t just mourning Nomi.

He was mourning everything—

His innocence.

His choices.

The life he never got to have.

The child he never got to meet.

And maybe the version of himself he could never go back to.

Theo sat farther back, his elbows on his knees, hands rubbing over his face. He glanced at me once, then at Vincent, but said nothing.

For once, he knew this wasn’t the time.

I watched Vincent walk off toward the locker room, like he was dragging grief behind him.

He didn’t look back once.

Didn’t cry....at least, not where we could see it.

But I could feel it.

Every step he took away from us was like a scream sealed behind his spine.

I hugged myself, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the lump in my throat from becoming a sob. My mind still hadn’t caught up with what just happened. Nomi... gone. Just like that. The baby she carried—his baby. Gone.

And Vincent... I could see it in the way his shoulders curled in on themselves. He wasn’t just broken.

He was ash.

Theo was still silent too. He sat on one of the metal benches now, arms draped over his knees, head hanging low like he was too ashamed to meet my eyes. Maybe he regretted what he said earlier.

Maybe not.

I didn’t care. Not now.

I paced a little, unsure what to do. Do I go after him? Do I leave him alone? What would I want if I just lost everything?

He needed space.

No, he needed someone.

But what if I made it worse?

The guilt clawed at me, whispering things I didn’t want to hear.

You weren’t the one pregnant.

He didn’t come back to you first.

You stood there. Just stood there. While she bled.

I shut my eyes and tried to breathe.

The lights flickered above me like they were struggling to stay alive too. The silence in the hallway outside the locker room felt like it was pressing in on my ribs.

Then I heard it.

Clank.

A muffled slam. Maybe a locker door. Or maybe... a punch.

I stepped closer, hesitating outside the hallway. My fingers brushed the wall for support.

I wanted to knock.

I wanted to call his name.

But then I heard his voice.

Not talking to himself.

Talking to the camera.

And something in me froze.

His voice was ragged, raw with the kind of pain that made you bleed inside.

"To everyone watching, I’m going to tell you all now—Reynolds Aston is a very terrible father..."

My heart stopped.

He was doing it. Exposing the truth. Not just to us. Not just to the guards.

To the world.

I should’ve turned away. I should’ve given him his privacy. But I couldn’t. I stood there, behind the corner, listening as his voice cracked open years of buried rage.

He spoke of his father’s cruelty.

Of the trophy wife.

Of what she did to him.

Of how his dad let her.

Of how he let his grandchild die.

And when he said, "You win, Dad. Just get us out. Please," my knees buckled.

I slid down the wall, hand over my mouth, trying not to make a sound. Because if he saw me, if he knew I was listening...

I didn’t know if that would break him more or help put him back together.

I didn’t even know what I was to him anymore.

I just knew that right now, Vincent Aston wasn’t the boy who survived the games.

He was the boy who lost everything in them.

I was afraid of watching him stop fighting to live.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

Hearing him say those things.

Hearing the tremble in his voice.

Watching him break from a distance like I was just some ghost in his life...

No. I couldn’t stay frozen anymore.

I pushed off the wall, stormed into the locker room, the metallic door creaking as it gave way.

And there he was.

Vincent.

Slumped on the floor beside a shattered mirror, his arms draped over his knees, body shaking as he let the sobs come. His face was buried, his shoulders rising and falling like each breath was a battle. The grief poured out of him—not quietly, not in some noble silence. But loud, messy, real.

My throat clenched as I rushed to him.

"Vincent—"

He didn’t look up. Maybe he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he just couldn’t lift his head under the weight of it all.

I dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around him.

At first, he tensed—his whole body stiff like he didn’t believe it was okay to be held.

Like he didn’t think he deserved it.

But then he broke.

He turned and buried his face into my shoulder, and I felt the wet heat of his tears soak through my jumpsuit.

He was crying.

Crying like someone who had lost not just a person... but a future. A dream. A part of himself.

And I held him tighter. My fingers curled around the back of his neck, my other hand fisting the fabric of his shirt like I could hold him together if I just didn’t let go.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, not even knowing what I was apologizing for. Maybe for not running after him sooner. Maybe for not standing closer. Maybe for surviving when she didn’t.

He didn’t answer. He just kept crying. The sounds were muffled, but the pain behind them wasn’t.

"I should’ve died in her place," he rasped into my shoulder. "She didn’t deserve that. The baby... Zaara—God, I didn’t even get to say goodbye."

I pulled back, just enough to cup his face.

His eyes were red, lashes wet, and his cheeks flushed from crying—but his face... it was still his. Still Vincent.

"No one deserved what happened today," I said gently. "Not Nomi. Not the baby. Not you."

He stared at me, silent and shattered.

"I don’t know how to fix this," I admitted, voice shaking. "But I’m here. Okay? You’re not going to fall alone."

He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch.

Then, he whispered, "If I lose you too, I won’t make it."

My heart clenched.

"You’re not going to lose me," I said. "Not here. Not now."

We stayed like that—kneeling on the cold locker room floor, in the aftermath of everything.

Because if there was anything left to fight for...

It was this.

Us.

We stayed like that....just breathing.

But even in Vincent’s arms, even as I held him and whispered that everything would be okay, I could feel it crawling up my spine.

The memories.

The ropes.

The acid.

The barrel inches from my feet.

The timer counting down while I screamed into my gag.

Vincent was grieving Nomi.

But I was still... surviving.

Barely.

The moment he slumped forward...exhausted from crying, his head resting against the wall. I pressed a kiss to his temple and stood up.

"I’ll be right back," I whispered.

He didn’t stop me.

My legs moved on their own. Like my body knew what was coming before my brain could admit it.

The restroom door slammed open.

I barely made it to the sink before I started throwing up.