Burned Lines

That morning arrived like an enemy—too soon, too loud, and completely against my will. I wasn’t ready. I don’t think anyone could ever be ready for being shipped off to live with their nemesis, but my parents seemed determined to test the limits of human suffering.They claimed staying at the Darson estate would provide a “fresh environment” and “new opportunities.”Sure. If by “opportunities” they meant a front-row seat to my own personal hell.I sat rigidly in the back seat of the Volvo, clutching my overnight bag like it was a life raft and I was five minutes from drowning. Every mile we drove toward the Darson mansion felt like a countdown—tick, tick, tick—to my doom.I kept scrolling through my phone, pretending like if I focused hard enough on Instagram reels, I could manifest myself into a different universe. One where my parents weren’t handing me over to the devil with dimples.“Honey, it won’t be so bad,” my mom said gently, catching my gaze in the rearview mirror. Her hopef

I sauntered down the stairs the next morning—and immediately wished I hadn’t.Tristain stood in the dining room, back half-turned, methodically adjusting the cuffs of a black dress shirt like he belonged in some tailored fantasy instead of my personal nightmare. My stomach did an annoying, traitorous little flip.A sliver of a long tattoo peeked out from beneath his rolled sleeves, immediately making me curious as to what it was.He looked exactly like how I imagined Alex Volkov in—No.Absolutely not.Get your shit together, Ally.I scowled at myself for even letting the comparison surface. He wasn’t fictional. He wasn’t charming. He was infuriating. Period.As if sensing my stare, he glanced over his shoulder. Dark hair fell lazily across those icy eyes, and—God help me—the faintest smirk tugged at his mouth.Oh. My. God.Snap out of it, Allison Trainer, I ordered myself, fighting the urge to physically shake the thoughts loose.“Good morning to you, too, Frosty,” he said, his voice

“That’s actually wild,” Jade said, rifling through a rack of sweatshirts like she was digging for buried treasure.She’d dragged me to the mall under the noble pretense of finding an outfit for her date tomorrow, but I knew the real reason she’d invited me along. I had gossip. And Jade treated gossip the way a dehydrated woman treated water—desperately and without shame.“Right?” I said, trailing after her. “And what’s even crazier is that it’s literally the exact same scene from—”“Tragedies of True Hearts, yeah,” Jade cut in, lifting a mauve sweater and holding it up to her chest. The color pulled warm gold from her eyes. “You think he’s read it?”I snorted aloud, tipping my head back. “Tristain? Reading romance novels? Please. He probably only reads grim nonfiction or pretentious realistic fiction. There’s no way he’s touched something that unhinged.”Jade only hummed, unconvinced, draping another miniskirt over her arm. God—how many skirts could one person possibly need?Rolling m

The kiss detonated between us—hot, reckless, and inevitable. Her lips were soft and unguarded, a cruel contrast to the way she met me stroke for stroke, refusing to yield. It felt like coming home and committing a sin all at once. Her taste lodged itself into me, threaded through my veins, and I knew—instantly and irrevocably—that there would be no forgetting this. Or stopping it. My hand slid from her neck into her hair, fingers tightening as I angled her head, deepening the kiss until the world narrowed to heat and breath and the quiet, broken sound she made against my mouth. It still wasn’t enough. Nothing about her would ever be enough. She wasn’t something to satisfy—she was something to unravel for. I didn’t just want her. I wanted to undo her. To leave my mark so deeply that even when she hated me, she’d still feel me there. I wanted to be the thing she fought against and the thing she reached for when everything else fell apart. The thought terrified me as much as it consumed