"So..." Her mother's voice cut through the quiet hum of the car, slick with amusement and edged with that dangerous kind of mischief Vanessa had learned to fear. "Dinner was lovely, wasn't it?"
Vanessa clenched her jaw before she could stop herself. Here it comes.
"Yeah. Sure," she muttered, staring out the window like it might offer her an escape route.
Her dad, oblivious as always, nodded from the driver's seat, completely unaware of the powder keg brewing in the back. "That boy's got manners. And he can cook. Vanessa, you could learn a thing or two—"
"Dad." She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Not the time."
But her mom was having too much fun to be stopped. "You know," she said lightly, voice laced with a kind of teasing that danced just shy of cruelty, "I couldn't help but notice something interesting during dinner."
Vanessa stiffened. Her entire body locked up. Here it is. Here comes the execution.
"Oh?" she said tightly, trying—and failing—to keep the edge out of her voice. "And what's that?"
Her mom shifted in her seat to face her more directly, that maddening glint in her eyes only growing sharper. "You seemed a bit... distracted."
Her heart jumped.
Her spine went rigid.
"No idea what you're talking about," she said flatly, staring daggers at the back of her mother's head.
But her mom wasn't done. Of course not.
"And Ethan?" she continued with a wicked smile. "He seemed completely at ease, didn't he? I wonder why."
Vanessa dragged both hands down her face, praying the leather seats would just open up and swallow her whole. Please let this be a dream. A coma. A prank. Anything but real.
Her mother kept going. "I mean, one minute you looked like you were winning... and then—boom! Tables turned. Almost like you got caught in your own game."
Her dad raised a brow, glancing at them in the rearview mirror. "What game?"
God. No. Please don't.
Vanessa glared at her mom, silently begging her to drop it. But the woman only smiled wider, like this was the highlight of her week.
"Oh, just a little... footsie."
Vanessa's head snapped up so fast it nearly gave her whiplash. "MOM!"
Her dad swerved a little, clearly startled. "Wait—what?!"
Her mother cackled, absolutely delighted by the chaos she had unleashed. "Relax, honey. Just some harmless teasing between lovebirds."
Vanessa slumped in her seat with a guttural groan, heat crawling up her neck and burning into her ears. Her dad looked like someone had just told him the family dog was having an affair.
"I didn't need to know that," he muttered.
Vanessa turned on her mom with a look of pure, unfiltered betrayal. "You're evil."
Her mom just patted her knee like she was still a toddler. "Oh, sweetheart, don't be mad. I'm just proud of you."
"...For what?" Vanessa growled, still trying to slow her racing pulse.
"For finally meeting someone who knows how to handle you."
Vanessa opened her mouth to argue. To defend herself. To deny.
But nothing came out.
Because, deep down, she knew her mom was right.
And that pissed her off more than anything else.
Ethan hadn't even flinched. Not once. She'd pulled every move she had—hell, she'd escalated—and the man had sat there discussing tax reform. Calm. Collected. Controlled.
He was the first person she couldn't rattle.
And the worst part? He knew it. He knew exactly what kind of effect he had on her. That smug, unreadable bastard had sat across from her with that infuriating stillness, like he was letting her play just to see how far she'd go.
The next two days were torture.
She tried to pretend everything was normal, but every glance from her mother made her skin crawl. That knowing smirk. That teasing twinkle in her eyes. Her mom didn't even have to say anything. She knew.
Her dad had thankfully decided the whole incident had never occurred. Bless him. He had locked it away in the back of his mind, sealed in a vault, never to be revisited. Ever. Again.
But Ethan?
Ethan hadn't said a word.
He acted like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't run her foot up his leg and tried to throw him off his perfectly polished game. He greeted her with the same low voice, the same cool expression. No taunts. No smirks. Just maddening, infuriating calm.
It wasn't just annoying.
It was war.
By the second night, Vanessa couldn't take it anymore. She found her mother in the kitchen, humming softly as she stirred tea with the kind of peace that made Vanessa want to scream.
She marched up to the counter, hands on her hips, heart still thumping from the last time she'd seen Ethan.
"How do I surprise Ethan?" she blurted.
Her mom didn't even blink. She just paused mid-stir, tilted her head, and smiled like she'd been waiting for this moment.
"Oh? Trying to make your boyfriend panic, are we?"
Vanessa groaned, already regretting this. "Mom, please. Just answer the question."
Her mom set the spoon down, folded her arms, and leaned back against the counter, all warmth and smug maternal wisdom. "You know, I'm so glad you're thinking about this. Relationships need fun. Unpredictability. But Ethan..."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"He's a tough one, isn't he?"
Vanessa folded her arms. "That's the problem. Nothing shakes him. It's like he has an iron will or something."
Her mom chuckled. "Darling, that boy's been through hell. It's not about willpower. He just knows what actually matters."
Vanessa frowned, remembering how unaffected he'd looked. "And me messing with him at dinner didn't matter?"
Her mom gave her a long, pointed look. "Oh, that? That mattered a lot. He just didn't show it."
Vanessa blinked. "Wait—what do you mean?"
Her mom smirked. "Sweetie. You think he didn't feel anything? That boy was definitely affected. But he's good. Too good. He knows how to keep his face blank and wait you out."
A flicker of hope stirred in Vanessa's chest.
"So you're saying... he's not immune?"
"Not at all," her mom said with a shrug. "But catching him off guard? That's a different kind of challenge."
Vanessa's grin was slow, deliberate. She lived for challenges.
"So... how do I do it?"
Her mom's eyes gleamed. "What's something Ethan never expects?"
Vanessa thought for a long moment. He expected confidence. Sarcasm. Provocation. She was the one who teased, who pushed first, who got under people's skin.
But what if...
"What if I went the other way?" she said slowly.
Her mom raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
Vanessa smiled, wicked and a little dangerous. "Instead of trying to mess with him... what if I just caught him off guard by being..."
She hesitated.
"...soft?"
Her mom lit up like a Christmas tree. "Now that is a great idea."
Vanessa rolled her eyes, already regretting opening this can of worms. "Yeah, yeah. Don't make it weird."
Her mother chuckled, reaching for her tea. "Oh, honey. It's already weird. You just haven't realized it yet."
