MasukHe kisses me again the moment the door slams shut. Slower this time. Less like he is punishing me and more like he is trying to convince himself this is actually happening. My back presses against the wall just inside the entryway. His hands come up to frame my face. Thumbs rest along my jaw. Fingers slide into my hair. He holds me steady while his mouth moves over mine. Deep. Careful. Like he is mapping every curve of my lips, every flick of my tongue.I let him lead. My hands settle on his waist, slipping under the open edges of his uniform shirt. His skin feels warm against my palms. The muscle underneath is tight, coiled like he is still bracing for a fight even now. He shivers when my fingers brush the line of his ribs. A small, involuntary tremor that makes my own pulse jump.The kiss breaks. Only an inch. His forehead rests against mine. We share the same uneven breaths. His eyes search mine in the dim hallway light that spills from the living room.“You sure?” he asks. His voi
The sirens hit before I can even catch my breath.Loud. Sharp. Final.Everything in the house shifts instantly. The music doesn’t stop right away, but it doesn’t matter. People hear it. You can see it in the way heads turn, in the way conversations die mid-sentence. Movement changes. Some people start slipping out. Others stay, curious. Always curious.My chest tightens.Of course someone called the police.Of course tonight doesn’t end quietly.I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and taste blood again. My jaw aches from the hit I took. My knuckles sting. My head is clearer now, not sober, but clear enough to understand exactly how bad this looks.A public fight.At a party like this.With witnesses.With phones.My career flashes through my head in one quick, ugly line.And then the front door opens.I don’t see his face first.I see the uniform.Dark. Clean. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach drop before my brain catches up.Then I see him.And everything in me goes still.
I shouldn’t be here.The thought hits me the second I step into the house, and it doesn’t fade. The room is alive with sound and movement. The bass of the music rattles through my chest, shaking the floor so hard I swear the walls are vibrating too. Low, golden lights slice through the crowd, turning people into half-recognizable shapes and flashing faces. Every corner is packed, every inch of space claimed by bodies that move too close, touch too casually. Voices rise and fall in waves, laughter sharp, careless, and sometimes cruel.I glance around and tighten my jaw. This isn’t a party. This is a battlefield dressed up as glamour. One wrong move, and someone’s reputation doesn’t explode—it rots quietly, slowly, like mold. That’s exactly why I shouldn’t be here.A hand lands on my shoulder before I can move away. I jump slightly, irritation flaring, until I catch the lazy grin of some actor I vaguely remember from a commercial or an awards show. He claps me on the shoulder like we’re
The door clicked shut behind him. Locked.The room was dark except for the soft blue glow from the streetlight slipping through the half-open blinds. Caleb stood there for a second, back against the wood, eyes adjusting to the shadows. I was already on the bed—knees drawn up, skirt bunched around my waist, no bra, no panties, just the thin cotton top clinging to my breasts. My nipples were hard peaks under the fabric. My thighs were slick from dinner, from waiting, from the way his foot had teased me under the table.He didn’t speak at first. Just looked.Then he crossed the room in three long strides.I scooted back until my shoulders hit the headboard. He followed, crawling over me, knees bracketing my hips, hands planting on either side of my head.“You left the door unlocked like I asked,” he murmured. Voice low, rough, barely above a whisper.“I’m a good girl sometimes,” I whispered back.His mouth crashed down on mine.No buildup. No gentle start. His tongue pushed past my lips
The house smelled like home now.Three weeks after that first chaotic inspection day, the moving trucks were long gone, the boxes mostly unpacked, and the sharp scent of fresh paint had softened into something warmer—Mom’s lavender candles, David’s coffee brewing every morning, the faint garlic lingering from last night’s dinner. The living room had pillows on the sectional, framed photos on the mantel (our first blended-family beach shot from last summer right in the center), and Mom’s plants already thriving on the sunroom windowsill.Tonight was lasagna night—Mom’s victory dish. She’d spent the afternoon in the kitchen humming old songs, sleeves rolled up, apron tied around her waist like she was reclaiming every inch of this new space. David set the table with the new plates they’d bought online—simple white with thin gold rims. Candles flickered in the middle. Soft jazz played low from the Bluetooth speaker.We gathered around the big oak table at 7:30 sharp, the way Mom insisted
The realtor was still talking—something about “great flow” and “natural light”—but I stopped listening the second Caleb stepped through the front door behind her.He was late. Deliberately late, I knew it. Wearing that faded black hoodie that always rode up just enough to show the strip of skin above his low-slung jeans, hair still damp from a shower like he’d taken his sweet time getting ready. He caught my eye immediately. Didn’t smile. Just lifted one brow in that slow, knowing way that said: You waited for me.I rolled my eyes like I didn’t care.Inside I was already wet.Mom and David were in full newlywed mode—arms linked, giggling over the stupid double oven like it was a miracle invention. The realtor handed David the keys with her pageant smile and bounced out the door, leaving us alone in this giant, echoey, half-finished dream house.“An hour,” Mom announced, clapping her hands. “Let’s divide and conquer! David and I will take the kitchen and downstairs. You two—” she point
CHAPTER 16 ZAHARThe clock glowed 3:17 a.m. in red digits on the nightstand, mocking me with how little time I had left. My flight to Moscow was booked for dawn—car service at 4:30, gate closing by 5:45. Everything was ready: suitcase zipped in the hall, passport and tickets in the inner pocket o
CHAPTER 2LILY The drive home was silent.Jeremiah was behind the wheel, his hands steady on the steering wheel, eyes focused on the road, but the tension in his jaw gave away how much he was holding in. He hadn’t spoken since we left my father’s mansion, not a word. Not even a glance in the rearv
CHAPTER 14TRIXIEThe house felt like a tomb after dinner.Dad kept checking his phone, his jaw tight every time it lit up, clearly frustrated that Zahar had refused the invitation to join us. Mom tried to fill the space with chatter about New Year’s plans—fireworks, resolutions, the meals we’d mak
CHAPTER 10TRIXIEHe carried me up the stairs like I was something fragile and dangerous at the same time.My arms stayed locked around his neck, face pressed into the warm skin just above his collar. I could feel his pulse hammering there, fast and unsteady. His grip on me was tight, almost bruisi







