Chapter 4
Khalee
“Does this look… smooth to you?”
We’ve just arrived at the address her friend sent, and, as I expected, the party is far from smooth. I should be executed just for the thought of coming. Yet I’m always the same stupid girl who can’t say no.
Mada parked her car a few blocks down the road, and now we’re standing in front of a house where people come and go, music blaring through the windows. The lights flash erratically, illuminating a scene that feels more chaotic than celebratory.
“Surprise,” Mada sings, her voice light and teasing as she gestures toward the house.
My stomach drops.
The world around me shifts, tilts, and cracks wide open.
Because, of course, she did this on purpose.
I know better. I should have known better.
I should have walked away the second she refused to tell me, again, who was coming. Should have trusted the gut feeling that screamed at me the moment I heard his voice in the background of her call.
But I didn’t say no. I came, and now, I’m here. And I can’t breathe.
“Well…” Mada mutters beside me, hesitation clear in her voice.
Maybe she was expecting something more grown-up, I try to convince myself, maybe, a small gathering, a dinner among friends, something civilized. But the truth stares back at us: neither Patrick nor James has grown up.
What we’re witnessing is a frat party reincarnated.
Fucking assholes.
Mada tightens her grip on her phone like a lifeline, and then it rings. I don’t even need to ask who’s calling.
James.
His voice is loud, too loud, spilling through the speaker like oil. I feel it coating my skin, suffocating me, dragging me back.
And then Mada smiles. She lights up for him. It’s pathetic.
I know how much she cared for that piece of garbage, how much she still cares, and the realization makes my stomach churn. She’s too blind to see what he is, what they all are.
Fuck. My. Life.
Mada shouts back at him, her voice playful, while signaling for me to follow her inside.
I don’t want to. Every part of me screams to turn around, to leave. But I don’t. I can’t.
The air inside is thick, buzzing with the weight of bodies and bad decisions. It smells like beer, cheap perfume, and something stale underneath it all, something rotten.
The music pounds in my ears, and I fight the rising nausea in my throat. The energy in the house is off. It’s festive, sure, but beneath the surface, there’s something sick. A filth that no amount of booze or cheap laughter can camouflage.
And then I hear them. James and Patrick, but the so-called warm welcome they give us does nothing to ease the ice crawling down my spine. I don’t want to be here. I shouldn’t be here.
And then, as if my body knows before my mind can catch up, my gaze lands on him.
Mark.
Fantastic.
Fucking Mark is here.
My body locks up.
My pulse roars in my ears.
I shrink into myself, trying to disappear. But it’s too late.
His dark eyes sweep the room, land on me. And he smiles. That grin, smug and knowing, sets my skin on fire in the worst way.
I want to leave. I need to go.
But Mada’s joy keeps me stuck.
She’s laughing with James, her hand on his arm, her whole body turned toward him.
And just like that, I know.
She didn’t just invite me. She set me up.
A fresh wave of nausea rolls through me, but I swallow it down.
Keep it together Khalee.
Patrick approaches me with that “I own the world” smile, blond hair, a perfectly pressed shirt, and the same old arrogance wrapped in expensive cologne.
“Welcome back, little witch. We missed you.” The way he says it, too knowing, too amused, makes my skin crawl.
My jaw tightens.
“So, what would you like to drink?” he asks, like he’s offering me a favor instead of poison.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” I snap, sharper than I mean to. I don’t care. I’ve never liked Patrick. I never understood why so many girls fell for him, because to me, he’s always been a snake in designer clothes.
And then Mark comes over too, slithering in like he also owns the world—just like always—with two neon-colored drinks in his hands, and he sits beside me. Way too close.
His scruffy beard, the smugness in his eyes, the way he leans into my space like he’s entitled to it… my stomach rolls.
The air thickens.
The music fades.
Flashes of that night flicker through my mind.
No.
Not now. Not here.
I dig my nails into my palms, trying to pull myself back to the present.
The conversation around me dissolves into meaningless noise. Laughter. Music. A hum of voices, blending into nothing. But Mark’s voice cuts through it all, his presence a suffocating weight.
He wants me to feel this way.
I ignore him, scanning the room for something, anything, to anchor myself.
And then, I feel it.
An invisible pull.
A thread tightening in my chest.
My breath catches in my lungs.
A pair of green eyes, watching me.
Not just watching, seeing me.
My world tilts.
“It can’t be…” I whisper, barely audible over the pounding music, and push to my feet, my chest tightening, my vision blurring at the edges.
He looks older. More tired. But those emerald-green eyes, the color of a forest at dawn, are unmistakable.
It’s him. It has to be.
I move before I can think, my body drawn forward.
Nothing else matters.
Not the crowd.
Not the noise.
Not even Mark.
But just as I move to reach him, almost hypnotized with what I’m seeing, Mark blocks my path.
His face is too close, his smirk curling in satisfaction. “You’re still beautiful, Khal,” he sneers. “Should we prepare for round two?”
The words hit like a physical blow.
Ice floods my veins, and my body locks up again.
“Get the fuck away from me.” The words come out low, steady, cold.
He grins. Loving my reaction. “Keep it cool, sweetheart,” he coos mockingly. “Or do you want Mada to know you’re a whore just like her?”
Something inside me snaps.
My fists curl. My pulse roars in my ears.
“Keep my sister’s name out of your fucking mouth.” My voice shakes with rage. “Just because I kept quiet doesn’t mean I forgot.”
Mark’s grin stretches wider, dark and cruel. “Of course you didn’t forget. How could you? It was probably the best night of your life.”
The world collapses inward.
The air turns thicker, even more suffocating.
Blood pounds in my skull. My vision sharpens, locking onto his face, his fucking face, and the way he feeds off my reaction. He wants me to break because he likes it.
A sick part of him is thriving off the fear and rage tangling inside my chest.
And for a split second, I want to destroy him.
But then, the green eyes.
Still watching. Still pulling.
And just like that, he becomes my tether, and I force myself to breathe.
To not let Mark win.
“You’re not worth it,” I whisper and shove past Mark, my heart hammering, desperate for the only real thing in this room.
But when I look up, He’s gone.
My stomach plummets.
No.
It was him.
I finally found him.
And now, just like before, I’ve lost him.