"We have to talk about that text," Daniel said, driving us away from the courthouse.
His knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel. That vein in his jaw was throbbing, the one that never made an appearance unless he was either infuriated or working really hard to be restrained from kissing me.
I was counting on furious at the moment.
"Your stepmother," he went on, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "What's that got to do with anything?"
I seethed with every encounter I'd had with Patricia Miller, the woman who'd married my father two years earlier and slithered into our lives with her daughter in tow, a beautiful, slimy snake.
"She's never had much interest in me. Distant. But I don't think that is a matter of forging new futures, but simply…" He trails off and sounded baffled.
"Damned cold to have arranged her daughter's psychotic collapse?
The question sat in the air like cigarette smoke.
"I need to call my dad. Warn him." I hand scrambled for my phone and Daniels hand covered mine.
The contact zapped electricity up my arm. And even now, when I was so scared, his touch set my skin on fire.
"Not yet," he said quietly. "Not until we have a better idea of what we're dealing with. If your stepmother is somehow complicit, at a minimum, confronting her directly might not be safe."
He was right. He was always right.
"Take me to your office." I said out of nowhere.
Daniel's jaw clenched tighter. "Brooklyn, I just got rehire. If people see us there,"
"It's seven PM. The building will be empty." I turned in my seat and looked at him. "Please, Daniel. I'm not going home without knowing if she is there. And my dorm no longer feels safe."
Our eyes met at a red light. I saw the war in those blue eyes, professional reticence versus personal onus. Responsibility versus desire.
Desire won.
He sighed in defeat. "Fine," he said. "But we should be careful."
The psychology building became a tomb of silence.
It was dead quiet and our footsteps echoed in the empty corridors as Daniel escorted me to his office on the third floor. Each shadow seemed threatening. Behind every closed door might be danger.
He opened his office door, tugging me in and locking it.
Click.
That sound—the lock engaging, felt final. Decisive. It felt like we were crossing a line we'd been dancing around for months.
His office appeared unchanged as ever. Books everywhere. Papers scattered. His cologne, the faint scent of it — that woodsy, expensive cologne smell that tormented my dreams.
But everything felt different now.
"So," Daniel said, all but perched on his desk in a totally unfair manner. "Your stepmother. What do you know about her?"
I paced around trying to order my thoughts, tried not to imagine how sexy he looked in that suit, his shirt a little untucked, the cut of his hair ever so slightly thrown from running a hand through it.
Focus, Brooklyn.
"My dad married her two years ago. Brought Scarlett. They've always been... intense together. Scarlett has always been desperate for her mother's approval." The shards started to fit together like a hideous jigsaw puzzle. "Oh my God. What if Patricia made her do all of this? What if she's been playing Scarlett all along?"
"But why?"
"My dad's life insurance. His will. I'm the primary beneficiary." Ice flooded my veins. "But if something happened to me, if I went to jail or I got shamed or I died."
"It passes to his wife," Daniel concluded, scowling. "Your stepmother."
"My dad could be in danger. I... I have to." I gasped for air. Panic clawed at my throat. "I need to call him, I need to."
"Hey." Suddenly, Daniel was in front of me, his hands cupping my face and bringing me back to earth. "Breathe, Brooklyn. Just breathe."
I focused on his eyes. The electric blue eyes that had hooked me from the very first night at the bar.
"I'm scared," I whispered.
"I know. Me too." His thumb stroked my cheek. "But we're together now. No more hiding. No more pretending. We face this together."
"Together," I repeated.
And suddenly, that fear was replaced by something else entirely.
Maybe it was the adrenaline. Perhaps it was simply the relief of liberation. Maybe it was the accumulated months of denial finally snapping.
Whatever it was, the moment I glanced at Daniel all I wanted was him.
"Brooklyn," he murmured, understanding my look. "We should."
I kissed him.
Not soft. Not tentative. Desperate. Hungry. Weeks of restrained desire coming out like a bomb.
I grabbed him closer to me, clutching his shirt with my fingers. His arms closed around my waist and he jerked me toward him.
"We can't," he breathed against my mouth, but then kissed me again. "Not here. Not now."
"Why not?" I drew back just enough to look into his eyes. "You're not my professor anymore. We just won. We're finally free."
"The dean said."
"I don't give a shit what the dean said." I kissed him harder. "I don't care about the rules. I almost died, Daniel. We almost died. And all I could think is how much time we've lost."
Something in him snapped.
His control shattered like glass.
He pivoted us, setting me up on his desk in a single seamless gesture. Papers scattered. Books tumbled. I didn't care.
His lips claimed mine once more, rough, desperate yet demanding. His hands traveled up my thighs, hiking my skirt higher, and oh my God.
"Do you even know," he moaned against my neck, "what you do to me? How difficult it has been to not touch you?
"Show me," I breathed.
His mouth crashed into mine. This wasn't conscientious, inoffensive Daniel from class. This was the guy from the bar — primal, uncontrolled man in a barely held back minute.