Vanessa didn't answer.
Her mind was already somewhere else—plotting, scheming, imagining every angle, every word, every breath of surprise she could steal from Ethan's carefully composed world.
Tomorrow, Ethan William was going to be surprised.
The next morning, Vanessa woke with a singular mission burning under her skin.
Today, Ethan would flinch.
No more smug smiles. No more cool indifference. No more pretending like she was just a passing amusement in his perfectly curated world. He'd gotten away with too much—stood too still, smirked too knowingly—and Vanessa was done letting him win.
He thinks he's untouchable? Let's see how well he holds up when I flip the script.
She dressed deliberately. Nothing overt. Soft, subtle, deceptively casual. A loose white blouse that slipped off one shoulder just enough, high-waisted jeans that hugged her curves without trying too hard, and her hair left down—unbrushed just enough to look like she'd rolled out of bed but still somehow perfect. She didn't go for bold makeup. Just a little gloss, a little highlight, a little something to make her lips linger in his mind long after she walked away.
She arrived at school earlier than she ever did—nearly twenty minutes ahead. Ethan always pulled in early, always alone, always like he didn't need the world around him to move with him.
Fine. She'd meet him in that silence. She'd make it hers.
She waited by the parking lot where he always parked his bike, the morning chill clinging to her skin. Her heart was already pounding, but not from nerves.
It was anticipation.
Hunger.
And maybe—just maybe—a little bit of wicked satisfaction in knowing what was about to happen.
Then she heard it.
The low, distinct rumble of his motorcycle—like thunder just beneath the surface. Smooth, controlled, powerful. Just like him.
He rolled into view like something out of a dream she'd never admit to having. His black motorcycle gleamed in the morning sun, sleek and perfect like everything else about him. His white hair peeked out from under the matte black helmet, messy and wind-tossed and unfairly hot. He parked with a slow, practiced ease, boots crunching lightly on the pavement as he kicked the stand down. Then the gloves came off—fingers flexing—and the helmet followed.
Goddamn him.
Even mundane things looked cinematic when Ethan did them. She hated that. And she especially hated how her stomach tightened the second his eyes found hers.
Green. Sharp. Focused.
He didn't smile. Didn't raise a brow. Just tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to read her.
"You're early," he said, voice low and smooth like dark velvet.
Vanessa didn't give him the usual smirk. No teasing, no snark, no raised eyebrow. Instead, she walked toward him—slow, deliberate steps, not hunting but inviting.
And when she reached him, she didn't speak. She didn't flirt.
She folded into him.
Her arms slipped around his waist with a softness that surprised even her, and she pressed her face into his chest like she belonged there.
And for a glorious, satisfying moment—
Ethan froze.
His body went perfectly still, every lean muscle beneath her arms tightening just slightly. No breath. No words. Just the sudden hitch of a heartbeat against her cheek.
Yes. Yes. She had him.
"...Vanessa?" His voice cracked just slightly, but he covered it quickly with that maddening calm. "You okay?"
She didn't move. Didn't tease. Just nodded slowly against his shirt, her voice soft and barely there. "Mm."
He didn't know what to do with that.
She could feel him trying to figure her out—feel the calculation ticking behind his silence. But she gave him nothing to work with. No bite, no edge. Just warmth. Just her.
Then, finally—finally—he gave in.
His arms came around her, slow but sure. Not tentative. Not aggressive. Just real. Strong. Protective in a way that made her stomach twist in ways she didn't want to name. He held her like she meant something.
Like he didn't want her to let go.
And just when she thought she'd won, when his heart had finally slowed and his hands had settled at her waist, his breath ghosted near her ear.
"So that's your new strategy?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing and far too close.
Damn it.
She tensed, just a little. "Shut up."
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest and into her body. "I get it now."
She pulled back just enough to glare at him, her eyes narrowing. "Get what?"
His smirk was a sin. "You finally realized I'm irresistible. So now you're clinging to me like a lovesick puppy."
She punched him in the ribs.
Not hard—but pointed.
He let out a small, amused grunt. "Ow."
"You are the worst," she growled, stepping back.
He didn't follow.
Just leaned against his bike, arms crossed now, head tilted like she was some kind of puzzle he wanted to take his time solving.
"You're trying to shake me up, aren't you?" he asked, his tone maddeningly casual.
She didn't answer.
Because yes. And also no.
She wasn't trying to shake him.
She wanted to unravel him.
Slow. Intentional. Quietly devastating.
He leaned in just slightly, lips curving. "It's not gonna work."
Vanessa smiled, not sweet, not sarcastic—just a little dangerous. "We'll see about that."
Because she'd felt it.
That split-second of hesitation when she hugged him. The stutter in his heart. The way his arms had wrapped around her like a reflex he hadn't meant to give.
It was small.
But it was something.
And that meant she was getting closer.
By the time lunch rolled around, Vanessa wasn't just determined—she was buzzing.
Her plan for today afternoon had started forming the second she'd pulled away from Ethan's chest that morning, the ghost of his heartbeat still echoing in her ears. She could still feel the weight of his arms, the low thrum of his voice in her hair, the way he hadn't moved for a second too long. She'd felt it.
Progress.
And now, she was going in for round two.
Their usual lunch spot sat at the edge of the chaos—just far enough from the noise and clatter of the cafeteria that it felt like a bubble. It was their spot. An unspoken arrangement born from weeks of routine and proximity. No one bothered them here. More like no one dared to.
Ethan sat cross-legged on the bench, a worn paperback in one hand and a fork in the other, methodically picking through whatever healthy food the school served. His brows were slightly furrowed, eyes flicking across the page with that same calm intensity he brought to everything. Like the world could burn down around him and he'd keep reading.
Vanessa, meanwhile, was watching him.
Every tilt of his head. Every subtle movement. Every breath.
He was too calm. Always too calm.
But she was going to change that.
With deliberate slowness, she reached for one of the fries on her tray—lukewarm and slightly limp, but it would do. She leaned forward, voice syrupy sweet, the perfect imitation of innocent flirtation.
"Ethan."
He didn't look up. "Hm?"
She kept her tone light. "Say 'ah.'"
That got him.
