4. Selene
Selene
The consequences of my actions are biting my tiny ass harder than I deserve.
Yes, I’m probably the villain in Darby's story. We had something great, straight out of a fairytale. And one day, I disappeared without a word and couldn’t look back.
There’s no excuse. That’s excuse enough to justify my actions.
But I do have a reason. A damn good one, by the way. A reason I would stand by till my dying breath.
I don’t think I deserve to be berated like this before people with whom I’m trying to create a good impression. My integrity and abilities were called into question.
It wasn’t fair.
Even if Olivia is my friend, I still need to make a good impression
This was supposed to be my chance to stand on my own two feet. To live a decent life without depending on my brother, uncle, or anyone else. It was my chance to actually do something that mattered.
And that asshole may have just ruined those chances for me.
The hallway feels colder than it should, even though sunlight streams through the tall windows.
There’s a huge lump in my throat growing larger with every step I take towards my room.
I don’t like crying, but I can’t help the tears that sting my eyes as Darby’s words replay in my mind like a song I can’t turn off.
You’re not exactly known for following through. College, for example.
My stomach churns.
What would Olivia think of me now? What would Darby tell them when they asked him questions?
I need a quiet place. I feel like I'm going to crash.
I push the door to my room open and step inside. I start doing my breathing exercises, to calm my nerves and help myself not to get overwhelmed.
I hear a sound in the hallway and turn and close the door, but I meet resistance.
The door pushes open, and Darby steps inside.
My breath catches as I look at him.
He looks at me, too.
He doesn’t say anything. His expression is hard to read. I can’t tell if it’s anger I’m looking at or something else.
He closes the door behind him, and it clicks shut.
“Darby.”
He steps forward, and I step back.
He steps forward again, and I step back again. We keep repeating the cycle till my legs hit the edge of the bed.
“Darby, what are you- “
Before I can finish, he grabs my wrist. His grip is firm but not painful, his skin warm against mine. My heart races as he pulls me toward him.
Then his lips crash into mine.
The world tilts.
He doesn’t exactly kiss me. He just places his lips on mine and keeps it there—his heat presses against me, seeping through our clothes and right into my bones.
The way he’s holding me, although it’s firm, I know I can pull away anytime I want. And his lips remain unmoving for a while.
He’s giving me a chance to retreat. I know I should take it. But I don’t.
I don’t want to.
My body recognizes him and misses him. Wants him.
So slowly, my lips part, and he really starts to kiss me - without restraint, hesitation, or pretense of niceness.
He dives right in with his tongue, invading and exploring my mouth. My knees feel weak, my hands instinctively clutching his shirt to steady myself. The fabric is soft under my fingers, and the muscles beneath it are taut and solid.
His scent is not overwhelming. It’s clean and woodsy, with a hint of something spicy. I remember him stopping wearing heavy perfumes because of me.
My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the logical voice in my head, screaming at me to stop.
But I don’t stop.
I kiss him back, pouring everything into it—anger, hurt, longing, regret. It’s messy and desperate. But I need it.
Suddenly, the kiss isn’t enough for him.
His hands begin to roam. One hand slides up my back, and the other grips my hip. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss even more, and when our tongues meet, a low sound escapes his throat.
It’s primal, almost a growl, sending a shiver through me.
I remember how much I loved that sound, this taste, this smell, and this man.
The edge of the bed presses against the backs of my thighs, and I stumble slightly. Darby follows, his hand bracing my back as I sit. His mouth leaves mine, moving to my jaw, my neck.
My breathing is ragged, my skin burning everywhere he touches.
“Darby,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at me. His green eyes are dark and intense, searching mine.
I should say something, stop this before it goes too far. But I can’t. The words stick in my throat.
Instead, I reach for him, pulling him closer. My fingers tangle in his hair, soft and thick under my touch.
He groans, his mouth finding mine again, and he slows down, changing the rhythm of the kiss.
It’s still needy and desperate, but it’s more sensual now.
His hand moves to my thigh, sliding up under my dress. When his rough hands brush against that sensitive skin, it’s like fuel has been poured on the fire burning inside me.
Every nerve in my body is hot, and my senses are overwhelmed. The fact is, I’m easily overwhelmed. We both know this and it hits me that it must have been why he reduced his pace.
