Scarlett
Ican still feel him.
On my skin.
In my head.
Every time I close my eyes, it’s his mouth, his hands, his voice, his weight pressing me down into the mattress until I can’t breathe.
I should hate him for it. God, I do hate him for it — but the shame is worse. The sick truth that part of me wants more.
I throw myself onto the bed, yanking the blanket up to my chin like I can smother the memory, but the phone lights up beside me.
TYLER: You still mad at me?
I bite my lip hard enough to sting. He doesn’t know. He can’t. He thinks I’m mad about his stupid jokes, his hands wandering — not the fact that every guy who touches me feels wrong unless it’s Kai.
ME: I’m not mad.
The typing bubble pops up instantly. My pulse races.
TYLER: Good. Then let me make it up to you. Tomorrow night. A movie. Just us.
I stare at the screen until the words blur. My heart is pounding, my chest aching. Tyler is safe, normal, everything I’m supposed to want.
But Kai’s voice is still in my head — snarling, filthy: You’re mine. You’ll never take another man.
I swipe at my wet cheeks, forcing my thumbs to move.
ME: Fine. A movie.
The second I hit send, I regret it. My stomach twists, my hands shake, but the message is gone — glowing on the screen like a promise I don’t know how to keep.
And then the door slams downstairs. His voice echoes through the house — low, sharp, already inside my head again before he even reaches the stairs.
I shove the phone under my pillow, my whole body trembling, as if Kai can smell Tyler’s name on my skin.
My pulse stutters — too loud in my ears — because I can feel him before I see him. Kai fills the doorway, broad shoulders, jaw tight, eyes darker than the room behind him.
‘Who were you smiling at?’ His voice is flat — casual in the way a knife looks harmless until it’s pressed against skin.
My throat sticks. ‘Nobody.’
He steps in, shuts the door behind him, and the sound clicks like a lock. He doesn’t move closer, but he doesn’t have to. His gaze strips me bare.
‘You don’t smile at nobody.’
I roll onto my side, back to him, clutching the pillow like it can shield me. ‘Not everything’s about you, Kai. You’re not the centre of the world.’
He exhales sharply — like smoke — and for a second I think he’s going to let it go. Then the mattress dips under his weight, the heat of him burning at my back.
‘Maybe not the world.’ His breath ghosts my ear, low and lethal. ‘But I’m the centre of yours. Don’t think I don’t see it.’
I flinch, hating that my body betrays me with a shiver. ‘You’re delusional.’
‘Then prove it.’ His hand grips the pillow, yanking it out of my arms and tossing it aside. ‘Tell me who you were texting.’
The lie is ready on my tongue — Tyler’s name swallowed like poison — but my voice cracks anyway. ‘It’s none of your business.’
The silence after that is unbearable. Thick. Suffocating. The kind that makes you wonder if the storm will break into thunder or pass you by.
He doesn’t reach under the pillow. He doesn’t need to.
Kai just leans closer, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, his breath brushing hot against my ear. My pulse stutters — traitorous — as if my body doesn’t remember how much I hate him, how much I need to hate him.
‘Who were you smiling at, Scar?’ His whisper cuts like smoke — slow, dangerous. ‘Because it sure as fuck wasn’t me.’
I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my face to stay blank, my fists to stay clenched around the sheets — but he doesn’t move. He presses his forehead to mine, his mouth hovering so close I can taste the whisky on his tongue, and it makes my stomach clench with shame.
‘You think I don’t notice?’ His voice drags lower — a filthy growl. ‘Every time you look at that phone, every time your lips twitch like some other guy deserves that smile — it makes me want to break something. Makes me want to break him.’
My throat burns, my breath coming in little shudders, because his words aren’t empty threats. I know it. I feel it.
‘It’s none of your business,’ I manage, though it comes out small, cracked.
His laugh is soft. Cruel. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, little sister. You are my business. Every look. Every breath. Every secret. Especially the ones you’re trying so hard to hide.’
His hand ghosts over my hip — not touching, just hovering — his fingers curling like he’s holding himself back. ‘So, you gonna tell me his name… or you want me to keep leaning closer until you do?’
I swallow hard, the air between us too hot, too close, and when I finally find my voice, it’s shaky but sharp — the kind of blade you don’t realise cuts until you’re already bleeding.
‘Why do you care?’ My eyes flick up, meeting his in the dark. ‘I’m just your sister, right?’
The word feels poisonous on my tongue, but I spit it out anyway, watching the muscle in his jaw twitch.
His breath hitches, his forehead still pressed to mine, and for a second I swear he flinches.
‘You wanted to forget the car,’ I push, my voice cracking but loud enough to matter. ‘Forget me. Pretend it never happened. Isn’t that what you said?’
Silence.
The kind that crushes. That coils around my throat tighter than his hand ever could.
His stare is piercing, impossible to decipher, but his body shakes, his jaw tight as he fights to hold back his words.
I wait for him to break.
To snap.
To prove me right.
But all he does is lean closer, his lips brushing my cheek — not a kiss, just heat and threat and something I can’t name — and then he whispers, low, ragged:
‘Don’t ever say that shit to me again.’
His breath shudders out of him, rough against my cheek, and then it snaps, low and raw. ‘Fuck, Scarlett. You know why.’
My chest tightens, every nerve strung taut, but before I can answer, his hand slams into the mattress beside my head, caging me in. His voice sharpens, slicing straight through me.