His finger paused mid-page-turn, eyes lifting slowly to meet hers. Sharp. Green. Cautious.
"...You're serious?" he asked, his voice unreadable.
She wiggled the fry slightly between her fingers. "Obviously. Come on, open up."
A beat of silence passed between them. She held her breath, waiting for the teasing retort, the mockery, the roll of his eyes and dismissive smirk.
Instead—
Ethan sighed, soft and amused.
And opened his mouth.
Holy hell.
Vanessa's heart did something weird and traitorous in her chest. She hadn't actually expected him to do it. Not without some kind of pushback. Not without mocking her first.
Her hand faltered for the briefest second before she caught herself and slipped the fry between his lips.
He bit down slowly. Chewed. Swallowed. And then just—watched her.
No smirk. No laugh. Just those unreadable green eyes, steady on hers.
She suddenly felt warm. Too warm.
Vanessa cleared her throat and snatched up a fry of her own. "See? That wasn't so bad."
Ethan hummed in response, still staring.
She narrowed her eyes. "What?"
His lips curled—just slightly. The barest whisper of a smile.
"I just realized something," he murmured, voice lower now, heavier somehow.
"What?"
He leaned in—just enough to invade her space, to make her breath catch.
"You're trying so hard to fluster me..." His eyes dropped, lingered, then met hers again. "But you're the one who looks nervous right now."
Her stomach dropped.
She looked away too quickly, shoved a fry into her mouth like it would save her from the sudden heat crawling up her neck. "Shut up," she muttered, chewing aggressively.
Ethan chuckled, that quiet, knowing sound that made her want to slap him and kiss him in the same breath.
Okay. Fine. He won this round.
But the day wasn't over.
Not even close.
After school, their routine stayed the same—sparring at the gym, the usual banter, Ethan offering to drive her home. But Vanessa wasn't done.
She couldn't be. Not after the way he'd looked at her during lunch, like he saw through her. Like he knew exactly what she was doing and was just waiting to see how far she'd go.
So, when they pulled up to the red light halfway home, and the bike rumbled beneath them like a living thing, she struck.
Vanessa leaned forward—slow, deliberate—and rested her chin on his shoulder. Her arms, already around his waist, tightened just a little.
Not teasing.
Not playing.
Just being there.
Ethan stiffened.
Not overtly. Not jerkily. But she felt it—the subtle tension in his spine, the way his hands gripped the handlebars a fraction tighter.
"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice different this time. Low. Controlled. Edging on something darker.
Her grin was instantaneous. "Very."
The light turned green.
He didn't say another word.
Didn't tease. Didn't joke.
Just gunned the engine and kept going.
But she'd felt it. Oh, she'd felt it. The way his body had reacted to hers. The tension. The restraint.
It was working.
She was cracking him open, one touch at a time.
When they reached her house, he slowed to a stop. Killed the engine. Waited.
But she didn't move.
Vanessa stayed exactly where she was—chin on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him like she had every intention of staying there all night.
The silence stretched.
Then, finally, Ethan turned his head just enough to glance at her, his voice dry but faintly strained.
"...You getting off, or are we sleeping here?"
Vanessa smirked. "Hmm. I don't know."
He sighed, but there was an edge to it. Like he was trying very, very hard to stay calm. To stay Ethan.
"Vanessa."
That tone—low, warning, exasperated—lit a spark inside her.
She grinned wider, finally letting go and hopping off the bike with a lazy stretch that was definitely for his benefit.
Ethan adjusted his gloves like he hadn't just spent the last three minutes trying not to breathe too hard.
Vanessa tilted her head. "Hey, Ethan."
He looked up, expectant.
She crossed her arms. "I won."
He blinked. "What?"
She gestured vaguely. "The whole 'fluster Ethan' thing. You totally lost."
Ethan let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You're keeping score now?"
"Obviously."
His mouth curved. But his eyes—those eyes—held something deeper. Something like a warning. Or a promise.
"Alright, then," he said. "Enjoy your victory."
There was a pause.
He leaned forward, voice dropping.
"While it lasts."
Vanessa's breath caught.
Something about the way he said it—low and slow, like velvet over a blade—sent a shiver down her spine.
She raised a brow, trying to look unaffected. "While it lasts?"
Ethan smirked, standing taller now. Steadier. "You started this game, Vanessa."
Another step closer.
"Don't be surprised if I play back."
She hated how that made her stomach flip.
Hated how much she wanted him to do exactly that.
So she smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"Oh, I'm counting on it."
Ethan didn't reply. Just gave her one last, loaded look before turning back to his bike and revving the engine.
And as he pulled away down the street, Vanessa stood in her driveway—arms still crossed, heart racing, and a slow grin curving her lips.
Vanessa walked into the house still grinning, her cheeks flushed with heat that refused to fade.
It wasn't just the wind from the bike ride—it was him. The smell of his cologne still clung to her sleeves, and her arms still tingled from where they'd been wrapped tight around his waist. She could still feel the hard line of his back, the way his body had gone rigid beneath her touch. The way he hadn't said a word when she'd pressed herself closer, just gripped the handlebars like his life depended on it.
God, it had been so satisfying.
She kicked off her shoes, stepping inside—and immediately regretted not slipping in quieter.
"Someone looks happy," her mom called from the kitchen, her voice light and far too perceptive. "Ethan drop you off?"
Vanessa froze.
Shit.
Her pause was all it took.
There was a beat of silence. Then her mother poked her head out, brows raised.
"Wait a second... did something happen?"
"No," Vanessa said way too quickly, way too defensively.
Her mother didn't buy it for a second.
She squinted, lips curling upward. "Ohhh. Something totally happened."
Vanessa groaned. "Mom—don't start."
"I knew it!" Her mom stepped fully into the hall now, practically glowing with glee. "What did you do? Wait—did you make him flustered?"
Vanessa's head snapped up. "How did you—"
Her mother just gave her a look. That look. The one that said honey, I've been around the block.
"I've been married a long time," she said smugly. "Trust me. I know exactly what it looks like when a woman finally makes her guy lose his cool."
Vanessa crossed her arms and tried very hard not to grin. "Fine. Yes. Maybe."
