The handshake is brief, but it feels like a lifetime. His grip is firm, his skin warm, and the way his fingers brush against mine sends an electric shock through my body. I know he feels it too, but neither of us acknowledges it. We act like nothing happened, like we’re just two strangers meeting for the first time.
But we’re not strangers. Not anymore.
“It’s nice to see you, Zoe.”
I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks as I try to keep my face neutral. My expression is frozen, but I can’t stop the thoughts swirling in my head. His body—the way it movedagainst mine, the way he made me feel—replays in vivid detail behind my eyes. He hasn’t said a word to me since that first glance, and neither have I. But the silence between us feels louder than anything else in the room.
Maria is still talking beside me, chatting with her usual enthusiasm, but it’s like I’m not even there. I can barely focus on her words, my attention constantly drawn back to Lukin. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
Every second stretches out, dragging like a blade across my skin. It feels like I’m suffocating under the weight of it all.
I need to get out of here.
My voice is barely a whisper when I mumble, “I need some air, Maria.”
“You okay?”
“Yes.” I turn away from Lukin to smile at her. “I’m perfect.”
“Okay.” She tugs her dad along. “Come on. Let me introduce you to others.”
I don’t wait for anyone to respond. I don’t care if anyone notices. I slip away, my steps quick and unsteady as I head toward the back door, the sound of the music growing distant behind me. The cool air hits my face like a slap, and I take a deep breath, the air finally filling my lungs.
I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect him to be Maria’s father. And I definitely didn’t expect to feel this way—the way my heart races every time he looks at me, the way my skin burns from the memory of him.
There are so many things wrong with this. Aside from the fact that he’s Maria’s father, I’m just now realizing that there’s an insane age gap between us. He looks young, but to fatherMaria, there’s no way he’s not less than forty. I’m only twenty-one years old so this is just gross.
I push through the estate, searching for space, for silence, for an escape from the noise that’s crashing around me. My heels click sharply against the polished floors, each step echoing in the vast, empty hallways. I don’t know where I’m going, just that I need to be far away from the party, from the weight of his gaze.
The sounds of laughter and music fade as I find a narrow hallway behind the guest rooms. It’s quieter here, a little more isolated. At the end of the hallway, I spot a door that leads outside, to a garden. I push it open, the cool night air hitting me like a wave, and step into the shadows. The garden is empty, peaceful. The air smells of damp earth and flowers, the only sound the distant rustling of leaves.
I lean against the wall, trying to calm my breathing, trying to push away the suffocating feeling that’s been creeping up on me since the moment I laid eyes on him again. My chest rises and falls in full, steady breaths as I finally allow myself to relax, just for a moment. I need this. I need to collect myself.
But it doesn’t last.
I feel it before I see him—the shift in the air, the heavy pressure of his presence, like a storm pressing in on me from behind.
It’s him. Lukin.
My pulse spikes, my skin prickling with the awareness of him standing just a few steps away. I don’t turn to face him. I can’t. I don’t want to acknowledge that he’s here, that he followed me, but I can feel him closing in. He doesn’t need to say anything. His presence alone is enough to fill the space, to make me feel small, to make the ground beneath me feel like it’s shifting.
I feel his hand catch my arm, his fingers curling around me like a vise. It’s gentle, but there’s no mistaking the way he pulls me, guiding me into the deeper shadows of the garden, away from the faint glow of the estate.
I try to pull away, but his grip is firm, holding me in place. My breath hitches in my throat, panic rising again.
“Why?” My voice breaks as I ask, the word coming out more fragile than I intend. “Why would you do that to me? To someone your daughter knows, someone she trusts?”
The words come out in a rush, the frustration, the confusion—all of it spilling over in a wave. I don’t know why I’m angry, why I’m hurt. But I can’t stop it.
I stare at him, trying to read his face, looking for any sign of regret, but there’s nothing there except cold resolve. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step back. He looks at me, eyes narrowed, the tension between us thickening with every second.
I swallow hard, the anger and pain building in my chest. “You could have stopped it. You could have said something. But you didn’t. And now….” My voice falters as the weight of what happened crashes over me again. “What am I supposed to do? How do I tell Maria?”
Lukin steps closer, the space between us now nonexistent. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I think he might say something—anything—but then his voice drops, low and full of heat.
“I also didn’t know.”
His words hang in the air between us, as heavy and sharp as a blade. He doesn’t look at me with any softness. His expression is hard, his anger directed elsewhere, not at me. It feels like I’m being torn between something primal, somethinghe’s trying to hold back, and something else, something I’m not sure I understand.
