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Coups de cœur Cultura
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I didn't lie because I was afraid of him.
I lied because I was afraid of how easy it would be to need him.
At seventeen, Ottilie Vos destroyed a boy on a dock in July. One whispered lie, and Priest Castillo was gone, pulled from the program, lawyered, erased.
Nine years later, he walks into her surgical residency at Harrod-Keen wearing scrubs like he belongs. He nods. He says her surname like a chess move. He acts like she's a stranger.
Her body knows better.
Because skin keeps the records the mind tries to redact, every touch, every proximity, every flinch she swore she'd outgrown. And Priest, whose silence is the loudest thing in every room, has not forgotten a single thing about her.
Not her hair. Not her drink at 3 a.m. Not the morning she lied.
She built a life on top of what she did to him.
He just walked into it.
