Die With a Smile
LILIANA’S POV
Erica’s apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and coffee, a comfort I wasn’t sure I deserved. I sat curled up on her couch, her throw blanket draped over my lap, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. My chest still felt tight from earlier, like someone had squeezed me and hadn’t yet let go.
I hated myself for it—for how easily I’d let him get under my skin.
Ronny.
The name itself was a thorn, buried too deep to pull out.
If I hadn’t pushed myself on him, if I hadn’t acted so desperate, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t be here, nursing this hollow ache in my chest, feeling like I’d been stripped bare and tossed into the cold.
“It’s my fault,” I whispered, staring at my hands. They still trembled, faintly, like they remembered the weight of his touch. “I should’ve known better.”
“Stop.”
Erica’s voice was sharp enough to cut through my spiral. She perched on the arm of the couch, her dark curls pulled into a messy bun, her sharp eyes fixed on me.
“Liliana, you need to stop blaming yourself.” She leaned down, gripping my chin gently so I couldn’t look away. “You saw what you wanted, and you went for it. That doesn’t make you desperate. That makes you brave.”
Her words sank into me slowly, like drops of water hitting parched earth. Brave. That wasn’t what I felt. I felt raw. Exposed. Torn in two.
“I just…” My voice cracked, and I pressed my palms against my face. “I shouldn’t have thrown myself at him. I should’ve had more pride, more—control.”
Erica sighed, tugging my hands away. “Pride doesn’t mean denying yourself. You wanted him. You took him. End of story. That doesn’t erase your worth.”
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
The words clawed their way up my throat before I could stop them.
“We had sex,” I blurted, my heart hammering like it might break my ribs. “Last night. Before all this happened.”
Erica’s eyes widened, but she didn’t interrupt.
“It was—” I shut my eyes, heat rushing through me, shame curling with longing. “The best sex of my life.” My lips trembled, the confession tearing me apart. “And now I hate myself for it. Because every time I close my eyes, all I see is him. His face. His hands. His—tattoos.”
The memory slammed into me—his body caging mine, his breath ragged in my ear, his lips devouring me like I was the only thing that had ever mattered.
My chest squeezed so tight it hurt.
“I have to get him out of my system,” I whispered, half to myself, half to her. “Before he destroys me completely.”
Erica’s gaze softened. She leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, grounding me in that familiar warmth only she could give. “Then you will. But not by punishing yourself. One step at a time, Lili. For now, focus on you. Work from home if you have to—I’ll handle the boutique.”
Her reassurance was a balm, a fragile thread I clung to.
“Thank you,” I breathed, my throat thick.
“Eat something, okay?” She brushed my hair back, motherly for a moment. “Don’t make me come back and force-feed you.”
A weak laugh escaped me. “I’ll try.”
“Good.” She squeezed my shoulder before grabbing her purse. “Rest, work, whatever you need. I’ve got the shop.”
And just like that, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.
The silence that followed pressed in on me, heavy and suffocating. I slid down onto the couch, my head sinking into the pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling.
I’d always prided myself on being a woman of worth, of pride, of control. Never in my life had I thought a man could make me forget myself so completely.
But Ronny—he wasn’t just any man. He was a storm, and I’d walked straight into the center of it.
“Fuck you, Ronny,” I whispered into the stillness, though my voice cracked halfway through.
I grabbed my laptop, pulling it onto my lap like armor, burying myself in work. If I drowned myself in spreadsheets, designs, orders—maybe, just maybe, I could shove him into the back of my mind.
Hours passed without me noticing. The sun shifted, shadows crawling across the room until orange streaks painted the walls. I didn’t move, didn’t stop. I just kept working, pushing, numbing.
By the time I finally looked up, the sky outside was streaked with pink and gold. My body ached, my eyes burned, but for the first time all day, I wasn’t thinking about him.
I yawned, stretching my arms above my head, when my phone buzzed against the coffee table.
Dad.
My chest tightened. I swiped to answer. “Hey, Dad—”
“Liliana!” His voice came through frantic, ragged. “Come home. Now.”
“Dad? What—”
The line cut dead.
Panic shot through me like a blade.
I scrambled to my feet, snatching my keys from the counter, heart already racing. My hands shook as I locked the door behind me, bolting down the steps two at a time. By the time I reached the car, my breaths were shallow, sharp.
I started the engine, the roar filling the silence, and tore out of the driveway. My mind spun with questions, terror clawing its way up my throat. What had happened? Why did he sound like that?
The streets blurred around me as I pressed the gas, weaving through traffic, my hands gripping the wheel so tight my knuckles turned white.
Please be okay, I prayed silently. Please.
I turned down the road toward home, foot pressing on the brake to slow at the curve—
Nothing happened.
My heart stuttered. I pressed harder. The pedal sank uselessly beneath my foot.
The car didn’t slow.
“No,” I whispered, slamming my foot down again. Harder. Harder.
Still nothing.
My pulse shot into overdrive, blood roaring in my ears. I jerked the wheel, swerving to avoid the car ahead, horns blaring around me. My chest heaved, my breaths breaking.
“Come on, come on, stop!” I cried, stomping the brake, my body jerking with the motion.
But the car only flew faster, the engine snarling as if mocking me.
The world narrowed, the edges of my vision tunneling.
This was it.
This was how my mother had died.
The realization slammed into me, brutal, merciless. My stomach dropped, bile rising in my throat. Was this what she’d felt? That desperate, hopeless clawing in her chest, knowing there was no way out?
Tears burned hot in my eyes.
“No! No, no, no!” I screamed, slamming the brake until my leg ached.
The wheel rattled in my grip as I swerved again, narrowly missing a streetlight. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst.
I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t slow down.
And somewhere deep in me, a terrifying calm began to unfurl. If this was it—if these were my last minutes—then there was only one thing I wanted.
One voice I needed to hear.
Ronny.
My hand shot out, fumbling for my phone, my vision blurred with tears. My body shook violently, terror and adrenaline battling inside me, but one thought overrode everything.
If I was going to die, I wanted to die hearing his voice.
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