All Chapters of DESIRE UNDER THE SAME ROOF : Chapter 1 - Chapter 9

The cardboard boxes stacked in the corner of my room felt like coffins. Each one held a piece of the life I wasn’t ready to bury.​I shoved a stack of folded sweaters into a suitcase, my movements jagged and numb. It had been exactly one hundred and eighty-four days since my father’s funeral. Six months. To some, it was half a year of "healing." To my mother, it was apparently just enough time to find a replacement with a bigger bank account and a mansion across the city.​I picked up a framed photo from my nightstand—the last one taken of my dad and me at the lake. He was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. My chest tightened, that familiar, sharp ache blooming behind my ribs.​The door to my bedroom clicked open without a knock.​"Summer, for heaven's sake, you aren't even finished?"Celine stepped into the room, smelling of expensive Peonies.She looked radiant... too radiant for a woman who had been a widow only two seasons ago. Her blouse was draped perfectly, and the di

The weekend had been a haunting exercise in avoidance. I had moved around the Knight mansion like a ghost, slipping into the kitchen for coffee only when I was sure the hallways were clear. Xavier had vanished—no smoke trails, no heavy boots, no dark stares. It was as if the house itself was holding its breath after the explosion at dinner.​But Monday morning arrived with the cold reality of a new life.​I sat in the back of a silver Mercedes, the leather seats cool against my bare legs. William had insisted on the driver—a silent man named Arthur—despite my protests that I could take the bus. To William, image was everything. To me, being dropped off in a car that cost more than a suburban house was like wearing a neon sign that read Outsider.​As we pulled through the ivy-covered gates of Evermore University, my stomach did a slow, nauseating flip. The campus was a stunning collection of red-brick buildings and manicured quads, looking every bit like the elite institution it was.​

The silence in the car was more suffocating than the smell of the party. Xavier had spent five minutes cleaning the side of his car with a rag he kept in the trunk, his movements stiff and radiating a quiet, vibrating fury. When he finally got into the driver’s seat, he didn't look at me. He just slammed the gear into reverse and tore away from the curb.​I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, the world outside a blur of streetlights and shadows. My stomach felt like it had been through a blender, and my throat burned.​"I told you I hate you" I whispered, my voice cracking.​"The feeling is mutual, believe me," Xavier snapped, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "But unfortunately for both of us, if you end up dead or in some guy's bed on your first night, my father will make it my problem. I don't like problems, Summer. Especially ones that smell like cheap vodka and regret"​"You don't know anything about me," I muttered, closing my eyes. "You think

​By noon, the hangover had transitioned into a hollow, gnawing hunger. I padded into the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the cold marble. I hadn't bothered with a real outfit—I just threw on an oversized vintage t-shirt that swallowed my frame, reaching just past my mid-thigh. I hadn't even put on a bra, the soft cotton brushed against my skin, and the chill of the industrial-sized kitchen made my nipples peak prominently against the thin fabric.​I just wanted coffee and toast. Something simple. Something that didn't require a chef.​I managed to get the toaster going, the smell of browning bread finally making me feel human again. But the artisanal coffee beans were tucked away on the highest shelf of a sleek, white-lacquered cupboard.​"Who even designs these things? Giants?" I muttered, dragging a heavy wooden stool toward the counter.​It wasn't enough. I stood on my tiptoes, my fingers straining toward the silver canister. I reached higher, my back arching as I stretched every i

The silence that followed the party was heavier than the music had ever been.​I woke up to a house that felt like it was nursing a collective migraine. The morning sun was relentless, cutting through the gaps in my curtains and mocking the absolute disaster I knew was waiting for me outside my bedroom door.​My head throbbed, but it wasn't from alcohol this time—it was the memory of his Wing. The memory of the way Xavier had looked at me, trapped between his arms and the matte black wall, his breath ghosting over my lips until I thought I might actually catch fire.​I forced myself out of bed, pulling on a pair of oversized sweatpants to go with my wrinkled t-shirt. I needed water. I needed to know if last night was a fever dream or a funeral for whatever "peace" we had left.The grand staircase was a graveyard of red plastic cups, discarded high heels, and a smell that was a sickening cocktail of stale beer and expensive cologne. It was as if a hurricane of privilege had ripped thro