Her mom gave a little cheer. "That's my girl! So?" She leaned in, eyes sparkling. "How did he react?"
Vanessa didn't answer right away.
She felt it first—remembered it.
The jolt of his body when she leaned into him. The slight, barely-there shift in his breathing. The tension in his grip. The silence. Ethan was never loud, never dramatic—but she knew what she'd felt.
A slow smile spread across her face, softer this time. "Better than I expected."
Her mother nodded, pleased. "Good, good. But..." She paused, her tone shifting. "Be careful."
Vanessa blinked. "Careful?"
Her mother stepped closer, voice dropping into something quieter—less teasing now. More real.
"Sweetheart..." she said, almost gently. "The moment a guy like Ethan starts playing back? You better really be ready."
Vanessa huffed, scoffing despite the sudden tightness in her chest. "Please. I can handle Ethan."
Her mom didn't argue.
She just gave her a slow, knowing smirk.
And walked away.
Vanessa stood there a second longer, her arms still crossed—but her heart had picked up speed again.
She didn't want to admit it, but... that smirk?
It made her nervous.
The next morning, Vanessa stepped into the school building with her head high, confidence buzzing under her skin like a live wire.
She had won.
Ethan had reacted. He had stiffened, flinched, stayed silent.
There was no way he could turn things around so quickly. Not unless he'd had a damn blueprint for how to ruin her composure.
Right?
Then she saw him.
And everything in her went still.
Ethan was leaning against the lockers like he hadn't slept a wink—but in that irritatingly gorgeous way only he could pull off. His white hair was slightly messy in the way that looked intentional, his hands in his pockets, his whole posture lazy... but his eyes—
His eyes were sharp.
And worse?
He was smirking.
Not the usual amused half-smile.
This was different.
This was dangerous.
This was calculated.
Vanessa's stomach dropped.
"...What?" she asked, instantly on guard.
Ethan tilted his head, that smug smile still curling his lips. "Oh, nothing."
Liar.
Vanessa squinted at him suspiciously, but before she could pry, the bell rang, slicing through the moment like a knife. Ethan didn't say anything else—just gave her one last look and walked past her, calm as ever.
Like he'd already won.
Vanessa turned slowly to watch him go, her heart hammering now.
Something was up.
And she hated how bad she wanted to know what.
She couldn't concentrate during class.
Ethan sat two rows away, and he didn't look at her once. Didn't fidget. Didn't do anything. He just took notes, wrote things down, as if he weren't plotting her slow emotional unraveling with every tick of the clock.
But she knew him.
She knew that stillness.
It wasn't peace.
It was anticipation.
And the longer he did nothing, the more it gnawed at her.
By the time lunch hit, Vanessa had snapped.
She stormed to their usual table, slammed her tray down with more force than necessary, and dropped into her seat, glaring at him like she could set him on fire.
"Alright," she snapped. "Spill it."
Ethan didn't even flinch.
He looked up slowly from his food, chewing, calm as ever. "Spill what?"
She clenched her jaw. "Don't play dumb. I know you're planning something."
He tilted his head again, that infuriating calm never leaving his face. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"
Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "The fact that you smirked at me this morning. You don't smirk like that unless you're up to something."
Ethan tapped a finger against his tray, pretending to think. "Interesting."
She waited.
He didn't elaborate.
Just took a bite of his sandwich.
Vanessa stared, offended. "That's it? You're just gonna eat?"
He gave a lazy shrug. "It's lunchtime."
She wanted to scream. Or flip the tray. Or kiss him just to shut him up.
"Ethan," she growled.
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Tell me what you're planning."
He finally looked her dead in the eye, the air between them suddenly sharp with tension.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Vanessa blinked. "What do you mean 'why'?"
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to brush over her skin like velvet. "Are you scared, Vanessa?"
Her entire body went rigid.
"No!" she barked.
And there it was again—that smirk. The one that said gotcha.
He sipped his drink, completely unfazed. "Then why does it matter?"
Because you're inside my head, she wanted to scream. Because you're doing something to me and I can't stop it.
Instead, she hissed, "Because I like to know when I'm being set up."
Ethan laughed softly. "Where's the fun in that?"
Vanessa could feel her pulse pounding in her throat.
Then, before she could even think of a proper comeback, a voice chirped from beside her.
"Vanessa!"
Hannah slid into the seat like a whirlwind, all grins and casual chaos.
Then her eyes landed on Ethan.
"Ah, the famous boyfriend."
Vanessa's mouth dropped open, too stunned to react.
Ethan, unfazed, turned to Hannah with perfect ease. "I suppose I am."
WHAT.
Vanessa's body locked up.
Hannah leaned forward with a grin. "Sooo... do you have an older brother?"
Before Ethan could even answer, Vanessa stomped hard under the table.
"Ow!" Hannah yelped. "What was that for?!"
Vanessa smiled sweetly. "He's taken."
Hannah scowled. "I meant his brother, not him!"
"He doesn't have a brother," Vanessa said coolly.
Hannah sighed dramatically. "Tragic."
Ethan watched them both, silent, amused... and smug.
Then, as Hannah continued her one-woman performance about tragic sibling shortages, Vanessa felt it.
A touch.
Barely there.
Light. Intentional. Dangerous.
Ethan's foot.
Sliding slowly—deliberately—along the side of her ankle under the table. A featherlight drag that sent a jolt of electricity straight up her spine.
Her breath caught, so sharp she nearly choked on it. Her entire body went still.
What. The. Hell.
Her head snapped up, eyes wide, heart pounding—
And there he was.
Ethan.
Looking every bit the picture of disinterest. Listening to Hannah. Chewing casually on his sandwich. As if he hadn't just lit her nervous system on fire with a single touch.
Not even a glance in her direction. No smirk. No acknowledgment.
He was acting like it hadn't happened.
Like she was the crazy one.
Vanessa's mind screamed.
She forced herself to breathe. To sit still. To not let it show. Because if she flinched, if she reacted—
He would win.
Her fingers curled under the edge of the table. Nails digging into her palm. She was fine. She was calm. She—
Her foot jerked back on instinct.
Damn it.
Ethan's eyes flicked to hers for one second.
And there it was. The tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. That bastard.
That smirk.
