Three

Brielle’s POV

By the time my last lecture ended, I was drained—but not from the class.

I should’ve been thinking about the project due next week or debugging the AI model we’d been working on in lab. I was a computer science major, not some hopeless girl dreaming about a man she couldn’t have.

But none of that mattered.

Because Desmond Blackwood was still in my head.

My dad’s best friend. The man I’d grown up around. The one I wasn’t supposed to think about like this.

But I had. And I did. Over and over again.

I closed my laptop slowly, pretending I was focused on anything else.

Tonight was my birthday dinner, and I already knew exactly what I was going to wear. Something that would make Desmond look twice. Maybe, if the universe liked me just a little bit, I’d even get a kiss. Or more.

“Hey Brielle! Got a reminder from Snapchat. Happy Birthday, girl,” Agnes said, pulling me into a warm hug.

“Thank you,” I smiled.

Agnes was part of my coding team. Smart, intense, the kind of girl who reminded me of who I was before I got all tangled up in the mess of feelings Desmond stirred in me.

She waved goodbye and headed for the library, but I was already halfway gone in my thoughts again.

Paul was waiting in the usual spot near the student lot. I climbed into the backseat and slumped against the cool leather just as my phone buzzed. Mirren.

Mirren: Get ready, Miss Tech Queen. We’re going full bad girl tonight.

Me: It’s dinner, not Vegas.

Mirren: With that dress and that man? You don’t need dice. Just a mouth and maybe a leg lift.

I smirked.

Mirren knew too much. But somehow, not enough.

We pulled into the driveway and I instantly spotted the twinkle of fairy lights across the balcony. Warm golden light poured from the windows like the house was trying to say tonight is special.

My mom never did birthdays halfway.

I headed upstairs to get ready, ignoring the growing knot in my stomach. I peeled off my jeans and tee and headed into the bathroom. The hot water felt amazing, but it only made the memory stronger. His hands. His breath. The way he touched me in that dream—like he owned every inch of me.

Desmond.

The only man who could make me lose myself from a dream alone.

I stepped out, skin flushed, and towel-dried my hair before walking back into my room. My dress was already waiting for me, hung on the closet door like a secret I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.

Silky champagne fabric. Backless. A slit that climbed high enough to be scandalous.

I slipped it on slowly. The fabric clung to me like heat, like want. Like him.

I added my gold necklace—just a thin chain with a small charm engraved in binary code.

01001000.

The letter H.

For Hope—the name of the AI model I’d been secretly building with my professor.

It was funny. I could write thousands of lines of code and break into systems most people didn’t understand, but when it came to Desmond, I couldn’t even block a single thought.

I stepped into the hallway and nearly jumped when I saw Mirren waiting with a wine glass in hand. She looked me over from head to toe and let out a long, low whistle.

“Damn, Bri. If you don’t get kissed tonight, I’m suing someone.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a dress.”

She grinned. “No, babe. That’s temptation in silk.”

I didn’t deny it. Because it was. For him.

Downstairs, the dining room looked straight out of a magazine. White linens, candles burning tall between gold-rimmed plates, polished silverware catching the light just right.

I sat beside my mom and Mirren.

Desmond was across the table. Two seats away. Close enough to feel. Too far to touch.

Mirren nudged me with her knee under the table.

“He’s watching you like you’re the main course.”

“Mirren,” I hissed.

“What? I’m just saying—if eyes could undress, that dress wouldn’t last five seconds.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to hide the smile creeping up.

My dad raised his glass. “To Brielle,” he said warmly. “The daughter who once hacked our home Wi-Fi so her laptop got top speed. The one who made our IT guy quit—twice. Brilliant, stubborn, and absolutely impossible not to love.”

Everyone laughed. I blushed a little.

Then Desmond stood. My heart skipped.

“I’ve known Brielle her whole life,” he said, raising his glass. “But tonight, she’s not the same girl I remember running through this house in pigtails. She’s something else now.” He paused. His eyes locked with mine. “And to be honest… that’s dangerous.”

People laughed, but it wasn’t a joke.

Not to me.

Not to him.

After dinner, I stepped out into the garden. I needed air. Needed space.

The night smelled like roses. Tiny lights flickered along the path like stars got stuck in the bushes.

“Running off again?” a voice asked.

I didn’t have to turn. I knew it.

Desmond.

He stepped beside me, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. That tattoo on his forearm catching the glow of the garden lights.

“You look…” he paused, scanning me from head to toe. “Grown-up.”

“Grown-up?” I said, raising a brow. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

He smirked. “Well, yeah. I don’t think I could carry you on my shoulders anymore.”

But my legs sure could carry you, I thought silently.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

You looked stunning tonight. Shame it’s your last birthday with all of them.

My chest tightened. My breath caught.

“Desmond…” I turned the screen toward him.

He read it, and I saw it—the shift. That calm mask he always wore dropped just slightly. Alertness crept in.

Then—pop!

A gunshot cracked through the night.

Then another.

Screams echoed from inside the house. Glass shattered. I heard Mirren’s voice shouting my name.

Desmond grabbed my hand.

“Inside. Now!”

We ducked behind the stone archway. His arm wrapped tightly around me, holding me close. Shielding me.

“They’re not aiming to kill,” he muttered, scanning the darkness.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re still breathing.”

My phone buzzed again.

Tell your father the past doesn’t stay buried. Tick. Tick.

Desmond snatched the phone, read it, jaw tight.

“We need to talk,” he said. “But not here.”

“What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer.

“Brielle!” My dad’s voice boomed across the garden as he rushed toward us. He grabbed my arms, eyes frantic.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said, still shaking.

He turned to Desmond. “This wasn’t random, was it?”

Desmond didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

We all know the truth now.