Jordan shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be standing by my window radiating fury and want in equal measure.
His eyes find the belt on my bed. Then me. Understanding crashes across his face.
"Maya." My name comes out broken. Wrecked. "We need to talk."
"Get out." I shove the belt into my closet.
"I saw you with him tonight." His voice is low. Dangerous. "At the gala. The way he touched you. The way you smiled at him like he owned you."
"He doesn't own me. No one does. Not anymore." I gesture to where the belt was. "That's the whole point."
"You stood there. Let your father announce your engagement. Let Grant kiss you in front of everyone." He takes a step closer. "You looked happy."
"I was acting. It's what I do. What we all do." My own anger flares white-hot. "You have no right to be jealous."
"This isn't about jealousy."
"Isn't it? Then what is it about?"
"It's about you making a mistake. Choosing him because you're angry at me."
"Maybe I'm choosing him because he actually chose me back." I step closer.
"You don't mean that."
"Don't I? You've had weeks to tell me how you feel. Weeks to give me what I asked for. And you couldn't do it. So I moved on. Found someone who could."
"You don't love him."
"How would you know?"
"Because you wouldn't be standing here with me if you did." His jaw works. "You wouldn't have let me climb through that window. You would have screamed. Called for your father. Had me thrown out."
He's right. I hate that he's right.
"Tell me you love me." The demand comes out quieter than intended. "Tell me I'm not just some guilty pleasure you'll regret when this is over."
His eyes close. Pain etches across his features. The words hover between us.
But they don't come.
Something that's been cracking for weeks finally shatters. I cross the distance. Grab his shirt. Kiss him with all my rage and hurt and desperate wanting.
He responds like I've set him on fire. Hands in my hair. Mouth fierce against mine. We stumble backward. Hit my dresser. The mirror rattles. He lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist.
We're going to destroy each other. We both know it. Neither of us stops.
My back hits the bed. He covers me. Weight and heat and everything I've been craving. His hand slides under my dress. Up my thigh. Between my legs. Where the belt used to be.
Something in his expression shifts. Triumph. Hunger. Possession. His hand moves again. No barrier. Just skin and wanting and the overwhelming sensation of being touched where I've ached for weeks.
I bite his shoulder to keep from crying out. He swallows the sound with another kiss. His fingers learn me. Every place that makes me gasp. Every touch that makes my back arch.
"Jordan." His name is a demand.
"I know. I've got you."
He does. He has me completely. Unraveling under his hands. Coming apart at the seams.
When I'm shaking and desperate, when I think I can't take anymore, he finally moves. Unfastens his jeans. Positions himself between my thighs.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." I pull him down. "Please."
He slides inside slow and careful and it burns. Stretches. Fills me in ways I wasn't prepared for. I dig my nails into his back. Breathing through the intensity.
"Okay?" His voice is strained.
"Don't stop."
He doesn't. Moves slow at first. Letting me adjust. Then faster when I roll my hips up to meet him. We find a rhythm that's more desperation than grace. Chasing something that feels like absolution.
He fills spaces I didn't know were empty. Reaches places the belt kept locked away. Every thrust is reclamation. Every gasp is freedom.
When release builds, it's different than anything I've done to myself. Bigger. Consuming. I bite down on his shoulder again as it crashes through me. Shattering me into pieces I'm not sure will fit back together.
He follows seconds later. Forehead pressed to mine. My name on his lips like confession.
In the aftermath, we lie tangled in sheets that smell like sex and secrets. His breathing slows. Steadies. But he still hasn't said the words.
The silence cuts deeper than any rejection.
I turn my back to him. Fury and satisfaction war in my chest. I got what I wanted. His body. His desire. Proof that he wants me the way I want him.
But not the words. Never the words.
His hand settles on my hip. Tentative. "Maya—"
"Don't."
"We should talk about—"
"There's nothing to talk about. You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted. That's all this is."
"You don't believe that."
"I don't know what I believe anymore."
Silence stretches. His thumb traces small circles on my hip bone. The tenderness of it makes my throat ache.
Outside, the sky starts to lighten. Dawn creeping through my curtains. Soon my parents will wake. Jordan will have to leave. This moment will end and reality will crash back in.
"I should go." But he doesn't move.
"Yeah. You should."
More silence. His hand stays on my hip. Warm. Steady.
Finally, he leans close. Whispers against my hair. "I'm sorry I can't be what you need."
The words land like a death sentence. Final. Irreversible.
I don't respond. Don't turn around. Don't let him see how much it costs me to stay still when everything in me wants to scream.
He climbs out of my bed. Dresses in the grey light. I listen to fabric rustling. Zipper closing. Footsteps crossing to the window.
He pauses there. "Maya—"
"Just go."
He does. Climbs back out the way he came. Disappears into the morning.
I lie in my empty bed. Naked. Sore. Free of the belt but trapped by something worse.
Having him hurt more than losing him ever could.
Because now I know. Know exactly what I'm giving up. Know how good it could be if he'd just say the words. Know that wanting him will never be enough to make him brave.
The belt is gone. My body is mine. But my heart is still caged.
And Jordan just walked away with the key.