The rest of lunch blurred. A haze of half-heard conversation and rising internal chaos. Ethan didn't touch her again, didn't even glance her way—he didn't need to.
The damage was done.
She was flustered. Buzzing. Every nerve on edge, body tight, anticipation curling deep in her gut like a storm waiting to explode.
And the worst part?
She had no idea when he'd strike next.
By the time the last bell rang, Vanessa was exhausted.
Not physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
Her brain had been running at full speed since that damn foot touch. Every sideways glance, every moment of silence, every normal action Ethan took was suspect. Like he was baiting her—building her up—only to strike when she least expected.
And he was winning.
Because she hated it. Hated this waiting. Hated not knowing what came next.
Her eyes flicked toward him for the millionth time that day.
He was slipping his notebook into his bag, calm and composed as always. Like nothing about this day was different. Like he wasn't the reason she was practically vibrating in her seat.
And then, just when she let her guard drop for half a second—
A voice behind her.
"Ready to go?"
She jumped. Jumped.
Whirled around to find Ethan standing there like he hadn't just scared the hell out of her.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes instantly. "You."
Ethan blinked, all faux-innocence. "What about me?"
She didn't answer right away. Just studied him, waiting for a crack. A tell. Anything.
But of course, he gave her nothing.
He raised a slow eyebrow. "What?"
"You know what," she snapped.
Ethan tilted his head, the picture of curiosity. "Do I?"
Oh, she wanted to punch him.
Or kiss him.
Or both.
Vanessa crossed her arms, glaring. "You've been messing with me all day. I know you're up to something."
Ethan sighed with theatrical flair, pressing a hand to his chest like she'd wounded him. "Vanessa, you wound me."
"As if," she bit back.
He chuckled, that infuriating low sound that sent a shiver down her spine. Then he gestured toward the doors. "Come on. I'll drop you at work."
Vanessa didn't move.
She stood her ground, arms still folded, eyes narrowed. He wanted her to relax. He wanted her to think the danger had passed.
It hadn't.
It never did with him.
But Ethan just waited, relaxed and patient, like he knew time was on his side.
"Do you really want to stand here all day?" he asked, amused.
Vanessa ground her teeth. "Fine."
The moment she climbed on behind him, her body went taut again. Arms sliding around his waist. Chest pressed against his back. It was too close. Too much.
And too familiar.
She hated that her body remembered him. That her cheek fit against his shoulder. That the scent of him—warm leather and clean soap—was already messing with her head again.
She didn't relax. Not even when he started the engine. Not even when the wind started rushing past her.
Especially not when it started.
At first, she thought she imagined it. That her brain was short-circuiting from proximity.
But then—
She felt it.
Ethan's hand.
Low. Barely there. But unmistakable.
His fingers brushing against the exposed skin just above her knee.
Tracing idle, slow circles. Each one tighter. Smaller. More deliberate.
Her entire body locked up.
"Ethan," she hissed into his ear.
"Hmm?" His voice was infuriatingly calm.
She gripped him harder, fingers digging into his sides. "Both hands on the handlebars."
"I've got it under control," he murmured.
"You're literally driving—hands on the damn bike."
He chuckled, and she felt it rumble through his back against her chest.
Then, without warning, his fingers slid higher—just an inch. Just enough to remind her exactly who had the upper hand.
And then he pulled away.
Returned his hands to the handlebars like nothing had happened.
Vanessa wanted to scream.
The rest of the ride was a blur of hot skin and gritted teeth. She couldn't focus. Could barely breathe. Her body was on fire, and it was all his fault.
By the time they pulled up to the ice cream parlor, she was flustered beyond recognition—cheeks burning, hands shaking, heart in freefall.
Before she could slide off, Ethan turned his head just slightly—just enough to catch her in the corner of his gaze.
His green eyes glinted.
"Enjoy the ride?" he asked, voice a low rasp of satisfaction.
Vanessa stared at him, seething, breathless.
"You're insufferable."
His smirk was slow. Confident. Cruel in the softest, most delicious way.
"See you later, Ness."
Then he revved the bike and pulled away—leaving her standing there, knees weak, skin hot, pulse thrumming like a war drum.
And all she could think was:
This wasn't over.
The moment Vanessa stepped through the back door of the ice cream parlor, the fluorescent lights hit her—and so did Hannah's grin.
"Oh-ho," Hannah called, already leaning on the counter like she'd been waiting all day for this, "what's got you all flustered?"
Vanessa barely managed a groan as she tossed her bag onto the hook. Her cheeks were still warm, her skin still humming with leftover adrenaline. "Nothing."
But Hannah wasn't buying it.
Her grin stretched wider, eyes lighting up like a cat who'd just seen a canary fly into the room. "Did Ethan finally do something fun?"
Vanessa dragged a hand down her face and exhaled hard. "Define fun."
She was trying to sound bored. Unbothered. Normal. But her pulse was still pounding from that stupid ride. That stupid touch. That stupid smirk.
Hannah leaned further onto the counter, her voice dropping to a gleeful whisper. "Did he make a move?"
Vanessa froze.
Because... yeah. He had.
Just not the kind of move Hannah was picturing.
Not flowers or flirty compliments or a soft first kiss.
No.
Ethan had made his move.
Under the table. On the bike. With a hand that had no business being that casual while setting her on fire.
She hesitated for half a beat too long.
And that was all it took.
Hannah gasped, eyes going wide with smug delight. "Ohhh, so he did."
Vanessa snatched a napkin from the stack and chucked it at her face. "Shut up and get to work."
Hannah laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd heard all week, catching the napkin midair and tossing it aside. "Oh, Vanessa," she cooed, "I love seeing you like this. It's so humanizing."
Vanessa groaned again, pressing her palms to her burning cheeks. She felt like a shaken soda can. Over-pressurized. Brimming with too much everything.
Ethan was going to be the death of her because she knew it in her bones that this wasn't over yet.
Dinner was going fine.
Well, it had been.
Until her mother spoke.
"I ran into Ethan at the grocery store today," she said casually, twirling her fork like she was discussing the weather.
Vanessa, who had just taken a sip of water, froze mid-swallow. "Yeah?"
Her mother nodded. "He said he was looking for big cucumbers and carrots. Said they were more cost-effective for salads."
