###Chapter3-“Who is the Protagonist of Your Sexual Fantasies? ”

Lola’s POV

Morgan’s entrance caused a wave of  loud noise. Girls near the entrance started whispering excitedly, some even squealing. One girl grabbed her friend’s arm and shouted, “Oh my god, he’s even hotter in person!”

“He’s way more attractive than Flint!” someone else added. “That’s Morgan Morriso, right? the king's brother's son.”

“He’s the playboy. I heard he never dates the same girl twice.”

I stood near the doorway, trying to stay calm. Morgan walked in like he owned the place with his hands in his pockets. 

His shirt was half-buttoned, showing off his chest, he walked with the type of confidence that made people move aside without him asking.

When he spotted me, he smiled like he already knew what I was thinking. He walked straight toward me.

“Welcome to my party,” he said, stopping in front of me. “Do I get a hug?”

I hesitated.

Flint was nearby. I didn’t want to look scared. I didn’t want people to think I was weak.

So I stepped forward and gave Morgan a quick hug.

He laughed quietly near my ear. “Didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

I pulled away immediately and walked into the party without answering him. Drawing a crowd of onlookers.

Evelyn caught up to me, shaking her head with a grin. “You hugging Morgan Morriso… wow. That alone is going to drive half the school crazy.”

“He was being annoying,” I muttered.

She leaned close to my ear. “Well, he’s definitely hotter than your Flint.”

I grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away. “Let’s go. I already showed up, that should be enough.”

Evelyn pouted. “Come on. Just thirty more minutes. Please? You always disappear after ten.”

I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t walk out either.

She looked me up and down and laughed. “What are you even wearing under that thing?”

I glanced down at the oversized jacket still covering my dress. “What do you think?”

“Take it off.”she said.

I gave her a look.

“Seriously. You look like you’re here to return library books. Let people see another you for once.”

I slowly removed the jacket and slipped it off. Evelyn’s mouth dropped open.

“Lola Dawson,” she whispered. “Who knew?”

I tugged the hem of my dress down, feeling uncomfortable under her stare.

“You look amazing,” she said. 

She grabbed my arm and dragged me to a group of guys near the snack table. I barely registered their names as she introduced me one by one.

They smiled and complimented my dress, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes kept drifting across the room.

That’s when I saw him.

Flint.

He was standing in the middle of the dance floor with Amy.

They were close. Too close. Her arms were around his neck, his hands at her waist. They were dancing slowly, their heads nearly touching.

I looked away, but the jealousy burned in my chest.

A guy next to me tapped my shoulder. “Wanna dance?”

I was about to say no. But then I saw Flint glance in my direction. I turned back to the guy and said, “Sure.”

We left the group together, and I made sure Flint saw us walk off.

But once we were away from the crowd, I quickly made an excuse. “I need a drink. I’ll find you later.”

He nodded, a little confused, but didn’t follow.

I went straight to the bar and sat down on one of the tall stools.

The music behind me was loud, the lights flashing. I ordered something sweet and non-alcoholic, then pulled out my phone.

I tried calling Evelyn, but she didn’t answer.

I scrolled through my apps, trying to calm myself down, and accidentally opened the writing app I used. My screen lit up with one of my drafts.

It was the story.

The one I’d written late at night about me and Flint.

Romantic scenes. Things I could never say in real life. I stared at the sentences and forgot everything else around me.

In the story, the female character was just like me. Quiet. Loyal. In love with someone she couldn’t have. And the male lead was strong, cold to others but kind to her.

My fingers hovered over the screen, staring at the line I’d written two weeks ago, hidden in a draft folder no one else knew existed.

“The first time he touched me, it wasn’t even skin—just his hand brushing mine through a pair of gloves, offering me hot tea while snow fell around us. But I felt it everywhere.”

It was supposed to be fiction. A story no one would read. A place where I could let the boundaries blur, where he wasn’t my adoptive brother, and I wasn’t the girl he barely noticed.

Page after page, I’d written scenes too raw to say out loud. Slow-burning tension, stolen glances, the feel of his breath near my ear. Fantasies I’d never admit I wanted, except here, in this secret story where nothing was off-limits.

And maybe that’s why I could never tell him the truth.

I didn’t hear morgan approach.

“Lola,” a voice said behind me, “I didn’t know you were a writer.”

I froze.

Before I could react, Morgan was leaning over my shoulder.

I tried to close the app, but he was faster.

“Wait, wait… don’t hide it,” he said, grabbing my phone before I could. “Let me see what we’re working with here.”

“Give it back!” I snapped, standing up and reaching for it.

He held the phone high with one hand and placed his other hand on top of my head, holding me back with ease.

I struggled to reach it, but he barely moved.

He started reading aloud, ‘Flint, sometimes at night, when the world is quiet, I dream of your hands on my skin and wonder if you ever imagine me in your bed, tangled with your body in the dark.’

I reached for the phone again, but this time, I slipped and accidentally braced my hand against his chest to catch myself.

He looked down at me and winked.

I pulled my hand back immediately.

He held it just out of reach. “You’re actually posting this online?” He laughed. I wanted to disappear.

Then, as if he hadn’t already embarrassed me enough, he leaned in closer.

“Did you know,” he said, lowering his voice, “that out of all the boys in the country, only Flint and I won a real battle at age fourteen?”

I didn’t answer.

He paused, letting the words sink in like they were supposed to impress me. Maybe to most people they would. To me, it just sounded like another way to say, Look how special I am.

I looked down at the floor. My fingers curled slightly against the bar counter. I didn’t want to give him a reaction, but part of me couldn’t stop picturing Flint. 

Standing tall during training, his calm voice when giving orders, the quiet confidence in his eyes when others looked to him for direction.

Morgan noticed I didn’t speak.

Instead of walking away like a normal person, he leaned closer. His shoulder brushed mine. I stiffened.

Then he tilted his head until his mouth was right next to my ear.

I froze. His breath was warm, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.

Then he whispered,

“Who is the protagonist of your sexual fantasies? Your older brother or me?”