I Thought It Was Just One Night

The days after that stormy night blurred into a haze of tension and confusion. Jace's presence became more frequent, more deliberate. He appeared next to me after class with that same calm, unreadable smile. He lingered in the library, "accidentally" brushing my fingers as he handed me a pen. Each touch sent little sparks skittering under my skin—unwelcome, unwarranted, undeniable.

I kept telling myself I was in control.

That I could handle him.

That I was just playing smarter this time.

But the game was shifting, and I wasn't the one moving the pieces.

One evening, Jace showed up at my dorm, arms full of coffee cups and textbooks.

"Group project," he said smoothly, lips curving into that too-perfect smile. "Professor Winters paired us up."

I didn't believe him for a second.

Still, I let him in.

We sat cross-legged on the floor, books spread out between us, our knees brushing occasionally—a contact too casual to be innocent. He leaned in to explain a complex formula, breath warm against my ear.

"You always tense up when I get close," he murmured. "Why is that?"

"Because I know what happens when I let you in," I shot back.

His eyes sparkled, and he didn't deny it.

By the time he left, my thoughts were a mess. My body remembered the way he touched me. My mind screamed to stay away.

But I didn't listen.

Three nights later, we were assigned to lab duty—just the two of us again. The chemistry department was nearly empty, the sterile lights buzzing above us as we measured compounds in silence.

"You're doing that wrong," Jace said behind me suddenly.

Before I could snap back, his hand slid along my arm, guiding my movement. His chest pressed against my back, his voice a whisper in my ear.

"Let me help."

I froze.

His fingers curled over mine, warm and firm. I could feel his breath on my neck, the edge of his lips just barely grazing my skin.

"Don't," I whispered, but it came out too soft to sound convincing.

"You don't want this?" he asked, tilting my face toward his.

I met his eyes. They were dark. Intent. Hungry.

"I don't want you to think you've won," I said.

He smiled. "Sweetheart, I'm not playing to win. I'm playing to break you."

And then he kissed me.

Hard.

Possessive.

Devouring.

I kissed him back.

I hated him for it.

I hated myself more.

His hands gripped my waist, lifting me onto the cold metal lab table. My legs wrapped around him instinctively. His mouth moved to my throat, teeth grazing my skin as his fingers slid under the hem of my shirt.

I was drowning—again.

Drowning in him.

Just like that first night.

But this time, it wasn't lust that burned behind his touch.

It was calculation.

A sharp click echoed through the room.

Then another.

I froze mid-kiss.

What was that?

Laughter rang out above us.

I turned my head—slowly, in horror.

A group of students stood on the upper level of the lab, phones raised, camera flashes going off like fireworks.

"Oh my God, are you serious?" one of them snickered. "Did she just let him bend her over the lab table?"

"Guess the ice queen melts after all."

The blood drained from my face.

I shoved Jace away, heart pounding, hands trembling with panic and rage.

"You set me up," I breathed.

He didn't deny it.

Didn't even pretend to be surprised.

He just stepped back, adjusting his shirt, expression smooth and unbothered.

"You wanted to play," he said coolly, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "You just didn't realize what game we were playing."

My throat tightened.

"You humiliated me."

"No," he corrected. "You did that to yourself. I gave you a warning, Lynn. You chose to ignore it."

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn't break. Not here. Not in front of him.

But he wasn't finished.

He stepped closer, voice low and almost gentle. "Now they'll all see what I saw that night—you're not untouchable. You're just another girl who can't say no when someone knows how to touch her right."

He leaned in, whispering against my ear. "You thought you had the power, but you were never the one holding the leash."

Then he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there—exposed, shaking, humiliated.

Around me, laughter echoed.

Phones were still out.

I was still sitting on the table, shirt wrinkled, lipstick smeared, heart in ruins.

And for the first time in years, I didn't know how to fix it.