Silence.
A long, horrible, immediate silence in Vanessa's brain as her thoughts flatlined.
Cucumbers.
Carrots.
Big ones.
The fork in her hand suddenly felt heavier. Her grip tightened like she could strangle the metal.
Her face was burning so fast she could feel the color rising. Neck, cheeks, ears—all of it.
And then her father, completely oblivious, nodded in agreement like this was the most wholesome conversation ever. "Good kid. Eating healthy."
Vanessa wanted to slam her head into the table but she took a sip of water.
Her mother continued, voice still maddeningly breezy. "Oh, and I saw he had some tools in his cart too. And rope."
Vanessa choked.
The water went down the wrong pipe and she coughed violently, eyes watering, hand knocking her glass halfway off the table in a flailing attempt to breathe.
Her mother blinked, all innocent concern. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
No. No, she was not okay.
Her brain was short-circuiting.
Cucumbers. Carrots. Rope.
What the hell was he doing?
Her thoughts spiraled. She knew Ethan liked to mess with her—but this? This was evil. This was diabolical. This was—
Oh, God.
Her mother was still looking at her.
A slow, knowing smile curling at the edges of her lips like she was enjoying the sight of her daughter's complete mental unraveling.
"Oh my," her mother mused. "Why are you turning so red?"
Vanessa gritted her teeth. "No reason."
Her mother tilted her head, eyes glinting with unholy amusement. "Are you sure? You look like you're thinking very hard about something."
She was. Unfortunately.
Vanessa stabbed at her dinner with so much force she nearly shattered the plate. "No. I. Am. Not."
Her father, cheerfully chewing, chimed in again. "What's he need the rope for?"
Vanessa almost exploded on the spot.
She could feel her whole body vibrating from the tension, like her skin could barely contain what was underneath.
Her mother, the demon woman, raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Vanessa. Any ideas? Maybe he's doing some DIY mechanic work too?"
Vanessa nearly snapped her fork in half.
Her mother knew.
She knew what she was doing. She was enjoying every second of this torture session like it was her personal soap opera.
Vanessa refused to look up. She stared at her food like it held the secrets of the universe. She would not give her mother the satisfaction.
"I don't know," she muttered, chewing on a piece of steak that now tasted like shame and humiliation.
Her mother just hummed, all innocence and sugar. "Strange, don't you think?"
No. What was strange was how much Vanessa wanted to strangle Ethan and kiss him at the same time.
And she couldn't stop thinking about it. About the way his fingers had felt on her skin. About the sound of his voice when he said her name like a challenge. About the fact that he was planning something, and she had no idea what or when or how.
But cucumbers? Carrots? Rope?
Was he doing this on purpose? Was he trying to break her brain?
She needed to ask him.
She had to.
But asking meant admitting she was thinking about it.
Admitting how much she was thinking about it.
And Vanessa hated that.
Because Ethan? Ethan was always calm. Always smug. Always in control.
And now... now he was under her skin.
And she had to find a way to turn the tables.
Because she swore—next time?
She would have the upper hand.
That was what she told herself.
One way or another, she would win.
She would claw her way back to the upper hand, and Ethan would regret ever smirking at her like that.
Or so she thought.
Until later that night.
Until she was lying in bed, staring at her phone like it had personally offended her, scrolling up and down through their messages, replaying every smirk, every infuriating little touch, every damn syllable of smugness Ethan had hit her with today.
And then her fingers were flying before she could stop them.
Vanessa: Why did you buy cucumbers, carrots, and rope today?
There was a beat.
Then another.
And then—
Ethan: ...Excuse me?
Vanessa could practically hear the fake innocence dripping from those two words. She scowled, thumbs moving fast and sharp.
Vanessa: DON'T "excuse me" me. My mother saw you. EXPLAIN.
Ethan: You sound really stressed about this.
Vanessa sat bolt upright in bed, her entire body on fire.
Stressed?
STRESSED?
She ground her teeth and jabbed the screen like it was his chest.
Vanessa: ANSWER. THE. QUESTION.
Ethan: I was buying groceries.
Vanessa: AND THE ROPE?!
Ethan: For my uncle's boat. As I told your mother when she asked.
Vanessa froze.
Her breath stuttered. Her thoughts paused mid-freakout.
...Oh.
She stared at the message like it had slapped her.
Her face—already pink from reliving the day—turned fully scarlet.
Because now she was remembering what she thought he was doing with those items. What direction her brain had leapt to. What... scenarios had bloomed uninvited behind her eyes.
And worse?
He knew.
She could feel it. Through the screen. Through the silence.
And then, right on cue—
Ethan: Vanessa.
Vanessa: What.
Ethan: What exactly did you think I was buying them for?
She stared at the message.
No. Nope. Absolutely not.
Her fingers hesitated. Her heart did not.
She typed.
Vanessa: SHUT UP. GOODNIGHT.
Ethan: Goodnight, Ness.
She threw her phone onto the bed like it had caught fire and screamed into her pillow.
A muffled, primal, murderous scream.
Her mother was going to pay for this.
The next morning, Vanessa stormed into the kitchen with the fury of a woman personally wronged by the universe.
She was still burning from the night before. Not just in the cheeks—but under her skin. In the places where her dignity had been shattered by one boy and a grocery list.
Her mother was at the stove, flipping pancakes, humming like nothing in the world could touch her. Too cheerful. Too smug.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes and marched right up to her.
"You did that on purpose."
Her mother turned, wide-eyed, as if she had no idea what she was talking about. "Did what, sweetheart?"
Vanessa crossed her arms. She wasn't playing games. "Cucumbers. Carrots. Rope."
Her mother bit into a slice of apple, slowly, thoughtfully, like she was savoring the taste of her own villainy. "Ohhh," she said after a beat, "you mean what Ethan bought at the store?"
Vanessa's jaw clenched. "Yes."
Her mother smiled. Too wide. Too pleased. "Well, you seemed very interested. I just assumed you knew something I didn't."
Vanessa groaned like it physically hurt. Because she knew. She knew her mom had done it on purpose. She'd baited her. Set the trap and watched her fall face-first into it.
