[Marcus’s POV]
At some point, I lost her in the hallways of this apartment building.
The laughter echoes from the apartment’s open door down the hallway like hyenas circling prey. I hear them before I see her – Stacey and her pack, their cruelty sharp enough to draw blood.
Then Betty crashes into me, all soft curves and desperate energy, tears streaming down her face. Her body collided against mine with enough force to almost knock her off balance.
I caught her.
Gripped her arm, steadying her before she could fall apart completely, and for a moment, everything stopped.
She looks up at me with those huge, haunted eyes, and something in my chest constricts.
Fear flashes across her face as she recognizes me, and it shouldn't hurt. It shouldn't matter that she sees me as the monster I pretend to be.
Then, she yanked away, stumbling back, her face twisting into something furious and frightened at the same time.
“Don’t freaking touch me,” she snapped, voice shaky.
I didn’t answer. I just grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the elevator, ignoring her protests.
Her skin is warm under my fingers, pulse racing where my thumb presses against her wrist. She fights me, but I'm stronger, and right now, I need answers more than I need her to not hate me.
"Marcus, let go!" Her voice cut through the air, sharp, full of something that made my grip on her tighten instead of loosen.
I didn’t stop. The elevator doors slid open, and before she could get away, I dragged her inside.
She ripped her wrist free, pressing herself against the far wall, breathing hard.
Shiny doors slide shut, and suddenly we're alone in this metal box, this cage of my own making. The space feels too small, too intimate, crackling with tension I can't control.
"What are you doing?" Her voice trembles, and God help me, but it does things to me.
I stayed silent, watching as she edged toward the control panel, frantically pressing the button for the next floor.
Like she thought she could escape. Like she thought she actually wanted to.
My lips curled slightly. "You’ll see," I murmured.
She glared at me, her fingers trembling over the buttons. "What the hell does that mean?"
I took a step closer. She froze.
“Your diary,” I said, letting my voice dip into something teasing, something taunting.
She flinched, eyes narrowing, but I saw it.
The flicker of realization. The shame. The truth.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, but she didn’t move.
"Is it true?" Betty’s chest rises and falls rapidly, and I can't stop my gaze from following the movement. "You like me?"
Her breath hitched. Her shoulders tensed.
"You have no right to ask about that, jerk!" But there's a tremor in her voice that gives her away.
I hit the stop button before I can think better of it.
The elevator jerks to a halt, lights flickering dramatically like some cosmic cinematographer setting the scene. In the shadows, her lips part slightly, and I'm lost.
I close the distance between us, breathing in the scent of her – peaches, fear and desire. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and I know I should stop. Know this is wrong on every level.
But her diary's words, Stacey’s reveal of her naughty desires for me, all of it echo in my head, mixing with the sound of her shallow breathing, and I'm tired of fighting this.
I stepped into her space once again, towering over her, feeling the electricity thicken between us.
And then I kissed her.
The moment my lips touched hers, everything fucking stopped.
The kiss isn't gentle this time. It's possession and punishment and need all wrapped up in one desperate moment. I expect her to push me away, to slap me, to scream.
Her body tensed beneath me, like she was fighting herself—but then, slowly, slowly, she melted.
Her lips parted. She kissed me back. I felt it—the hesitation, the confusion, the heat building beneath it all.
And then? I took more.
My hands roam of their own accord, finding curves I've tried not to notice, mapping territory I have no right to claim. She makes these little sounds – soft moans that drive me crazy – and I'm too far gone to stop.
She tasted like sin and something sweet.
As my fingers traced the soft fabric of her dress, the thin straps that barely covered her shoulders, I tugged one down.
I trail kisses down her neck, drunk on the taste of her, on the way she responds to every touch. Her skin is impossibly soft, warming under my hands, and I want to devour her whole.
Want to possess every inch of her until she can't remember why she hates me.
Her pulse pounded against my mouth. She shivered.
I smiled against her skin, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss over the delicate spot where her neck met her shoulder.
She gasped, and I felt the sound everywhere and she had no idea what she was doing to me.
"Is it true?" I growl against her throat, needing to hear it. "What you wrote? You like me?"
The top of her dress slipped further, exposing smooth, warm skin, and I wanted to see all of her.
I pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were kiss-swollen, her chest rising and falling unevenly, her hands still clutching onto me like I was the only thing keeping her upright. Her eyes met mine, and I saw it.
The hesitation. The disbelief. The hunger.
Her breathing was uneven, her body soft and pliant against mine. She was so close to admitting it. So damn close.
Then she nods, breathless, and it's not enough. I grip her chin, forcing her to look at me, to see what she does to me.
"Say it, baby."
The power dynamic shifts like quicksand under my feet.
Here I am, Marcus fucking Archibald, captain of the basketball team, supposed king of this concrete castle, begging for validation from the girl I'm supposed to be destroying.
The irony would kill me if I wasn't already drowning in her.
Her lips are swollen from my kisses, eyes glazed with desire and doubt. I can see the moment reality starts to creep back in, the second she remembers who I am and what I've done.
The thought flashes across her face like lightning: she's falling for my trap.
But that's the cruel joke of it all – I'm the one who's trapped.
Trapped between who I pretend to be and who I am when I'm with her. Trapped in this elevator with the one person who sees through my bullshit, even if she doesn't know it yet.
Trapped by feelings I never wanted, never asked for, and definitely don't deserve.