I fumbled with his shirt buttons. His lips were fire along my throat. Every tug set something deep and primal inside me afire, something that had slowly kindled the day we'd met.
We were a mess of grabby hands and hot kisses. Months of denial exploding into raw longing.
"We should to stop," Daniel said, but his hands did not agree, they were learning by heart. "Anyone could walk in."
"The door's locked," I reminded him, pulling on his shirt. "Everyone's gone. It's just us."
"Just us," he echoed.
And then he kissed me as if he were drowning and I was air.
I arched my back as his mouth located sensitive skin. His hands charted every curve as though he was learning me by heart. Outside this office, there was nothing , no Scarlett, no threats to anyone, no world.
Just us.
Just this.
Just—
RING.
A phone. Shrill. Jarring. Cruel.
We leaned dizzily against the partition, panting, reality crashing back like a splash of cold water.
Daniel's phone. On the floor. Vibrating. Mocking us.
"Forget that," I murmured, but he was already wrenching his face out of mine and dragging a hand through rumpled hair.
"I can't. Not after," He reached for his phone, all longing fled from his face. "It's Detective Carter."
He answered. Speaker phone. "Detective?"
"Professor Anderson, I'm sorry to say this but we have a situation."
Five words. Five words that destroyed everything.
"Scarlett made bail again. Her mother just uploaded it an hour ago. And she's disappeared."
My blood turned to ice.
"What do you mean disappeared?" My voice sounded foreign.
SP cut GPS monitor off 30 minutes ago. Last location near the courthouse." Detective Carter paused. "Miss Miller, your father is he home by this time?"
"I—I don't know. Why?"
"Someone triggered your house alarm. Police are on the way, but … we believe Scarlett may be heading there."
I was already in motion, reaching for my coat, my bag, my phone.
"We need to go," I said. "Now."
Daniel was right behind me, shirt still unbuttoned, hair mussed, sex and danger and desperation.
We ran.
Through empty hallways. Down stairs. Into the parking lot. Into his car.
"He should call your father," Daniel said, skidding out of the parking lot.
With trembling hands, I fumbled for my phone, hardly able to punch in the numbers.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"Dad," pick up, please pick up, please. "
Voicemail.
"Dad, it's Brook. If you're home, get out. Now. Scarlett's coming. Just please call me back."
Daniel's fingers were white against the steering wheel. "Carte's meeting us there. Ten minutes."
"That might be too late." Tears streamed down my face. "Daniel, oh please let him be all right."
"Nothing's going to happen. We'll get there in time."
But I heard the lie in his voice. Saw the fear in his eyes.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
My heart stopped.
Unknown: Tick tock, Brooklyn. Well, let's see how fast you can run. Your father's waiting. Along with mine. One big happy family reunion. Hoping you make it there before the fireworks begin. -S
A photo loaded.
My father. Bound to a chair. Tape over his mouth. Terror in his eyes.
Scarlett behind him. Knife to his throat.
My stepmother beside her. Smiling. That cold, cruel smile.
And there in the corner, some barely discernible figure.
A man I didn't recognize.
Tall. Dark hair. Calculating eyes.
"Oh my God," I whispered, and showed Daniel the photo. "They have him. And there's someone else. Someone we don't know."
Daniel's foot slammed the accelerator. The speedometer climbed.
Sixty.
Seventy.
Eighty.
"Hold on," he said grimly.
My phone buzzed again.
Another photo.
The mystery man's face. Clear this time. Unmistakable.
And with horror — pure, soul-shuddering horror, I knew who he was.
It was the bartender.
The man who'd poured Daniel and me drinks that first night.
The night we met.
The night everything started.
He'd been there. At the beginning. Watching. Planning.
Unknown: Surprise! Oh, so you thought that "chance meeting" of yours was destiny at play? How adorable. We've been plotting this since the day Patricia married your father. Every moment. Every encounter. Even your dear professor was designed for the plan. See you soon, Brooklyn. Don't keep Daddy waiting. -S
The world tilted.
Nothing was real.
Nothing had ever been real.
The love of my life, the thing I'd given everything up for, had been fabricated. Staged. Manipulation, from the get-go.
I looked at Daniel. "Did you know?"
"What? No! Brooklyn."
"That bartender served us drinks. He was there. He pushed us together." I was getting hysterical, hysteria sort of seeping in. "What if you were involved in this? What if?"
"Brooklyn, I swear to God I didn't know. I have never seen that man prior to that night."
"How can I believe you? How can I even trust anything?
"Because I love you!" Daniel shouted. "Because everything I feel is real! Because."
His phone rang again. Carter.
"We just got the 911 call," the detective replied, voice taut. "Your house. Someone's inside. Armed. Hostage situation. SWAT is."
Daniel hung up and drove faster.
We didn't speak. Couldn't speak.
The only sound was the engine crying and my heart breaking.