Her father walked in, still in his robe, sipping coffee like the world was simple and innocent. "Morning. What's going on?"
Her mother didn't miss a beat. "Vanessa was just overanalyzing Ethan's grocery shopping."
Vanessa snapped her head toward her mother. "MOM."
Her dad raised an eyebrow. "What's there to analyze?"
Her mother glanced at her, that wicked little gleam still dancing in her eyes.
Vanessa couldn't take it.
She grabbed an apple off the counter like it was a weapon and stormed out, muttering curses under her breath.
"OH honey!" her mom called after her, voice bright and chirpy, "It's okay! Every couple has their... curiosity!"
Vanessa tripped.
She caught herself, cursed harder, and kept walking.
By the time she got to school, she was still fuming.
Still reeling from the night before. From the kitchen. From her mom. From herself. From Ethan.
She spotted him instantly in the parking lot.
Leaning against his bike like he was in a damn movie. Waiting for her.
And worse?
He looked good.
His usual all-black outfit was replaced with a dark green shirt—fitted just right—paired with black jeans that clung to him a little too well.
And that infuriated her even more.
Because she almost forgot she was mad. Almost.
Ethan noticed her glare the second she approached. "Uh-oh," he said, like it was a joke.
She stomped up to him and jabbed her finger into his chest. "I hate you."
He looked down at her, completely unbothered. Amused. "What did I do this time?"
Vanessa crossed her arms, nostrils flaring. "I had to suffer through my mother's teasing because of your stupid grocery list."
Ethan's smirk was slow. Infuriating. Satisfying, because he knew exactly what she meant.
"Oh?" he asked, tilting his head just enough to make her tense. "And why exactly was she teasing you?"
Vanessa froze.
That was the trap.
She walked right into it.
His smirk deepened. "Vanessa. What did you think I was going to do with cucumbers, carrots, and rope?"
And just like that—her entire body detonated.
Her face went up in flames. Her thoughts scattered. Her pride collapsed.
"Nothing!" she snapped. Too fast. Too loud.
A couple students glanced their way.
Ethan chuckled, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he started toward the entrance. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Vanessa groaned, dragging her hands down her face as the heat refused to fade.
This was the worst day of her life.
And it was only 8 AM.
Vanessa and Ethan sat side by side in the back corner of the school library, tucked between dusty bookshelves and old radiators, a quiet pocket of stillness in the storm of her day.
Books open. Pens out. Notebooks spread between them.
From the outside, it looked like two students studying.
But only one of them was.
Ethan sat calmly, flipping a page with the kind of smooth indifference that made her want to scream. His brow slightly furrowed, lips parted just a little in concentration, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of the page like he had all the time in the world.
Vanessa?
She wasn't even pretending anymore.
Her eyes were on the math worksheet in front of her, but her brain was miles away—dangerous miles.
Cucumbers. Carrots. Rope.
That damn list had taken up permanent residence in her mind, and no amount of algebra could force it out.
Her fingers tapped restlessly on her notebook. Her leg bounced beneath the table. And worst of all, every time she tried to focus, she saw things. Imagined them. Things she couldn't un-think. Ethan. That rope. Those vegetables. The things her mother had made worse just by smiling.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No. Stop. Do not go there. Not in public.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, forcing her eyes back to the paper. She could do this. She could focus. Solve for x. Not think about rope. Not think about him.
But then—
"Hey," Ethan said suddenly, soft and casual. "Can you grab my notebook? Should be in my bag."
Vanessa blinked, too eager for the distraction. "Sure."
She leaned over toward his black backpack on the floor, pulling it up to her lap. The zipper was halfway undone, revealing a corner of a spiral-bound notebook near the top. Easy.
But as she unzipped it further, her fingers froze mid-motion.
Her stomach dropped. Time stopped.
There it was.
The rope.
Soft. Coiled. Deliberate.
She stared.
Her brain flatlined.
Then rebooted—too fast, too loud.
WHY DOES HE EVEN HAVE IT WITH HIM AT SCHOOL?!
Her thoughts exploded into chaos, ricocheting between innocent explanations and not-so-innocent images.
Tying up books? No. That's dumb. He's not a librarian. Maybe PE? Did he join a club? No. Ethan doesn't join clubs. Then why—
A darker thought crept in.
Was it related to the vegetables?
Was he actually planning—
STOP. STOP. STOP.
Her face was on fire. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck, over her ears. The secondhand shame, the mental images, the suspicion—everything collided at once.
And then—
"Vanessa?"
His voice. Her name in that calm, low voice that somehow always made her spine tingle.
She snapped her head up. "WHAT?"
Ethan blinked, eyebrows raised at her outburst. "Uh... my notebook?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Oh. Right."
She yanked it out like it had offended her and slapped it on the table with way more force than necessary.
Ethan frowned a little. "You okay?"
"I'M FINE." she said, way too loud again.
She was not fine. She was the furthest thing from fine. She was spiraling.
Her eyes flicked—against her will—back to the bag. That damn rope. Right there. Mocking her.
Ethan followed her gaze.
And she saw it happen.
The shift in his expression. The flicker in his eyes. That subtle, devastating curve of his lips.
Oh no.
No no no no no.
That bastard knows.
He leaned in, slow, like a predator who just smelled blood. His voice dropped, rich and teasing. "You found the rope, didn't you?"
She choked. Literally choked on air.
He smirked. HE ACTUALLY SMIRKED.
"Oh, Vanessa," he murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Your mind really went there, huh?"
She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Vanessa snatched her textbook and yanked it up in front of her face like a shield. Her voice was a hiss from behind it. "Why do you have it at school?!"
Ethan leaned back, completely relaxed, thoroughly entertained. "Relax. My uncle needed new rope for the dock. I just picked it up yesterday. Haven't had a chance to drop it off yet."
Vanessa peeked over the book, eyes narrow, suspicious. "...Oh."
He nodded, deadpan. "Yeah. But now I'm really curious..."
She tensed.
He tilted his head, voice laced with wicked delight. "What exactly did you think I needed rope for?"
Vanessa launched a pencil at his face.
Ethan ducked, grinning. "Hey!"
"Shut up, Ethan."
"Oh no," he said, voice still laughing. "I think I deserve an answer."
