POV Bella
Zane's voice shattered the night, raw fury propelling him down the driveway. His fists clenched white, body coiled for violence.
"Get away from her, asshole! Haven't you done enough damage over the years?"
Ajax stepped forward, matching Zane's aggression. "Back off, little brother. This doesn't concern you."
"Everything about my sister concerns me!" Zane's face flushed crimson. "Four years, Spencer. Four fucking years you've tormented her! The pranks, the humiliation, that party last month—"
"Zane…" I tried to intervene, but he bulldozed over me.
"Remember sophomore year? You spread rumors she was frigid. Junior year? You made sure she wasn't invited to any social events. Should I continue?"
Each accusation landed like a physical blow. Ajax's jaw tightened with each of them, but he didn't deny any of it.
Because it was true.
"And now what?" Zane advanced, chest heaving. "You're trying to seduce her? Add her to your collection of conquests? Or is this another sick game?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Ajax growled.
"I know exactly what I'm talking about!" Zane shoved Ajax hard. "Putting her on that death trap bike, racing through the city at insane speeds. Especially with her condition—"
"Zane, stop!" The words tore from my throat.
Both of them turned to me, Ajax's eyes narrowed, already calculating.
"What condition?" His voice turned deadly quiet.
"Nothing." I grabbed Zane's arm, nails digging in. "We're leaving."
"Tell me you didn't just let him kiss you," Zane wrenched free, disbelief coloring his features. "Tell me you're not that stupid."
"That's enough." My voice could have frozen fire. "Inside. Now."
"Bella—" Ajax started forward.
"Don't." I backed away, dragging Zane with me. "Just... don't."
"What are you hiding?" Ajax demanded. "What's wrong with you?"
"Goodnight, Ajax."
I hauled Zane through the front door, slamming it behind us. The sound echoed through the marble foyer like a gunshot.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Zane exploded the second we were alone. "Kissing him? Riding his bike? Do you have a death wish?"
"You almost told him!" My hands shook as I gripped the stair railing. "You almost said him about—"
"I'm sorry." His anger deflated. "I just saw him touching you and lost it. But Bella, this is insane. Ajax Spencer? Really?"
I pressed my fingers to my lips. They still burned from Ajax's kiss—desperate, hungry, real.
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?" Zane's voice gentled. "Because from where I'm standing, you're falling for the guy who's made your life hell."
"It's complicated."
"No, it's not." He caught my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You're sick, Bella. Really sick. And he's dangerous—not just emotionally, but physically. That motorcycle, the racing, the lifestyle—"
"I felt actually alive on that bike." The admission escaped before I could stop it. "For twenty minutes, I wasn't the dying girl. I was just... me."
Zane's face crumbled. "Bella—"
"I need to take my medication." I pulled away, climbing the stairs. "Goodnight, Zane."
* * *
Four days passed in a blur of perfect performances. Dance rehearsal had become torture and salvation combined.
"Beautiful!" Mrs. Meyer clapped as Ajax and I completed another flawless run-through. "You two have found your rhythm. The chemistry is undeniable!"
Chemistry, huh.
If only she knew.
Ajax's hand splayed across my back, guiding me through a complex turn. Every touch scorched through the fabric. Every breath against my ear sent shivers cascading down my spine.
"You're avoiding me outside of rehearsals, starlight," he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear.
"I'm busy."
"Liar." His grip tightened, pulling me flush against him for the lift. "You're scared."
He lifted me effortlessly, my body arching in perfect form. For three seconds, I flew. Then he lowered me slowly, deliberately, so our bodies were sliding against each other.
"I'm not scared of you," I breathed, dangerously close to his face.
"No." His dark green eyes burned into mine. "You're scared of yourself."
The second music ended, I jerked away, grabbing my water bottle with trembling hands.
"Same time tomorrow," Mrs. Meyer called out. "The gala's in less than two months. Keep this up and you'll steal the show."
Other couples filtered past, shooting envious glances our way. Madison Kinderman actually applauded.
"We're good together," Ajax said, not moving from his spot. "When you stop fighting it."
We are, and that’s exactly the problem. We’re in trouble. The kind that starts like this and ends with wreckage.
Three days ago my doctor had called: labs trending worse, new pills added, stricter timing, fewer spikes of stress. The message was unromantic and absolute—protect the heart or lose it.
I’d promised I would. For me. For everyone who loved me. For him, too. The closer Ajax got, the more I could feel the edges of my life fray.
"It's just dancing," I said, because it was the smallest truth I could manage.
"Nothing with us is just anything." He echoed my own words back at me. "You said so yourself."
I held his gaze for one beat—long enough to memorize the way he looked when he believed in us—then chose the only survival I had left.
I stepped back, turned away, and walked out before the music could tempt me to stay. By the time the doors closed behind me, the decision was set: I wouldn’t show up for waltz rehearsals anymore.