The sudden shift in Xanthea’s demeanor didn’t go unnoticed. As she turned away, Matt’s brow furrowed in confusion, his mind still grappling with her unexpected reaction. He had never known her to brush off their plans so easily, especially after all they had shared. What’s going on with her? he wondered, trying to make sense of the cold distance between them.
Miranda, however, seemed more than happy to fill the silence. Her gaze darted between Xanthea and Matt, an almost imperceptible smirk playing at the corner of her lips. “Xan, don’t tell me you’re really that busy? Surely you could spare a little time for Matt,” she said sweetly, but the edge in her voice wasn’t lost on Xanthea.
Xanthea’s eyes flickered toward her stepsister, then quickly back to Matt. “It’s not about being busy, Miranda. I’m just… not in the mood today. But you two go ahead—enjoy your plans,” she added, the faintest hint of sarcasm dripping from her words.
Miranda’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Of course, we’ll make the most of it,” she replied, her voice saccharine as ever, but her eyes narrowing in subtle challenge.
Matt, now clearly confused and somewhat unsettled, shifted his weight between his feet. “Xan, is something going on? Did I do something wrong?” His voice, usually calm and confident, was tinged with genuine concern.
Xanthea met his gaze, her expression unreadable, before she answered coldly, “No, Matt. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… don’t feel like pretending anymore.”
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was the first time in a long while that she’d spoken to him like this—without the usual affection, without the pretense. For the first time in what felt like forever, Xanthea wasn’t trying to please him, wasn’t trying to convince herself that everything was okay.
A silence settled over the room. Ethan and Samuel exchanged glances, clearly sensing the growing tension, but neither spoke. Miranda seemed to take advantage of the quiet, sliding a little closer to Matt, her fingers brushing against his arm in a way that felt too intimate for the moment.
“I think maybe you should give her some space, Matt,” Miranda suggested, her voice low and almost conspiratorial, as though trying to guide him away from the discomfort Xanthea had thrown into the room. “Xan’s probably just a little stressed.”
Xanthea couldn’t help but scoff internally. Stressed? No, it wasn’t stress that had her so on edge. It was the realization that Matt had been playing her all along, that he and Miranda had woven a tangled web she’d only just begun to untangle. They weren’t simply close friends, supporting each other through difficult times; they were something far more dangerous, far more treacherous. And the worst part? She had been blind to it for so long.
Matt hesitated, looking between Xanthea and Miranda. His expression was a mix of confusion and guilt, as if he didn’t understand how his words or actions could have pushed her this far.
“Fine,” Matt said finally, his tone softer than before. “But we need to talk, Xan. We’ve always been able to talk through things.”
Xanthea didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she let her gaze linger on him, her mind racing. She could feel the weight of their past pressing down on her, the weight of all the things unsaid, all the things she had ignored for the sake of maintaining peace. But she was done with that. She was done pretending.
“Sure, Matt. We’ll talk,” she said, her voice steady now, “But not today. Not when things are still this… messy.”
With that, she turned to walk away, her footsteps echoing in the quiet room. She didn’t look back, though she could feel Matt’s eyes on her, searching for some kind of answer, some kind of understanding.
Miranda, sensing an opportunity, moved closer to Matt, placing a hand on his arm in what seemed like a gesture of comfort. “Matt, don’t worry about her,” she murmured, her voice low and soothing. “She’ll come around. You’ve always had a way of making her forgive you, haven’t you?”
Matt nodded absently, though his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. His mind was still on Xanthea, on the way she had shut him out so suddenly. For the first time, doubt began to creep in, and he couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps there was more to Xanthea’s behavior than just a fleeting mood swing. Had she seen something? Heard something? He couldn’t be sure, but the unease gnawing at him told him that the answer might not be as simple as he hoped.
Xanthea’s mind, on the other hand, was racing with possibilities. As she retreated to the safety of her own thoughts, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of control that had been absent for so long. She was no longer the victim in this story. This time, she would be the one holding the cards. The Masked Singer, the scandal, Matt’s infidelity—it was all a game now. And she would play it to win.
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