She shrugs.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to marry a stranger either, but here we are.”
She’s still looking at us, at Trey, then me, with something quieter behind her smile. Something understanding.
“Congratulations, you two,” she says softly. “For whatever it’s worth…you look happy, and uncomfortable. Trey get off Sera so she can compose herself, she looks about ready to combust.”
I mumble something about needing to freshen up and slip down the hallway to the bedroom. The quiet in here feels sterile—like it’s holding its breath—while their voices drift from the living room, laughing, joking, so normal it makes my chest ache.
My hands shake as I open the cardboard box from the pharmacy.Plan B. The words stare up at me. The foil glints under the light, and for a moment I just…stare at it, wondering how something so tiny can feel so impossibly heavy.
I try pressing the pill through the foil with my nail, but the bottom crumples, and suddenly the small, white, life-altering pill is sitting in my palm. A knot rises in my throat. I swallow it with a quick sip of water, my hand instinctively pressing against my stomach like my body might understand the choice I just made.
When I lift my head, my gaze snags on a box sitting at the edge of the bed—neat, deliberate. My name—Seraphina—is scrawled across the top in Trey’s bold handwriting.
My breath catches.
When did he do this?
I sit down, carefully lifting the lid. Inside, there’s charcoal, pencils, brushes, tubes of paint, a brand-new sketchbook with a soft leather cover. My heart clenches. I run my fingers over the supplies like they’re made of glass. It’s everything I thought I’d lost. Only new, and untouched. He remembered.
I’m still tracing the edge of the sketchbook when the door creaks open. Trey leans against the frame, a slow smile tugging at his mouth, the kind that always makes my pulse stumble.
“You found it,” he says, nodding toward the open box.
I swallow the lump in my throat.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”
He steps inside, his voice low and certain.
“Yeah, I did. If your passion is anything like mine for music, then I didn’t really have a choice, did I?”
He moves closer, until the air between us hums. His eyes catch mine, soft but burning. He tilts his head, voice dropping to a near whisper.
“I really want to see your work, Sera. See what you see. Through your eyes.”
My breath catches. His words wrap around me like a touch. I can’t even find an answer, just a trembling smile as he reaches out, brushing his knuckles along my jaw.
“They want to have some drinks, order Chinese. Maybe hit a club tonight,” he says. “If you’re not ready, we can stay in. Just us.”
I close the lid of the box gently.
“No,” I say, meeting his eyes. “I want to go.” His grin spreads, slow and wicked.
“That’s my girl.”
When we walk back into the living room, the place is buzzing. Chace is flipping through TV music channels, legs sprawled across the coffee table like he owns the place. Sam’s half-watching, half-scrolling on his phone.
Before he can answer, a music video fills the screen mid-song. Logan’s the first thing I see—golden skin, dark hair, a girl draped across his lap, licking up his neck as he sings into the camera.
Mac rolls her eyes.
“Of course it’s that one.”
Then the shot changes—and I freeze.
Trey.
