WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

NYRA'S POV

The lock clicked shut like a trap snapping closed on my damn fingers.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack right open. Luca’s presence filled the tiny guest bathroom. It sucked all the air out until I could barely breathe.

I kept my back to him and gripped the sink edge like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. Cold water still dripped down my flushed face. It soaked into my collar and made everything stick to my skin.

“So…” His voice came out low and rough. Exactly like it always did in those late-night fantasies I’d buried deep. “How’s married life treating you, Nyra?”

I forced myself to lift my eyes. Met his in the mirror. Those dark, unreadable eyes that used to see straight through every mask I wore.

“It’s… fine,” I lied. My voice came out shaky and weak. “Everything’s good, Luca. I’m happy, really. You don’t gotta do this… please. Just leave me alone.”

He stepped closer anyway. The heat from his body hit my back first. Solid and way too warm. Then that same old scent wrapped around me like chains. Clean soap mixed with worn leather and storm clouds rolling in.

It dragged me under fast. Seven years? Gone in a heartbeat. I was that messed-up eighteen-year-old all over again.

Full of trembling need and stupid rebellion I couldn’t kill no matter how hard I tried.

Why him? Why couldn’t I just feel nothing like a normal person?

Seven years ago…

Mom’s remarriage to George turned my quiet little world upside down when I was sixteen. It had always been just the two of us after my real dad’s abusive bullshit left us walking on eggshells. Scared to breathe wrong or make any noise that might set things off.

I became the perfect daughter. Straight A’s, sweet polite smiles, never rocking the boat even a little. Teachers and neighbors always praised me. “Nyra’s such a good girl.”

On the outside, yeah, that was me. Inside? I was suffocating slowly. Dying for one real breath of air that didn’t feel like it was pressing down on my chest all the time. I smiled through it. But half the time I felt dead inside like I was just going through the motions.

Then George brought Luca home that first time. Nine years older. Tall and broad with that sharp jawline. This cold commanding presence that made the whole living room feel smaller and hotter at the same time.

The second our eyes locked across the space, something twisted deep in my belly. I hated it. Or at least I acted like I did. I rolled my eyes hard, gave him one-word grunts. Treated him like some annoying intruder crashing our family vibe.

But deep down? I was hooked from jump. Even if admitting it made me feel guilty as hell. His maturity, his quiet confidence. The way he seemed to see past all my perfect-daughter bullshit.

It woke up this rebellious fire in me I didn’t even know was there. Waiting under all the good-girl rules.

He didn’t live with us full-time, boarding school kept him away most of the year. Even on holidays he made sure to keep his distance like I carried some kind of plague.

To everybody else it looked like he straight-up couldn’t stand me. Short clipped replies when I tried talking. Leaving the room the second I walked in. Those icy stares that hit me right in the chest and made my stomach drop.

No smiles. No jokes. Zero warmth around the family. It hurt like hell some nights. I’d cry quietly into my pillow wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. But damn if it didn’t make the pull stronger.

It made me want to smash through that cold wall and see what was really underneath. Even if it scared the shit out of me.

Weird protective stuff kept happening that confused me even more. One night at a party, this older guy cornered me bad. Ignoring all my polite tries to slip away.

Suddenly Luca was there. Towering over him with that freezing stare and a couple low cutting words. The guy bolted fast.

Luca didn’t say anything to me, just shot me this hard look and walked off like I was some inconvenience he had to clean up.

Another time I skipped class for the first time. Tiny rebellion. The whole trouble mysteriously disappeared like magic. I always suspected it was him. But he never owned up. If anything, he seemed even more pissed at me after.

Like I was deliberately messing with his peace.

That only made me push harder. Testing whatever invisible boundaries he pretended didn’t exist. Sneaking out past curfew, rocking shorter skirts on days I knew he’d be around. Blasting my music loud enough from my room that it had to reach his.

He never joined in, he never encouraged any of it openly. But sometimes I’d catch him watching me with this intense stormy look before he’d turn away quick. His jaw all clenched.

Once he muttered, “You’re asking for trouble,” in that rough voice as I snuck back inside late one night. Heart pounding. Those words lit a fire low in my belly every single time. Heat rushing straight between my legs in ways I didn’t fully get yet.

I tried dating boys my own age to drown out the obsession eating me alive.

Awkward kisses and clumsy touches. They felt so empty and fake.

None of them saw the hidden fire or made my pulse race like Luca did. Even with all his cold bullshit. It left me more frustrated. More confused than before.

Part of me wanted to hate him for making me feel this twisted up. But the bigger part just craved more. Why him of all people? Why this forbidden pull that made me feel truly alive for the first time?

By the time I turned eighteen, the tension was unbearable. I was still a virgin. Untouched and aching every damn night. My body wanted the one person who made rebellion feel like freedom instead of more guilt piling on.

Mom and George were out for the whole weekend. Luca was supposed to be gone too. I told myself I was only going to borrow his leather jacket real quick because it smelled like him.

Nothing more.

Just a stupid little fix to quiet the noise in my head for a bit.

His room was dark and neat. Heavy with that addictive scent that made my knees weak. I slipped inside. Heart pounding like crazy, grabbed the jacket off his chair. It was still warm.

I flopped down on his bed and pressed the collar tight to my face. Breathing him in deep, then I let my hand slide under my skirt.

The door swung open.

Luca stood there with his suitcase still in hand. Eyes going wide as they landed on me sprawled on his bed.

“Nyra. What the fuck are you doing?”