‘You know. But that doesn’t mean you get to smile at anyone else.’
The words hit like fire — jealousy dripping from every syllable — but his tone is cold. So cold I can barely breathe. His eyes are glassy, unbreakable, even as his jaw grinds like he’s seconds from snapping in half.
I laugh — bitter, broken. ‘So what? You get to have your girls draped all over you while I—what? Sit here like some good little secret?’
His nostrils flare. He leans in closer until his lips almost graze mine, his voice a deadly whisper.
‘Don’t twist this. Don’t you dare. Those girls don’t mean shit. You don’t smile at anyone else, Scar. Not him. Not anyone. That’s mine.’
My throat burns. My heart pounds. He’s shaking, and I can feel it in the way his body presses into mine — but his eyes stay cold, detached, as if none of this is cracking him open.
I whisper, broken, ‘Then what am I supposed to do?’
For a moment — silence. His forehead presses harder against mine, his breath ragged. Then he answers, flat and merciless:
‘Pretend. Like you always do.’
I shove at his chest — harder than I mean to — but I need him off me. I need space, because his silence is worse than anything he could have said.
‘God, Kai, you don’t even want me,’ I spit, my voice ragged, venom dripping from every word. ‘But nobody else can have me, right? That’s the game. You don’t want me — but you’ll ruin me for everyone else just to keep me in your cage.’
His eyes flash — sharp and dangerous — but I don’t stop. I can’t. The anger tastes too bitter, too good.
‘You wanted to be my brother so badly?’ I snarl, tears burning down my face. ‘Then just fucking be my brother. Go back to ignoring me. Go back to pretending I don’t exist. That’s what you’re good at.’
My hands are shaking, my throat raw, but I drive the blade deeper, because I need to hurt him like he’s been tearing me apart piece by piece.
‘Stop acting like you own me. Stop acting like you care. You don’t — you never did.’
The words hang heavy in the air, vibrating with everything I don’t mean and everything I do, and for a heartbeat he looks like I’ve gutted him.
The silence lasts one beat too long — long enough for me to believe maybe I’d finally cut him deep enough to make him leave.
Then he moves.
Fast. Brutal.
His hand slams against the wall by my head, the crack making me flinch, and then he’s in my space — chest to chest — his other hand clamping around my wrist and pinning it above me.
‘You think I don’t fucking want you?’ His voice is a growl, torn raw, like he’s bleeding it out of himself. His breath scorches my cheek, his forehead pressed hard to mine, shaking with fury.
‘You think I can breathe when you look at someone else? That I don’t lie awake at night replaying every time you smiled at him instead of me?’
His grip tightens on my wrist — not enough to bruise, but enough to remind me he could if he wanted to. His body cages mine, his lips brushing close without taking, his whole frame trembling like he’s barely holding himself back.
‘I don’t get to just be your brother any more, Scar,’ he hisses, voice breaking. ‘You ruined that. You fucking ruined me.’
And for the first time, I see it — the crack beneath all his cold. The truth he’s been trying to bury — raw, violent, trembling right in front of me.
The words hit harder than his grip, harder than the wall behind me. My chest caves before I can stop it, my mouth twisting, the anger breaking into something uglier — something I can’t hold down any more.
Tears spill fast — hot, blinding — and I hate it. I hate that he sees me like this: ruined, small, weak.
‘Kai…’ My voice shatters, and then I’m sobbing, my body trembling against the wall he’s pinned me to.
His whole expression changes. The fury stays, but it twists — gutted — like my tears are worse than any blade I could’ve driven into him.
‘Fuck, Scar…’ His voice breaks, low and sharp, and suddenly his hand is off my wrist, dragging down to my face. His thumb brushes under my eyes, wiping away the wetness even as more spills over.
‘Don’t cry for me,’ he whispers, fierce, his breath hot against my mouth. ‘Don’t fucking cry, Scar. I don’t deserve your fucking tears.’
But his hand won’t stop moving — tracing my cheek, catching every tear — like he can’t help himself. His forehead presses harder to mine, his jaw tight, his chest heaving with the same wreck I feel tearing through me.
I choke on another sob, and he curses again under his breath — his thumb dragging over my lips this time like he wants to swallow the sound.
For a moment I think he’s going to break with me — stay pressed against me until I fall apart completely. His thumb trembles on my lips, his forehead branded against mine, his breath ragged like he’s choking on something he can’t spit out.
Then — suddenly — he’s gone.
He rips his hand from my face like I burned him, stepping back so fast the air feels like it collapses around me. The loss knocks me harder than the wall ever did.
His chest is heaving, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes wild and hollow all at once. He can’t even look at me.
‘Fuck,’ he mutters, dragging both hands through his hair, pacing once like he’s going to punch the wall but doesn’t. ‘I shouldn’t—’ His voice cuts off, jagged, then sharper: ‘I can’t—’
I’m still shaking, pressed against the wall, tears streaking hot down my cheeks, my throat raw from sobbing. My body screams for him to come back even as my mind begs for distance.
Finally, he spits the words like poison, his voice low, hoarse.
‘This — whatever the fuck this is — it ends here.’
He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He doesn’t even glance back. He just storms out, slamming the door so hard the frame rattles — leaving me alone in the silence, my body still trembling with the ghost of his hands.