Emily
I didn't look back as I walked up the steps and into the house, but I felt it, his gaze on me.
Only when the door closed behind me did I exhale.
I leaned my forehead briefly against the wood, eyes shut, my breath coming out shaky.
One night, I thought bitterly. One single night, and my perfectly calm life has been completely dismantled.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
I kicked off my shoes and straightened, smoothing my clothes as if that could also smooth the chaos inside me. My body still felt… aware. Sensitive in ways I didn't want to acknowledge. Every step I took reminded me of what had happened—not just last night, but in that car.
I was still processing it when I sensed someone behind me.
"You look… different."
I froze.
Lily's voice was unmistakable—smooth, sharp, laced with something smug.
I turned slowly.
She stood near the hallway entrance, arms crossed, perfectly put together. Her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. There was something glinting in her gaze—pride, arrogance, satisfaction.
My stomach tightened.
"What do you want, Lily?" I asked, too tired to mask my irritation.
She tilted her head, studying me openly, as if I were something she'd already won. "Relax. I just got home too."
Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle.
I frowned. "So?"
She laughed softly. "God, you really don't know, do you?"
I didn't respond. I didn't have the energy to engage in one of her games. I turned away, intending to head upstairs, but she stepped forward, blocking my path.
"Oh no," she said lightly. "You don't get to walk away just yet."
I sighed. "Lily, I'm exhausted."
"That's funny," she replied. "You shouldn't be. Nathan kept me company all night."
The words landed slowly.
I blinked. "What?"
Her smile widened. "We were together. The entire night."
I stared at her, confused. "Okay… and?"
She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Emily, do I have to spell everything out for you?"
A strange, cold feeling crept into my chest.
"You were supposed to spend the night with Nathan."
The world tilted.
"What?" I whispered.
Lily stepped closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "After the engagement dinner. That was the arrangement. Everyone knew. Nathan's mother, especially."
My heart dropped.
"No," I said automatically. "That's not—"
She scoffed. "Oh, it is. How could not even notice, it was so obvious. Why do you think they insisted you stay the night?. To play house?"
The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity.
No wonder Nathan's mother kept asking about my night.
My breath grew shallow.
I felt lightheaded.
I knew nothing.
Nathan must have known.
He must have known and decided it wasn't important enough to tell me.
My hands clenched into fists.
"And Adrian…" I breathed.
Lily raised an eyebrow. "What about him?"
I barely heard her.
Adrian must have known too.
The thought slammed into me with full force.
How dare he?
How dare he bring me into his bed—into his car—knowing that if Nathan's parents had decided to check on me, if they had walked down that hallway, they would have found me in bed with him.
My chest tightened painfully.
Lily was still talking, her voice sharp and triumphant, but I barely registered the words.
"…honestly, Emily, if you can't even do the bare minimum—"
I lifted my head.
"I don't have the strength for this," I said quietly.
She stopped.
"What?"
"I'm tired," I continued, my voice flat. "And I'm not interested in whatever this is."
I stepped around her.
"Hey!" she snapped, grabbing my arm.
I pulled away, not even looking at her.
Her face twisted in anger. "You think you're better than me?"
I didn't answer.
That was enough to make her furious.
She stared after me, seething, her pride bruised by my indifference.
I didn't look back.
My room felt strangely small.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion I'd been holding back all day. My heart was still racing, my thoughts tangled and sharp.
I crossed the room slowly and sat on the edge of my bed.
Only then did I notice it.
The ache.
It wasn't painful—not exactly—but deep, lingering, unfamiliar. My body felt heavy, oversensitive, like it was still responding to something that had already ended.
I swallowed hard.
The memory of the car—the way the air had thickened, the way Adrian's voice had dropped, the way my body had betrayed me—washed over me again.
I pressed my thighs together instinctively, then froze.
What is wrong with me?
I stood abruptly and went to the mirror.
I looked… normal.
And yet I wasn't.
I touched my neck lightly, checking instinctively for marks, then my collarbone, then stopped myself, heat rushing to my face.
This can't happen again, I told myself.
But even as I thought it, my body still hummed with awareness.
I changed quickly, pulling on something soft and loose, desperate for comfort. The bed looked inviting, overwhelming in its promise of escape.
I collapsed onto it without bothering to turn on the lights.
My phone buzzed.
I froze.
I didn't need to check to know who it was.
I turned it face down.
Not now.
My thoughts spiraled.
Nathan's mother had known.
Nathan had known.
Adrian had known.
And still, he had taken me anyway.
Anger flared—sharp, sudden.
How dare he decide for me.
But beneath the anger was something worse.
A tremor of fear.
Because part of me knew—knew with terrifying certainty—that if he asked again, I wouldn't be able to say no.
My body ached again, deep and insistent, as if reminding me.
I curled onto my side, pulling the blanket over myself.
This was never supposed to happen.
I was supposed to marry Nathan quietly, live peacefully, avoid complications.
Instead, I was entangled with a man who looked at me like a possession, who spoke of missing me after hours, who didn't care about consequences.
My eyelids grew heavy.
The house was silent.
Lily's anger downstairs felt distant now, unimportant.
My body relaxed despite myself, fatigue winning over guilt and fear.
As sleep crept in, one final thought slipped through my mind—unwanted and undeniable.
Adrian didn't just disrupt my life.
He claimed it.
And that thought followed me into darkness.