Lia couldn't breathe. Every nerve in her body felt electrified, as if Damien's nearness had rewired her. Her phone buzzed again, the screen showing his name—or rather, the blocked number, daring her to answer.
Her fingers hovered, trembling, before she finally picked it up.
"Tonight. You know what I mean. Don't keep me waiting."
She dropped the phone into her lap, heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst through her chest.
And then the knock came. Slow. Deliberate. Irresistible.
Her room felt smaller, every shadow suddenly a potential danger—or a temptation. She opened the door just a crack, and there he was: Damien, smoldering in the dim light, eyes dark, lips curved into a teasing, infuriating smirk.
"You came," he murmured, stepping inside before she could protest.
Her hands instinctively rose to block the doorway, but it was useless. He was already too close, the air between them crackling.
"I shouldn't—" she began, but his hand brushed hers, and the spark shot straight to her core.
"You shouldn't what?" His voice was silk and steel. "Say it."
Her throat tightened. Words failed her. She could feel him leaning in, heat radiating off him in waves, every inch closer a delicious torment.
And then—bam.
The door slammed open again, and Evan appeared, eyes blazing, body rigid, a dangerous calm that made her stomach flip.
"You two… alone?" His voice was low, cutting through the tension like a knife.
Damien froze mid-step, eyes flicking to Evan, then back to her. Lia's heart leaped into her throat. The triangle was fully, explosively alive.
"Apparently," Damien said smoothly, masking the irritation with his trademark smirk.
Evan stepped closer, shadowed in the hallway light. Lia's pulse raced. Every instinct screamed danger, yet every irrational part of her body ached for both.
The tension was unbearable. Damien's gaze burned into her, Evan's silently daring her to react. Her hands shook, her lips tingled.
And then, just as she thought she could get control, something slid under the door. A small envelope. Her name written in Damien's perfect, teasing handwriting.
She tore it open with trembling hands. Inside, a single line:
"Meet me on the rooftop. Midnight. Don't be late."
Her stomach dropped. Midnight? Alone? Damien? The temptation, the fear, the forbidden thrill—they collided inside her like wildfire.
She looked up at Damien and Evan. Both were watching, both expecting something. She couldn't tell who was more dangerous, more irresistible.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. Every choice felt like a trap. Every heartbeat pulled her closer to the edge.
And then Damien whispered, right in her ear, so close she could feel the brush of his lips:
"You'll thank me later."
Her knees weakened. She wanted to collapse into him, scream, protest, laugh—everything at once. She didn't even know what she wanted anymore.
The room spun. The heat, the tension, the forbidden attraction… it was too much.