Chapter 7

I desire the things that will destroy me in the end.

— Sylvia Plath

CAMELLIA

I was exhausted.

“Good job, ladies!” I called out, clapping lightly as the teen dancers caught their breath. Their giggles echoed through the mirrored studio, sweat gleaming on flushed cheeks. I could see how proud they were of themselves, and that made every ache in my lower back worth it.

Maybe this job wasn't so bad after all.

The music faded, and I stretched my arms overhead, groaning slightly as my spine popped. My ponytail was limp, and my leggings had seen better days but I didn’t mind. This was my safe place. Inside these walls, I was just the instructor who helped teenagers move their bodies without shame and for the first time in days, that was enough.

My brain had been politely ignoring everything that happened two weeks ago starting with the severed finger, Lucien’s sudden appearance but mostly the fact that my deadbeat father now had a bite mark that looked suspiciously canine. But mostly? The damn dog and the stupid bravery I used to approach it.

No wonder white people die first in horror movies.

“Same time next week,” I added, offering a small smile as they trickled out of the mirrored room.

The studio was quiet now, humming with leftover energy and pulsing bass still vibrating through the floorboards. I wiped my brow, then glanced at the wall clock. One more hour until I had to pick up Lilah.

I reached for my water bottle and took a long sip, something strange prickling against the back of my neck.

The scent of pine and sandalwood wasn’t strong. Not the full hit like last night but just faint enough to make my pulse skip. I turned sharply, scanning the hallway outside the glass window.

Nothing. No tall shadow, no hazel eyes. Just old linoleum floors and peeling paint.

Before I left home this morning, there was a single rose tucked between my door and the frame.

A deep red bloom wrapped in tissue and tied with twine but I already knew who it was from.

Lucien.

It was subtle, almost sweet.The words “I apologise for my behavior” were scribbled on a tiny paper curled inside the petals.

It should’ve made me feel better,relieved even. He was backing off and finally giving me space. I should have exhaled, but I didn't.

Instead, my fingers kept brushing over the edges of the note and every time I blinked too long, I could still picture his hazel eyes watching me like I was something sacred and repulsive all at once.

There was no reason for him to be here.I glanced over my shoulder again only to be met with nothing but my reflection in the mirror and the panic pounding low in my stomach.

“Get a grip,” I muttered under my breath. “He’s not everywhere.”

I wasn't supposed to crave someone I'd barely spoken to or feel watched like this.My feet found rhythm followed by my hips, each turn draining my overthinking brain and filling my lungs with calm.

My mind unintentionally drifted to Darius. Not directly or fully. Just the echo of his voice, the memory of his gaze. I danced through it, letting the beat carry me further away from thought and deeper into instinct.

A lazy twirl sent my body spinning, my arms loose and breathing soft. I turned, facing the window mid-spin before my gaze caught onto something.

Outside the glass doors, leaning casually against the frame like he’d been there for a while, stood a man dressed in a dark coat, the smirk on his lips faint but unmistakable.

Great. I've started hallucinating too.

Sunlight made his blonde hair gleam like polished gold and his green eyes held that same calm fire. He lifted a gloved hand in a casual wave, like he hadn’t just appeared randomly.

Wait what?

My foot caught just enough to throw me off, my ankle rolling beneath me as I tried to shift my weight. My balance slipped, arms reacting a beat too late as the floor rushed up to meet me.

I landed hard with one hand on the floor, the other reaching out like it still believed we could fix the fact that I was just dramatically humiliated by my own two feet.

Either way, the cold floor was no comfort.

When I finally glanced up, he hadn’t moved,just tilted his head slightly and smiled wider.

At least he found it funny.

He reached for the door, holding his hands up in mock surrender as he walked in.

"There are definitely less painful ways to throw yourself at me." He smirked, reaching a gloved hand out to me.

I rolled my eyes, reaching for his outstretched hand.He grasped it easily and pulled me up in one smooth motion. It wasn’t forceful, not really but my balance hadn’t quite returned. My body tipped forward as I collided softly with him chest to chest.

It wasn't intentional or dramatic but it was enough to notice how solid he felt and for my brain to short-circuit for half a second.

I cleared my throat and stepped back quickly, pretending to smooth invisible wrinkles from my clothes.

"So were you sent to witness my downfall personally or to sign up for dance class "

He shrugged casually. “I may or may not have gone through a few procedures to find you.”

Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Camellia. Men stalking you aren't supposed to be attractive.

But there he was standing there like he didn’t just confess to mildly criminal behavior, and somehow make it sound charming.

"Well, you’re here a second too late," I said, glancing at the clock. "I have to go pick up my little sister”

He tilted his head, unfazed. "So I’ll come with you."

I blinked. “What?”

He shrugged again, already moving toward the door like it was settled. "You’re clearly clumsy,and someone should supervise you. Might as well be me."

