Long-story-short, Maxon didn't end it.

Instead, he made a decision. I'd hurt him deeply, I know. I lied, I kept a secret. Maxon had no reason to trust me. He had no reason to forgive me. No reason to love me.

And he wanted to torture me. That's how Kriss and I found ourselves sitting here, surrounded by four times the amount of competition we'd had yesterday. Yep, that's right. In an attempt to make my life the worst kind of hell imaginable, Maxon had brought back six girls and extended the competition by who knows how much.

It had never been done before in the history of the Selection. But nobody was fooled by Maxon's action. It was incredibly clear that something had happened. Very many people were determined to find out what.

I picked at my food, unable to eat. I was sickened by the idea of competition returning. I was sickened by the idea of losing Maxon. I was sickened – along with guilt-ridden, lonely, and heartbroken – by myself. I was bitterly afraid that anything I was able to force down would instantly force itself right back up again.

"Lady America," I snapped my head up to meet Maxon's cold glare from the head table. His voice was detached and gruff. He wasn't about to do or say something good.

"Yes, Your Highness?" I answered dryly and dreadfully. Heads of my fellow competition – now including Kriss Ambers, Elise Whisks, Celeste Newsome, Anna Farmer, Hannah Carver, and Lyssa Bow – whipped from Maxon to me and back to Maxon again as our conversation ensued. A pang in my heart dug in as I was reminded of my second-ever formal meeting with the prince.

"Is there something wrong with the food?" he asked. I broke my gaze. I couldn't look him in the eye.

"Not at all, Your Highness. I'm just not feeling very well, I guess," the last two words I added under my breath, hidden from the rest of the room.

"Do you need to retire to your room?" He asked, his voice growing impatient. He was daring me to contradict something. To speak out. Maxon was quite effectively torturing me.

"Yes, Your Highness. Thank you," with that, I felt him look away, my cue for dismissal. I stood and made quick work of exiting the room. I felt Celeste's arm brush my wrist as she silently offered support, but tears were brimming my eyes, so I quickly yanked away. Suddenly aware of how the gesture would appear, I smoothly disguised it as simply running my fingers through my hair.

I returned to my room and instantly fell apart. I didn't know Maxon had it in him to be so terrible. The only way I could thing to comfort myself was by telling myself I deserved it.

That's what I repeated in my head, over and over, as Mary, Anne, and Lucy made quick work of changing me into a nightgown. As they tucked me into my bed, one of the only comforting things left here in this cage. As they pretended not to notice the tears even as they brushed them away.

0.o.O.o.0

Maxon had my meals brought to my room for the next few days. But I hadn't eaten. Instead, I would lie in one place, sometimes for hours, and get up only to move to another spot. Once comfortable, I'd cry quietly. Every once in a while, I would write a letter.

Sometimes I wrote to May, or Gerad, or Kenna, or my mother. Sometimes I wrote to my father, even though I knew he could not write back. But mostly, I wrote to Maxon. I still held his letters to my chest sometimes as the rougher sobs took hold of my body.

And then I wrote my own.

I told him how sorry I was. I wrote what I couldn't express in vocal words. I told him how much I loved him. And I wished he'd only give me a chance to send the letters.

But that would never happen, and I had to confront it. "Lucy," I called, my voice hoarse. She was by my side in an instant. I handed her the letters Maxon had wrote me, before he hated me. "Take these back to the prince. They belong to him."

Lucy wore a pitiful expression as she left. I pretended not to notice.

But I actually didn't notice it when Lucy swiped the letters I'd written to him off my desk and took them with her.

0.o.O.o.0

(Lucy P.O.V.)

I travelled with diligent steps to the prince's quarters, but my heart wasn't in it. My body trembled as I walked. But I pushed on. Maxon had to know what he'd done.

"Lucy," Maxon gasped slightly as I wrapped on his open door. He was obviously surprised. "Can I help you?"

I quickly spat out the words to avoid psyching myself out. "My lady asked me to return these to you." I handed him his letters. Maxon eyed them sadly, but then he caught sight of the bundle in my hand.

"Is there something else, Lucy?" Oh, thank goodness. I'd been about to back out. Too late now…

"Glad you asked, Your Majesty. Lady America wrote these to you. She…doesn't know you have them, Sir, so I would read them quickly," I added as I passed him the second pack of letters, only now realizing that her bundle was at least twice the size of his.

Maxon took them tentatively. "How is she, Lucy? In private?" It was then I knew that he was still in love with her. He was genuinely concerned.

"Well…" I hesitated. "Terrible, Your Highness. She hasn't been eating, and only moves to bathe, write to you, or find a different place to cry, Sir. She's heartbroken. She's more than that. She's broken."

I could tell that he hated to hear me describe him this way. And my plan was set into motion, with that. I dismissed myself out into the hall.