Caleb's POV
Four-thirty AM. The digital clock on my nightstand glows like an accusation. I've been staring at the ceiling for hours, watching shadows shift across the textured surface as cars pass by outside.
My mind won't shut down, won't stop replaying every word of that conversation with Serena, won't stop analyzing where it all went wrong.
Maybe I overreacted.
The memory of her saying those words makes my jaw clench so hard my teeth ache.
Lucas has managed to do what I thought was impossible—he's made Serena doubt her own experience of being assaulted. Made her question the evidence of her own senses.
I roll out of bed and drop to the floor, starting another set of push-ups. My arms already burn from the previous hundred, but the physical pain gives me something to focus on besides the sick fury churning in my gut.
Twenty-five. Fifty. Seventy-five. My form goes sloppy around ninety, but I push through to a hundred anyway.
Still not tired enough to sleep.
I switch to sit-ups, then back to push-ups, then a contrast shower so hot it leaves my skin red before I crank it to freezing. The shock of cold water does nothing to quiet my racing thoughts.
At some point around five AM, I find myself standing at the bathroom door that connects to Serena's room. My hand hovers over the handle, trembling slightly from exhaustion and adrenaline.
I could turn it. Could walk through and attempt to undo the damage from tonight. Could try to explain why I reacted the way I did, why the thought of her defending Lucas makes me want to put my fist through a wall.
Instead, I listen.
Her room is completely silent. No crying, no pacing, no restless tossing and turning. Just silence that feels worse than screaming would. At least screaming would mean she's still fighting.
I don't turn the handle, but I don’t leave either. I just stand there, too much of a coward to finally make a decision
***
Morning arrives without relief. I skip breakfast, staying in my room while I hear my mother and William moving around downstairs.
Their voices drift up through the vents, happy and oblivious, discussing weekend plans and work schedules. Normal family conversations that feel like they're happening in a different universe.
How can I face Serena across the breakfast table and pretend everything is fine?
How can I sit there making small talk while she's probably upstairs convincing herself that Lucas Bennett is a misunderstood victim instead of a predator?
Every time I replay our conversation, fresh anger surges through my chest. I lose control completely, sweeping my arm across the shelf above my desk.
Books crash to the floor along with picture frames and the trophy from junior year lacrosse. The sound echoes through the house like a gunshot.
I drag both hands through my hair and exhale hard, trying to regain some semblance of control. Getting angry won't fix this. Won't undo the damage Lucas has already done.
A soft knock interrupts my spiraling thoughts.
Before I can respond, my mother opens the door and steps inside. Her eyes take in the mess of fallen objects, my rumpled appearance, the obvious signs of a sleepless night. But she doesn't comment on any of it.
I scramble to collect the scattered items, forcing my expression into something neutral. "Sorry about the noise. I knocked some things over by accident."
Mom kneels beside me without a word, helping gather books and straighten picture frames.
Her movements are gentle, careful, the way she used to collect broken pieces when I was younger and prone to violent outbursts.
When everything is back in its proper place, she guides me to sit on the edge of the bed and takes my hands in hers.
Her touch is gentle and familiar, carrying the scent of the lavender lotion she's used for as long as I can remember.
"I can see you're not yourself this morning," she says softly, brushing the hair back from my forehead the way she used to when I had nightmares. "Want to talk about what's troubling you?"
I shake my head, enough, Mom, but she misreads the gesture entirely.
"I know this is probably difficult for you. William and I have been so pleased watching you grow so protective of Serena over the past few months."
She continues, settling more comfortably on the bed beside me.
"We worried for a long time that you two would never see each other as real family, and seeing you treat her like a true sister warms my heart more than you know."
The words land like poison in my bloodstream. Sister. I fight to keep my expression neutral while my stomach turns over.
If my mother knew the truth about how I see Serena, how I've touched her, what I want to do to her every time she's in the same room—
"But sweetheart, there's a fine line between protection and control."
Mom continues, her tone shifting to gentle warning.
"You might not even notice when you cross it, especially with someone you care about so much. And crossing that line could destroy the relationship entirely."
I nod along, pretending to absorb her maternal wisdom. "I understand."
"I'm not saying you've crossed it," she clarifies quickly. "Just that it's something to be aware of. Serena is a smart, capable young woman. She doesn't need you to make all her decisions for her."
"Of course not."
But part of me actually hears what she's saying—not the way she intends, but as a tactical truth.
Forbidding Serena outright, losing my temper and calling her naive, only pushes her further into Lucas's web of lies. I need a different approach. Something subtler, smarter.
"Good." Mom squeezes my hands. "Now come downstairs and have breakfast with your family."
When we reach the kitchen, Serena and William are just leaving, her hand tucked through his arm as they discuss something in low voices.
Her gaze slides past me without acknowledgment, like I'm a piece of furniture she's grown tired of looking at. The dismissal cuts deeper than I'd admit, even to myself.
"Perfect timing," William says, beaming at Mom and me. "Catherine, we were just talking about that weekend getaway you mentioned last week."
"Oh?" Mom's face lights up with interest. "Have you given it more thought?"
"We have. And we think it's exactly what we need." His arm tightens around Serena's shoulders affectionately. "A little romantic retreat. Just the two of us for a week, maybe more if we can swing it with work."
The implication hits me immediately. A whole week without hiding. Without performing for our parents. Without stolen moments and whispered conversations and the constant fear of being discovered.
I see the same realization flash across Serena's face before she shutters her expression. But does it even matter now, after everything that happened last night?
I decide to play the role expected of me. The good brother, the protective sibling willing to compromise for the sake of family harmony.
"That sounds perfect for you both," I say, draping my arm around Serena's shoulders and pulling her close against my side. "Don't worry about anything here. I'll look after her."
She goes rigid beneath my grip, her whole body tensing like she's preparing to bolt.
Serena's phone buzzes against the counter where she left it screen-up. My eyes flick automatically to the notification, and ice floods my veins.
Lucas: Good morning beautiful. Free for lunch today? I'd love to take you somewhere special.
My arm tightens around Serena's shoulders, almost painfully. She winces but doesn't pull away.
"Actually," she says quickly, "I have a lot of things to take care of today. Errands and homework and..."
She trails off, slipping out from under my arm and backing toward the stairs.
"Of course, sweetheart," William says. "You take care of whatever you need to do."
I watch her retreat up the stairs, knowing exactly why she's running. She'd rather hide in her room than be alone with me.
The knowledge sits in my chest like a stone.