I didn’t move right away. My brain flickered through a list of reasons to say no. All of them sounded reasonable from boundaries to caution and self-preservation.

Was this another trap or was he really just decent?

I let out a breath and grabbed my keys.

"Fine," I muttered, brushing past him. "But if you so much as breathe weirdly around my sister,I’m pushing you into oncoming traffic.”

What’s the worst that could happen?

Lilah came bouncing out, her backpack almost swallowing her whole, grinning as she rushed towards me.

She slowed, frowning slightly, her eyes flicked between me and him. Her fingers moved swiftly “Who’s that?”

I opened my mouth but before I could answer, he crouched slightly and signed “ Hi. I’m a friend of your sister’s”.

Lilah responded immediately, hands flying excitedly. Instead of fumbling or asking for help like most people, he kept up effortlessly communicating with her like he’d done it a hundred times.

I watched in quiet awe as she giggled and signed something back at him, which earned her a real, belly-deep laugh.

My heart did something stupid in my chest.

Yep,leave it to me to feel a certain way because a man knows how to talk with his hands.

By the time we reached my front door, Lilah was skipping ahead, while he hung back with me, hands in his pockets, like this was the most normal day ever.

“She likes you,” I said quietly, still processing everything.

He glanced at me with a grin. “She clearly has taste.”

I rolled my eyes, even as my lips twitched. "Thanks for walking us home.” I murmured, pausing at the steps.

He mimicked a bow, teasing “Next time you fall for me, try not to make it so literal.”

He turned and walked away with his hands in his pockets and shoulders relaxed after speaking,like he hadn’t just casually wormed his way under my skin with a couple signs and an annoyingly effective smile.

—------------

The silence in the now dark apartment crept in like fog . It was thick and impossible to ignore.

Lilah had fallen asleep hours ago in her bedroom, curled up with her favorite worn-out blanket.

I lay on my back in my bedroom, my phone abandoned carelessly by the side. My elbow brushed against my chest, soft pressure grazing the curve of my breast. The contact was accidental at first.

Then I did it again but slower, firmer.

A ripple of pleasure shot through me like static, sharp and distracting. My nipple hardened beneath the thin fabric of my top as I bit my bottom lip, my pulse fluttering.

It’d been too long.

Too long since anyone had touched me or since I'd touched myself.The ache in my core wasn’t new, but the way it spiked now felt different,heavier.

I slid under the covers,my fingers trailing down past the slope of my stomach, teasing the waistband of my shorts.

I bit my lip, eyes fluttering closed as I dipped lower. Just a brush at first, testing. My hips twitched as a low breath slipped past my lips.

God, I was touch-starved.

Every stroke was too much and not nearly enough. My body coiled tighter with each breath, pressure mounting with a rhythm that felt like begging.

I tried to think of calm, soft hands. Of the kind of man who wouldn't tear me apart just by looking.

Darius.

He came to mind with ease ,the way his eyes had lingered just long enough to feel like sin, his gloved fingers brushing mine with a gentleness that felt almost out of place. Like he wanted to learn my edges first before crossing them.

A soft needy groan slipped out of me.

Desperate for something solid in the middle of the storm building inside me, I cupped my breast,my thumb brushing over my nipple once, then again slower. It was already sensitive,peaked and aching from the memory of eyes that didn’t belong there.

I imagined him leaning in, voice smooth and low, telling me how good I was doing. How much he liked watching me come undone. He’d say it slowly and mean it.

My hand moved faster,deeper. Chasing the promise of release.

The rhythm carried me until I forgot the chill in my bones. I held onto Darius's voice, the gentleness in it but another was already crawling under my skin, his hands gripping my thighs with a grip that was more pleasure than pain.

That look,that heat. That devastating, primal hunger that crawled beneath my skin and made my fingers move faster without permission.

His voice was not gentle but raw and low like it had been dragged from his chest , replacing the softness with something darker. A demand. His hand slid lower until it gripped the soft flesh just above my thigh in a firm manner. Like he wanted me to feel exactly where he’d been long after he let go.

Lucien.

I clenched, panting, caught between fight and surrender.

No matter how hard I tried to hold onto the safe fantasy, Lucien tore through it like instinct always does faster, stronger, hungrier.

I added another finger , desperate now, slick with want. I chased the image of him from that mouth, those hands, the way his voice would sound dragging against my skin.

I spread my legs wider, letting the sheets bunch around my knees, hips rising to meet every needy stroke like it

was him touching me.

I imagined him watching, voice low, cruelly amused. “You’re so easy for me,” he’d murmur.

“Can’t even touch yourself without thinking of me, can you?”

My body answered for me as it trembled, arched, clenched.

"Lucien," I gasped, the word tearing from my throat as I came, breathless and undone, his name the only thing that made it past the haze.

The silence afterward was louder than his name.