Chapter three

✿⁠ ⁠♡⁠♡⁠✿⁠ ⁠♡⁠♡⁠✿⁠ ⁠♡⁠♡

The world blurred into streaks of light and shadows as Dylan pushed the bike faster, the engine roaring beneath them. Moana's arms tightened around his waist instinctively, her chest pressed flush against his back, and she hated how natural it felt.

 How right it felt.

They'd been riding for over an hour now with no clear destination, just endless stretches of road and the cool night air whipping past them. The wind stung her cheeks and tangled her hair, but Moana didn't care. For the first time since moving into that suffocating mansion, she could breathe.

Dylan took a sharp turn and accelerated, and Moana's grip tightened reflexively. She felt his chest expand with a breath, felt the rumble of satisfaction in his body, and knew he was enjoying this. Enjoying her clinging to him. Enjoying the control.

Bastard.

But she didn't let go.The city lights gave way to quieter streets, then back again, a rhythm of chaos and calm that matched the storm building in her chest. She should tell him to take her home. She should demand he stop playing whatever game this was. But the words wouldn't come.

Finally, Dylan slowed and pulled into a parking lot. Moana lifted her head and saw the neon sign glowing above them: Sweet Escape Ice Cream Parlor.He killed the engine and the sudden silence felt deafening.

"Ice cream," Dylan said, swinging off the bike and pulling his helmet off. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, and he looked infuriatingly good. "Thought you might be hungry."

Moana climbed off more carefully, her legs slightly unsteady. "You drove for an hour just to get ice cream?"

"I drove for an hour because I felt like it." He hung his helmet on the handlebar and looked at her. "The ice cream is a bonus."

She wanted to argue, wanted to tell him this whole thing was ridiculous, but her stomach chose that moment to growl. 

What about the meal she had for dinner before this ride!

Dylan's smirk widened.

"Come on, Queens. My treat."

He headed toward the shop without waiting for her response, and Moana followed because what else was she going to do? Stand in the parking lot alone?

The inside of the shop was bright and cheerful, all pastel colors and vintage decor. A handful of customers sat at small tables, and behind the counter stood a girl who looked about their age. Blonde, petite, with the kind of smile that Moana immediately distrusted.

That distrust proved justified the second the girl's eyes landed on Dylan.

"Oh my God, Dylan." Her voice went up an octave, and she leaned forward on the counter in a way that pushed her chest up. "I haven't seen you in forever."

Of course all girls knows Dylan fucking Dickhead…

Dylan stepped up to the counter, easy and confident. "Hey, Becca. How's it going?"

"Better now." She giggled and twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"caramel. Two scoops."

"Still your favorite." Becca's hand lingered on the counter, her fingers brushing dangerously close to Dylan's. "You know, I've been thinking about you."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely." Her smile turned suggestive. "We should hang out sometime."

Moana's jaw clenched. Hang out for what? Of course this girl was one of Dylan's fangirls. Of course she is!

Dylan's smirk was lazy. "Maybe."

"I'm serious." Becca leaned closer, her voice dropping. "Call me."

Moana cleared her throat loudly.

Becca finally acknowledged her existence with a brief, dismissive glance before turning her full attention back to Dylan. "So just the one order?"

"She'll have something too," Dylan said, gesturing to Moana without looking at her.

"Right." Becca's tone was flat now. "What do you want?"

"Chocolate," Moana said coolly. "Two scoops. And red velvet cake."

"Sure." Becca grabbed a scooper and got to work, her hips swaying as she moved. Every motion was exaggerated, performative, and Dylan was watching with that lazy appreciation that made Moana's blood boil.

They paid and found a small table near the window. Becca brought Dylan's ice cream first, her hand brushing his shoulder as she set it down."Enjoy," she purred.

Moana wanted to stab her with a spoon.

Dylan took a bite and leaned back in his chair, studying Moana with amusement. 

"You're quiet."

"I'm eating."

"You haven't gotten your food yet."

"I'm waiting to eat."

"You're glaring."

"I'm tired."

"You're jealous." His grin was infuriating. "So Queens can actually be jealous. I didn't think you had it in you."

Moana's hands clenched on the table. "Why would I be jealous of some bitch flirting with my step brother?"

"Good question." Dylan's eyes gleamed. "Why would you?"

She didn't answer. Because admitting she was jealous meant admitting she cared, and she refused to give him that satisfaction.

Becca returned with Moana's order, setting the chocolate ice cream and cake down with significantly less care than she'd used for Dylan's. "Here you go."

Then, as she turned, her elbow knocked Dylan's bowl clean off the table. Ice cream splattered across the floor in a sticky, caramel mess.

"Oh my God." Becca's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with fake horror. "I'm so sorry. I'm such a klutz."

"It's fine," Dylan said.

"No, no, it's not fine." She grabbed a handful of napkins and crouched down, her shirt riding up to show a strip of tanned stomach. "You've got some on your jeans too. Come with me to the bathroom. I'll help you get it out before it stains."

Moana's grip tightened on her spoon.

Dylan stood, brushing at his jeans. "Yeah, alright."

"Perfect." Becca beamed and grabbed his hand, leading him toward the back of the shop.

Moana sat frozen, watching them disappear down a hallway marked Restrooms.

He was really going with her. He was actually going.

She stabbed her ice cream viciously and shoved a bite into her mouth. It tasted like nothing.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Moana checked her phone. Scrolled through nothing. Took another bite of cake she didn't want.

Fifteen minutes.

Her chest felt tight, her throat burning with something she refused to name. This was ridiculous. He was her step brother. A playboy who fucked anything with a pulse. She didn't care what he did or who he did it with.

Except she did.And that made her angrier.

Moana stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. A couple at the next table looked over, but she ignored them and marched toward the hallway.

The bathroom doors came into view. Men's on the left, Women's on the right. Both closed.

And then she heard it.

"Yes."

Moana stopped.

"Harder."

Her stomach dropped.

"Ouch. Deeper."

The voice was high-pitched, breathy, unmistakably female. Unmistakably Becca.

"Just like that. Oh God, just like that."

Moana stood there, frozen, as the sounds continued. Moans and gasps and the unmistakable rhythm of bodies moving together. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms.

Dylan had brought her here. Rode her around for an hour, teased her, made her feel like maybe this was something, and then he'd gone into a bathroom to fuck a girl.

The anger hit her like a tidal wave, hot and vicious and all-consuming.

She turned on her heel and walked back into the main area of the shop. Her hands were shaking as she pulled out her phone and opened a ride-share app. Three minutes away.

Perfect.

Moana grabbed her bag, left the half-eaten food on the table, and walked out into the night air. It was cooler now, sharp against her skin, but she barely felt it.

She stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, staring at the road. Her phone buzzed with the driver's update.

Two minutes away.

Behind her, music from the shop drifted out into the night. Laughter from inside. Normal people having normal nights.

And Dylan fucking the slutty bitch called Becca.

One minute away.

Moana's jaw clenched. She refused to cry. She refused to let this mean anything.

A car pulled up to the curb. Her ride.

She opened the door and climbed in.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Moana rattled off Richard's address, her voice steady despite the rage burning through her veins.

The car pulled away from the curb, and she didn't look back. 

Why did hurt, she is aware about his playboy lifestyle in school, she

knew she he had fucked almost all the girls but why does this one hurt. 

“Ma'am are you okay” the driver asked handling wipes

That was when she realized she'd been crying!