LOGINZara Cole comes home for her birthday weekend and finds her brother Marcus’s best friend, Damon, staying at the house. Nothing new. She’s always managed to keep her feelings buried. Then a blizzard hits. Marcus gets stranded away. Camille and Ryan can’t make it through. Three days. Just the two of them. Completely alone. What starts as tension slowly becomes something neither of them can control — honest conversations, stolen touches, and a connection that burns through every reason they have to stay away from each other. But the snow melts. Marcus comes back. Their partners return. And suddenly Zara and Daman are standing in the middle of something real, something undeniable, completely surrounded by everyone they’d hurt if the truth came out. The story follows what happens after, the guilt, the secrets, the obsession, the consequences. Marcus will eventually find out. Ryan will eventually see it. Camille already suspects more than she lets on. It’s a story about two people who know better, choose each other anyway, and have to live with every single thing that costs them.
View MoreCHAPTER SIXTY POV: Damon He’d had it for three months. He hadn’t told anyone. Not Zara. Not Marcus. Not Isla or Leila or anyone at the table. He’d sat with it the way he sat with things — turning it over, understanding what it was, deciding what it required of him before he asked anyone else to hold it. The solicitor had sent it in August. A letter of apology attached. An administrative error. The provision had been for Sandy’s eighteenth birthday — a date nine years away — and it had been released early. A filing error. New staff. The letter explained it three times in three different ways, each more apologetic than the last. He’d read the apology. He’d put it aside. He’d looked at the envelope underneath. For Isla Sandra Reid. To be opened on her eighteenth birthday. Gerald Osei’s handwriting. He’d held it for a long time. He hadn’t opened it. He’d almost opened it twice. The first time on the day it arrived. He’d held it and thought about what was in it and then put
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE POV: Sandy She turned eight on a Thursday. She’d chosen Thursday specifically. Not because her birthday fell on a Thursday — it fell on a Saturday — but because she’d asked if she could have the dinner on Thursday instead and when her parents had asked why she’d said because Thursday was already the day for important things and she didn’t see why her birthday should be different. They’d said yes. They usually said yes to things that had a clear rationale. The Thursday call with Isla that week was different. Isla was coming to the birthday dinner. She and Leila were coming from Glasgow. But the Thursday call happened anyway because it was Thursday and the call was the call. “Eight,” Isla said. “Yes,” Sandy said. “How does it feel,” Isla said. Sandy thought about it. “Like seven but with more room in it,” she said. Isla was quiet for a moment. “That’s—” she started. “I know,” Sandy said. “Seven was full,” Isla said. “Yes,” Sandy said. “A lot happened
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHTPOV: MarcusSix months.Six months of Sundays.Six months of Catherine at the table learning what the table was. Not being told — she’d been told before she came the first time and she’d understood before she sat down. Learning in the other way. The accumulative way. The way you learned things that mattered by being present for them over time.She’d been present.Every Sunday.Without fail.She brought something different every time. Not always food — sometimes a specific tea she’d found. A book she thought Zara would like. A wooden thing for Marcus James that had arrived in a bag with no ceremony and which he had assessed for three minutes and then accepted into the rotation of wooden things with the expression.The rosemary was still on the windowsill.Had been there six months.The kitchen smelled like something was about to happen.Always.She was not like anyone he’d been with before.He’d been with people. Not many — he hadn’t been a person who moved through
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVENPOV: SandyShe noticed on Wednesday.Marcus came for dinner on Wednesdays sometimes. Not always. When he came on Wednesdays it was usually because something was happening that he was processing through proximity and food. He didn’t say what the something was. He just appeared and ate and talked about things adjacent to the something and eventually went home.She’d been watching this pattern since she was old enough to watch patterns.Wednesday this week he came and he was different.Not obviously different. Her parents didn’t notice. Marcus James was two and a half and was at the stage of noticing things at three in the morning and not noticing things that were in front of him, so he didn’t notice.But Sandy noticed.She noticed because Marcus was slightly too loud. Marcus was always loud but this was the performative loud of someone who was managing something rather than the natural loud of someone simply being themselves.She noticed because he kept checking his
CHAPTER NINE POV: Damon Marcus’s truck crunched over the last patches of melting snow and stopped right in front of the house like it had every right to blow everything apart. Damon stood frozen by the window, Zara’s warmth still clinging to his skin, his cum still slick on her thighs under those
CHAPTER EIGHT POV: Zara The phone screen burned in the dark like a brand. “Time’s up.” Those three words sat there, glowing, while her fingers were still between her legs, slick from Damon’s cum and her own desperate need. Zara snatched her hand away like she’d been caught, heart slamming against
CHAPTER SEVEN POV: Zara Ryan arrived at 6PM. He came through the door with snow on his jacket and a wide smile, pulling her into a hug that was warm and solid. She hugged him back, holding on a second longer than usual, her body still carrying faint marks from Damon. “I missed you,” he said into
CHAPTER SIX POV: Zara She woke up in his bed, naked. Not tangled innocently. Not by accident. Her thighs were sticky, her pussy still faintly throbbing from how many times he’d made her come during the night. Damon’s arm was heavy around her waist, possessive even in sleep, his bare chest pressed


















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