Page 2 of You Were Always Mine
“Kai.”
Her voice is flat, unimpressed—but her throat works when she swallows. “You’re lurking.”
I smirk, because she’s not wrong. “I live here. Not my fault you prowl the halls half-naked.”
Her eyes narrow, that dangerous blue slicing into me. “Don’t watch me.”
“As if I could stop.”
The words slip out before I can choke them back—low and certain—and for one perfect second she falters, lips parting like she doesn’t know what to say.
Then she scoffs, rolls her eyes, and brushes past me. Her shoulder grazes my arm—a deliberate little act of defiance—and the scent of her shampoo, dark berries and something floral, claws down my throat.
I watch her until she disappears into the bathroom andshuts the door, and I can’t help it—my mouth curves into that wrong smile again.
She can tell me not to look.
She can tell me not to want.
Scarlett doesn’t know what it means to be mine yet.
The bathroom light spills under the door, humming faintly, and I stand there too long like a freak until I catch myself and force my body back down the hall. My room is supposed to feel safe, but it doesn’t—not when hers is so close. I push the door half-shut, sit on the edge of my bed, and rake my hands through my hair until my scalp stings.
Five minutes later she comes out, steam curling around her, skin flushed from the heat, damp hair tangled down her back. She stops when she sees my door cracked and glares at me like she knows I’m watching again.
“You don’t sleep, do you?”
Her voice is soft but edged like glass.
“Not when you’re stomping around at midnight.”
Her brow arches. “Stomping? I was brushing my teeth.”
I smirk, leaning back on my hands. “Sounded louder from here.”
Scarlett shakes her head, muttering something under her breath as she passes. She doesn’t slam her door, though. She never slams it. She leaves it half-shut, just like always, and I feel the pull like a chain around my throat.
I should let it go. I should close my own door, bury my face in a pillow, pretend I’m normal—but instead I rise, pad down the hall, and knock lightly against her frame.
“Seriously?” she says, voice muffled but sharp.
I push the door open an inch, carefully, like I’m testing her. She’s perched on the bed cross-legged in those tinyshorts, scrolling on her phone, the blue glow lighting her cheekbones. She looks up and frowns.
“What do you want?”
I shrug, leaning against the doorframe like it’s casual. “Just making sure you don’t get scared of the dark.”
Scarlett snorts, shoving her hair back. “You’re the only scary thing in this house.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “Good. Then you’ll keep your door locked.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why would I need to?”
Because I’d break it down if you did. I’d crawl inside just to hear the way you gasp when you realise you’re not safe with me.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I tilt my head. “You tell me.”
