Todos os capítulos de TEMPTING THE ENEMY (MM): Capítulo 51 - Capítulo 60

MIGUEL’S POVThe sun wasn’t even fully up and already I wanted to gouge my own fucking eyes out.Seth hadn’t said a single word to me all night.Not a sigh. Not a grunt. Not even the usual under-his-breath insults he muttered when we were barely tolerating each other. Just silence. Cold, dry silence. Like I didn’t exist anymore. Like whatever we had—whatever the hell we’d ruined—had been tossed in the bin next to our bloodstained history and torched without ceremony.We got dressed without speaking. Him pulling on his hoodie with the same tight jaw he always wore when he was pissed, me yanking on my shirt like I could tear the night off my skin. I wanted to say something. I did. But every time I looked at him, his expression dared me to try.By the time we stepped out into the hallway, I could feel the weight of the morning like sludge on my back. And then—of fucking course—Jeremy appeared, all bright-eyed and suspiciously smug, with that lazy grin he wore like it hadn’t been hell aro

JEREMY'S POV.I couldn’t breathe.Couldn’t fucking think straight.I paced the hall like something rabid, chewing the inside of my cheek raw, my nails digging into the meat of my palm. My phone buzzed again—group chat lighting up with some dumb meme Miguel sent two hours ago like the whole world wasn’t crumbling beneath our feet. I didn’t respond.Not to that.Not to anything. Because what the hell was there to say?My brain kept spinning back—rewinding and rewatching—those thirty goddamn seconds by the car. Miguel leaning back against the hood, all smug and casual, puffing on a cigarette like he hadn’t just ruined everything. Like Seth’s bruises were a love note and not a warning sign. Like none of it mattered.And Seth?Seth, who’d looked at Miguel like he still wanted him. Like he still wanted him after everything. After Byron. After the fights. After the violence. After the tears. Like Miguel’s chaos still made sense to him. Like Miguel still had a place in that too-soft, too-f

JEREMY'S POVI was driving like hell had a vendetta and my foot was the trigger. The city lights smeared past my windshield in streaks of angry yellow and red, but I didn’t blink. Didn’t fucking breathe. My jaw was locked so tight it hurt, but I needed it to hurt. The ache grounded me, kept me from turning the steering wheel straight into a fucking wall.Because I was pissed.Because I was jealous.Because I was a fucking idiot.I wasn’t the jealous friend. I wasn’t the clingy little bitch begging for crumbs of affection. But I was burning from the inside out and all I saw in my head was Zenya’s goddamn face. That cool, stoic expression when I left him. When I told him he didn’t get to call me malishka anymore. Like he didn’t just own my entire fucking spine every time he said it.I swerved left and slammed the brakes in front of some shitty club but barely gave it a glance. The neon sign blinked like a dying heart monitor, and some girl in heels was puking on the sidewalk while a g

SETHS POV I woke up to heat. That was the first thing. That slow, smothering warmth pressed into my side, bleeding into me, clinging.Then the weight.Heavy.Miguel.His arm slung low around my waist, his face buried into my neck like he belonged there, like we hadn’t built an entire fucking pillow wall to keep shit like this from happening. The wall was on the floor now, just tossed, forgotten, like every rule we kept trying to follow had finally crumbled under the weight of everything we were too scared to say.I didn’t move. Not at first.Just lay there, heart crawling up my throat, watching the way the morning bled soft yellow into the cracks of the curtains. Watching his lashes twitch in his sleep, his mouth barely parted, breath steady. Peaceful. Beautiful.God, he was beautiful.And for a second—for one fucking selfish second—I let myself have it.I let my fingers ghost up, trembling, brushing slowly along his jaw, the soft stubble of it, the curve of his cheekbone, the bri

MIGUEL'S POV I was going to combust.Straight up set the fucking couch on fire from how hard I was gripping the throw pillow like it had personally wronged me. My leg bounced like I was jacked up on coke, and my thumb kept dragging down my phone screen, refreshing the damn tracking app I swore I wasn’t going to check. Again.Still at Byron’s.Still.That same fucking house on that same quiet street where Seth used to go just for “training.” Now he was probably curled up under some too-expensive throw blanket with that clean-cut fucker, giggling like some Disney Channel couple while I sat here dry-mouthed and losing my fucking mind.I knew I shouldn't have left that tracker in his car.I knew it. But what the hell else was I supposed to do? Sit back like a chump and hope he'd pick me when Byron's already two years ahead in the whole good-boy, stable life race?"You're gonna blow a gasket, papi," Jeremy muttered from the corner of the couch, legs slung over the armrest like he l