Static on the Screen

POV SIENNA

I climbed the three flights of stairs to the arts building on legs that felt weak and unsteady. The words Killian had whispered before driving away kept looping through my mind, sharp and impossible to shake: "Do not bite your lip in class. I made it quite sensitive last night." The crisp morning air did nothing to cool me; my cheeks burned with a hot, humiliating flush, and I pulled my wool scarf higher as I crossed the main hall, hoping no one would notice how flustered I looked.

I stepped into the Screenwriting and Directing amphitheatre just as the quarter‑past bell rang, breathless and heavy with something far heavier than a late start. The room smelled of bitter coffee, damp stone, and fresh markers, familiar scents that usually calmed me but meant nothing today. Liam was already at our usual table near the back, grey hoodie, headphones resting around his neck, and his shooting notebook spread wide. Two steaming paper cups sat before him. He lifted his hand in a warm greeting, but his smile faded the moment I sat down and let my bag drop to the floor with a shaky sigh.

"Hey," he said, sliding one cup toward me. "I got you a double Americano with oat milk. Figured you would need it after… yesterday’s showdown in the café. That was intense."

"Thank you, Liam," I murmured, wrapping cold fingers around the cup. The heat warmed my palms but did not reach the deep chill settled in my bones.

I opened my laptop with slow, stiff movements, keeping my eyes fixed on the desk rather than meeting his. I could not stop seeing Killian leaning out that car window, sharp suit and that wild, possessive gaze claiming me right there on the street. Liam tilted his head, watching me, as Professor Donovan dimmed the lights and started the projector.

"You are miles away, Hayes," he whispered quietly. "You have been staring at your wallpaper for five minutes without typing your password."

I blinked hard, throat tight. I typed quickly, fumbling twice before getting it right.

"I just… did not sleep well," I lied, lifting the coffee.

The warm liquid brushed my lower lip and I flinched, pulling back at once. Liam caught the small movement. His gaze, trained to notice every subtle shift, dropped straight to my mouth. He frowned. His eyes widened slightly as he saw the faint swelling and dark flush along the edge. Then his glance rose to my sweater, pulled high almost to my chin.

"Listen…" his tone softened, growing careful and concerned. "That guy… your stepbrother… did he hurt you?"

The question hit me like cold water.

"What? No!" I answered too quickly, voice rising before I lowered it. "No, not at all. He is just arrogant and difficult, I told you that yesterday."

Liam did not look convinced. He rested his chin on his hand, studying me with quiet clarity.

"Yesterday he walked in looking ready to fight anyone near you," he said softly. "And today you look pale, distracted, and… I am not blind, Sienna. Your lip is swollen and you look like you have been through something overwhelming."

I survived a storm named Killian Thorne, I thought bitterly.

"It is an allergy," I offered, the weakest excuse imaginable. "And I bit it in my sleep, honestly. Drop it, Liam. What are we doing for scene three?"

He held my gaze for a long moment. The soft scent of cherry tobacco and rain on him felt distant beside the cedar and storm I still carried with me. He did not believe me, but he respected the wall I put up.

"Okay," he sighed, turning a page. "Donovan wants us to lock in the emotional climax, the point of no return between your two leads."

"The point of no return," I repeated, the words sounding painfully true.

"Right. The moment the lie falls apart and they have to face what is really there," he pointed to a note. "You had ideas last night, remember? You were going to write the scene where he corners her and makes her speak the truth."

My stomach tightened. I thought of the half‑finished story on my screen, of the lines written before Killian stepped through my balcony door. I opened my paper notebook instead, hands shaking so badly the ink blotted the page.

"Sienna…" Liam touched my sleeve gently. "You are trembling. If things are hard at that house… my sister rents an apartment near campus. I can help."

"I am fine, Liam, truly," I said, forcing the most convincing smile I could find while feeling completely broken inside. "There is just so much change, my mother’s wedding, moving here… it is all overwhelming, that is all."

He nodded slowly, though his eyes lingered on my lip with clear worry.

"Alright. But if he threatens you again, say something. I do not care who his family is or what car he drives."

"Thank you," I said, and meant it. He was kind, steady, safe. The trouble was my foolish, damaged wolf did not want safe. She wanted the grey‑eyed monster who was probably sitting in a boardroom right now, pretending he had not kissed me senseless in the dark, counting the minutes until he could claim me again.