“The year’s ending. Soon, we’ll both be at different universities, different lives. We won’t see each other again,” he continues, his voice still quiet but more intent now. “Maybe a reciprocal kiss is all we need to close ... this.” He gestures vaguely between us.
I blink, my blood starting to boil. “This? There is no ‘this,’ Silas.”
His words hang in the air, and I can feel my pulse quicken. Does he live in some alternate world where I’m someone else? How can hefeelphysical attraction when he has spent years making me feel like nothing? My mind races, the confusion turning into frustration. His blue eyes shift and lock onto mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world has disappeared. The weight of his gaze pins me to the ground, every fiber of my body hyper-aware of his presence. The only sounds between us are the distant buzz of the party inside and the crickets chirping around the pool. I feel the urge to step back, to retreat from the intensity radiating off him, but my feet are frozen in place. Silas’s energy is overwhelming, almost suffocating.
“It’s just you and me now, Lauren,” he says my name slowly, like it’s a struggle for him. “Here and now. There’s no one else, no past or future. This is the moment we settle things.”
“Settle what?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Before I can process what’s happening, Silas moves. Swift and fluid, he steps closer, grabs me by the waist, and suddenly his mouth is on mine. But this time ... it’s different. His lips are gentle, soft, and warm against mine, lingering as if he’s waiting, hoping for me to respond. And, to my own surprise, I do. Something stirs inside me—a desire I didn’t know I had; one I’ve buried for years. The fire that has always burned in his presence flares to life, even though I swore I’d never let it. My lips part slightly, and I let him in.
It’s my first kiss—the one that feels real, the oneI actually want. Silas’s arms wrap around me, pulling me even closer, and without thinking, I rise on tiptoe, my hands reaching up to hold him tighter, toanchor myself to this moment. Our bodies press together, but it feels like there’s still too much distance between us, even though it’s impossible to be any closer. His touch is tender, something I never expected from him. One hand caresses my cheek, the other gently brushes the back of my neck, and I can’t understand how this is the same Silas who has spent years making my life a living hell. How could he be so cold, so cruel, when he’s capable of such warmth, such tenderness?
It feels like we’ve been kissing for hours, days, until he finally pulls back, his eyes locking onto mine with a soft smile. For a split second, I’m terrified it’s all a cruel joke—that any second, people will jump out from behind the bushes, laughing at me, at how I fell for it. But nothing happens. Silas doesn’t let go of my face. His eyes don’t leave mine.
“Did I miss this all these years?” he murmurs, almost as if speaking to himself. “How stupid am I?”
I’m caught between disbelief and confusion. Is this real? Am I witnessing the transformation of someone who has only ever played the villain in my life?
I rest my hands on his neck, unsure of what to say. “Silas” My voice is soft, hesitant. I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t need to. For the first time, he’s communicating without his usual arsenal of harsh words or cruel smirks.
“Stay with me tonight.” His forehead presses against mine, his eyes close as if he’s in pain. “If you’re not in my bed tonight, I’ll lose my fucking mind.”
His words send a shock through me, and suddenly, the closeness feels suffocating. Our clothes, once just fabric, now feel like barriers, burning against my skin. Part of me wants to say yes—wants to say goodbye in the way he just suggested, to take a piece of Silas with me, something other than all the pain and humiliation he’s caused. But before I can answer, his mouth is on mine again, deeper this time, pulling me into a sea of sensations that drown out everything else. But then ... the memories come crashing back. Michelle. His girlfriend, the one still inside the house. The years of torment he put me through—the way the entire school accepted my mistreatment becauseSilasmade it okay. The years of feeling invisible, broken, because of him.
I pull away.
“No.”
His eyes narrow in confusion, his brows knitting together as he realizes I’m not falling into his trap this time. He clings to my waist, desperation slipping through the cracks of his usual control. “Please, Bunny …” His voice is low, almost pleading.
But I free myself from his grip, stepping back as everything crashes into clarity. “I’ve given you enough,” I say, my voice trembling but firm. “I’ve let you walk over me, manipulate me, mistreat me. But my body—that’sthe limit. And it’s not available to you.”
I see the flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe. Or just shock. But I can’t care. Not anymore. I turn away, and once my mind is made up, nothing will change it. I walk toward the side of the house, my heart hammering in my chest. My vision blurs with the hot sting of unshed tears. Emma can find her own way home; I need to leave before anyone sees me like this.
“Lauren!” His voice echoes behind me, full of desperation and something else—fear. But I won't stop. I can’t. Not after everything.
I stride through the darkness, my bike just in sight, but suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand clamps over my mouth, yanking me backward into the bushes.
Lauren
The soft strains of U2’s “Beautiful Day” play in the background, barely audible, but enough to stir a memory. Silas always loved U2. He used to wear their T-shirts back in school, his way of showing off a little edge amidst his otherwise polished appearance. Now, as he drives, he hums quietly along with the song, clearly in a good mood. The lightness in the car is infectious, and for a moment, I let myself relax, watching the landscape blur past the window. Silas is happy—really happy—and it’s a rare thing towitness.
I can’t help but smile to myself.
I packed in a rush, and truthfully, I didn’t have much in my wardrobe suited for a weekend in the Hamptons. With a little creativity, though, I managed to throw together enough outfits so I wouldn’t be mistaken for the help.
The Hamptons, after all, are a different world—hisworld. Silas’s family comes from old money, and I know appearances matter to them. His parents, especially. I remember seeing his mother, Mary, a few times when we were younger—always dressed impeccably, like someone who had stepped out of a magazine. The kind of woman who never had a hair out of place. Silas’s father, on the other hand, was a bit more down-to-earth. He dressed casually, smiled often, and always found a way to contribute generously to the school, like many of the wealthy parents.
“What are you thinking about?” Silas asks, turning down the volume on the music, breaking my reverie.
“Your parents,” I admit. “I was remembering them.”
“And what do you remember?”
There’s a curiosity in his voice, like he’s genuinely interested in what I have to say—a side of Silas that feels new. Unexpected.
I search my mind, letting memories of his family surface. “That your father smiled more than your mother,” I start, recalling the contrast between them. “And that your mother always dressed perfectly. All the other moms hated her for it.” I laugh softly, remembering the petty jealousy that circulated among the school’s parents.