He remembers.
My heart leaps as the thought dawns on me.
The taste of him, the feel of his lips, the weight of his body pressing into mine—it’s all too much, yet not enough.
Eight years.
It’s been eight years since he’s touched me, but the heat that it causes shocks me.
When his fingers brush against the fabric of my panties, I press my hand against his chest. But I’m not pushing him away; I’m pulling him closer.
One hand supports me as I lean back into the bed, and the other holds him close.
When he sees that, the rhythm of the kiss changes again. It’s like he wants to pillage my mouth. There is so much fire and passion I struggle to concentrate on anything else.
His fingers twist in my hair, yanking my head back like he is drowning.
Pain, need, and anger. A whole lot of anger. I remember the weary look in his eyes last night.
Remember.
Yes, I remember why I left and why this is the stupidest thing I could be doing right now. This is wrong. This is all wrong.
I try to push him, but he keeps kissing me.
So, I pull his lower lip between my teeth and bite down hard.
He winces and pulls back. I see the flash of surprise in his green eyes. But he also looks amused. He touches his lip with his thumb, then looks at the blood smeared there.
He smiles.
It’s not a kind smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes my stomach twist.
My breathing is still uneven, my body trembling as I stand up and push him back.
The warmth of his hands lingers on my skin, but I ignore it. My heart pounds in my chest, but not for the same reason it did moments ago. This isn’t passion anymore.
“What the hell are you doing?” I manage to say.
Darby stands there, still smiling, as he looks at me. His hair is a little messy from where my fingers had been, and he adjusts the neck of his shirt. He looks…normal, and it makes me angrier. It seems like this was nothing to him.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, his voice calm, almost bored.
My stomach twists. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He steps back, straightening his shirt like he’s already done with this conversation. “Come on, Selene. Don’t act innocent.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but not the kind that comes from desire. It’s fury now, hot and sharp. “Innocent? What the hell are you talking about?”
He smirks, and the sight of it feels like a slap. That lazy, arrogant look I used to find charming now makes my blood boil.
“I’ve seen you,” he says. His tone is smooth and casual, like he’s discussing the weather. “Cozying up to Olivia, dancing with that stranger yesterday. I know that parties aren’t exactly your scene. But you fit right in yesterday. I know what you’re trying to do.”
Even if I don’t ask him what, he answers.
“Garrett said you were working as a freelancer, which is another word for unemployed. You’re trying to sell yourself and cozy your way into the good graces of the elite here.”
My mouth falls open, disbelief crashing over me like a wave. “What?”
He crosses his arms. “I mean, it’s a tactic. I get it. You use what you’ve got. But don’t act like you’re not playing the game.”
I can’t breathe. For a moment, I stare at him, the words refusing to form. When they finally do, they come out in a rush. “Are you kidding me? You think I’m—” I can’t even say it. The accusation is so absurd, so disgusting, it sticks in my throat.
He shrugs. “That’s what the kiss was for Selene. That’s usually how women buy their way into my good graces. Although I’d have preferred if there was more- “
My hand moves before I can stop it.
The slap lands hard, the sound sharp in the quiet room. His head snaps to the side, and I immediately feel the sting in my palm.
I’m going to be sick.
For a moment, he doesn’t move. Then he turns back to me, his jaw tight, his eyes burning.
“Don’t you…don’t you dare, Darby,” I say, and I swipe angrily at my wet eyes. I don’t want to cry in front of him, but my heart hurts so much.
“Don’t you dare look down on my hard work. I know I messed up, but I won’t let you treat me like I’m some kind of…” I can’t finish. My throat closes, my hands trembling.
He doesn’t say anything, but his expression shifts. The arrogance fades, replaced by something else. Regret? Shame?
I don’t know. I don’t fucking care.
“I don’t know what happened to you,” I continue, my voice breaking. “You used to be kind. You used to be someone I—”
I stop myself, swallowing hard.
“You’re obviously not that person anymore,” I say finally. “You’ve become spiteful and bitter and broken.”
His jaw tightens, and he clenches his fist. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I don’t give him the chance.
“I never want to see you again,” I say
Then I walk past him to the door. My legs feel like they will give out but I push them with sheer determination. I open the door. “Get the fuck out.”