And then he was gone.
Which was what I wanted. Of course it was.
My skin still buzzed, sensitive and flushed, every nerve ending simmering in the aftermath. But beneath that was something else. Not calm. Not peace.
Something... restless.
Somethingoff.
It was like my body had gotten what it needed, but my brain had missed the memo. Because it wouldn't stop spinning—around and around like a ceiling fan on full blast, whipping thoughts in every direction.
What the hell was I doing?
That man. That voice. Those words. We were talking about Tristan fucking Hawthorne here.Tristan Hawthorne.
My high school bully. The boy who had made my teenage years hell. The reason I still flinched when I looked at old photos. The boy who'd given me nightmares for years with the stunt he'd pulled.
And now... now I'd just let him make me come with nothing but his voice and memories of that one night. He'd said things that made my heart stutter, things I wanted to believe, desperately, stupidly wanted to believe.
No. Nope. No.
I sat up too fast, my heart thudding hard in my chest. Too hard.
This wasn't the plan. This wasn't part of the plan.
I was supposed to toy with him, make him fall for me, make himhurtthe way I had. And instead? I'd gone all soft and melted like butter at just the sound of his voice.
God.
Pressing my hands to my face, I groaned into them. I felt hot and clammy, like I couldn't get enough air. My chest was tight, my skin too warm, my thoughts all tangled and fraying at the edges.
What was wrong with me?
Work had been insane. I hadn't slept more than four hours a night in over a week. There were fittings to finish, deadlines looming, and now I had this stupidmesson top of it all, this ridiculous, dangerous game I couldn't stop playing.
Except it didn't feel like a game anymore.
Because Tristan wasn't supposed to be this sweet, this charming, this human. He wasn't supposed to apologize for things he didn't even know he'd done, or call me beautiful like he meant it, or sound genuinely wrecked just from hearing me breathe.
He was supposed to be a villain.
Flopping back on the bed, I stared at the ceiling, the kind of stare where your eyes are open, but you're not really seeing anything.
I was in too deep. I knew it. And that was the part that scared me.
The last thing in the world I'd expected was for him to be like this.
He'd talked about Archie like he was trying to fix the past and create a real home for him. He'd listened to my pain without even knowing it was his fault. He'd said he didn't want this to end.
And maybe...maybea part of me didn't want it to either. A stupid, naïve part.
But it didn't matter. Not anymore.
Because this game I was playing? It had to come to an end. Soon. Before I fell even deeper.
Someone was going to get hurt. And this time, I vowed it wasn't going to be me.
Twenty-Three