She dropped her head onto the table with a loud thud, her arms shielding her face.
This was a disaster.
A train wreck.
A public humiliation spiral.
With no brakes.
No steering. No seatbelt.
Just Vanessa, emotionally flailing, while her dignity disintegrated at 120 miles per hour.
She groaned softly and slammed her forehead against the library table again, letting it rest there in pure defeat.
Worst. Day. Ever.
And the universe wasn't done yet.
Not even close.
By the time the final bell rang and she made her way toward Ethan's bike, her head was still full of tangled rope and equally tangled thoughts. Her footsteps felt heavy, but her brain? Racing.
She couldn't stop thinking about it.
About the damn rope in his bag.
About the way he'd looked at her when she found it.
Smug. Knowing. Like he'd planned the whole thing.
Like he was enjoying every second of watching her unravel.
Ethan is messing with me.
He had to be. That was the only explanation.
And the worst part? He wasn't even trying hard.
One grocery trip, one casually placed coil of rope, and he had her spiraling.
She clenched her fists at her sides, jaw tight. She'd get him back for this. Eventually. When her heart wasn't trying to beat its way out of her ribcage every time he smirked.
But her simmering irritation screeched to a halt as she reached the bike.
There was a black polythene bag hanging from the handlebar.
That in itself wasn't too weird. Ethan sometimes left stuff there—water bottles, gloves, sometimes spare books. But this? This looked different. A cheap plastic bag. Light. Crinkling in the breeze.
Curiosity tugged at her before caution could stop her. She peeked inside.
And then immediately wished she hadn't.
Magazines.
But not just any magazines.
BDSM. Bondage. Restraints. Submission.
Her entire body went rigid. Her face went nuclear.
The blood surged to her cheeks so fast she felt dizzy.
She snatched her hand back like it had touched something burning.
What. The. Actual. Hell.
Her heart started pounding, hard and fast, like her chest couldn't contain it. Her mouth went dry.
Was this a joke? Did Ethan actually...
Her thoughts splintered, fractured, exploded into places she didn't want to explore in a public parking lot.
Images flooded her—ropes, hands, his voice, that calm, patient smirk—
Oh god.
She staggered back a step.
And then she heard it.
Laughter.
Snickers behind her.
Students.
Pointing.
They'd seen her looking. They'd waited for her to see.
Her stomach twisted into knots as humiliation clawed up her throat.
And Ethan?
He was just standing there. Calm. Collected. Helmet in hand. Like there wasn't a bag full of graphic magazines swinging from his handlebars. Like the laughter didn't exist. Like the entire world wasn't crashing down around her in slow motion.
No reaction. Not even a blink.
He simply handed her helmet to her, then slid onto his bike like this was any other Thursday.
Vanessa clutched her helmet, the plastic cold in her sweaty hands. "Ethan..."
"Get on," he said, voice cool. Unshaken.
She stared. "Did you—?"
He turned his head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes. "Vanessa. Get on."
It wasn't a demand. It wasn't sharp or bossy.
But it had that Ethan quality.
That steady current underneath his words.
Like he already knew she would.
And, like always, she did.
She swung a leg over the seat and climbed on behind him, stiff and buzzing with too many questions.
As they sped away from school, Vanessa's mind refused to settle. The wind whipped around her, but it didn't clear her head. Nothing could.
She leaned forward slightly, close enough for her words to reach him without being ripped away by the wind. "Why do you have those?"
A pause. Then a sigh, long and measured, like she'd asked him to recite a textbook. "I don't."
She frowned. "What?"
"The bag's not mine."
Another beat.
"...Then whose—?"
"Some idiots thought it'd be funny."
Realization hit like a slap of cold water.
Her stomach twisted again, this time with guilt.
Of course it was a prank. She'd seen the snickering students. The timing. The setup.
And still—
Still, her brain had gone there.
"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked quietly.
Ethan turned down the familiar road toward her house, his posture relaxed, as if none of this touched him. "Because I don't care."
Vanessa scoffed, even though her voice wavered. "People are gonna think—"
"They already think a lot of things," he interrupted, voice like iron wrapped in velvet. "Doesn't change anything."
She stared at the back of his head, her hands tightening slightly where they gripped his jacket. His steadiness, his refusal to react—it frustrated her. And it amazed her. Because she cared. Too much.
She cared that people laughed.
She cared that they thought they could humiliate him.
And—God help her—she cared that for a hot, terrible second, she had believed it. That she thought maybe the magazines were real. That Ethan could actually—
She groaned, burying her face between his shoulders. "I hate you."
Ethan laughed, low and warm. "No, you don't."
She scowled. He was right. Damn him.
They rolled up to her house, engine humming before he cut it off. She swung off the bike, feet unsteady. But she didn't walk away.
She turned, heart in her throat. "You're going to your uncle's now, right?"
Ethan nodded, shifting his weight slightly. "Yeah."
Vanessa hesitated. Her hand reached out before her brain caught up, fingers curling around his wrist.
"Don't let those idiots get to you, okay?"
For once, he didn't answer right away. He just looked at her—really looked.
And then, with maddening softness, he smirked.
"I could say the same to you."
Vanessa rolled her eyes, even as something warm and traitorous curled in her chest. She tried to push it down. "Shut up and go already."
Ethan chuckled, revved the engine again, and took off down the street like he hadn't just upended her entire existence.
Vanessa watched him disappear, arms crossed tight.
Today had been too much.
The rope. The magazines. The teasing. The looks. The way he always seemed to know what she was thinking before she did.
She needed to lie down.
Or scream into a pillow.
Or both.
Vanessa froze the second she crossed the threshold into her house.
Her fingers were clenched tightly around something—something plastic, something horribly incriminating.
She looked down slowly.
The bag.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
You have got to be kidding me.
She hadn't even realized she was still holding it. She'd gotten off Ethan's bike, walked up the driveway, opened the door, walked inside—with the bag.
The bag.
The one filled with BDSM magazines like a scandalous bomb just waiting to go off.
What if Mom saw it? What if Dad was home early? What if—
Panic surged like ice water in her veins.
"Shit—"
She whipped around, bolted back out the door, eyes scanning the street like a woman on the brink of a crisis.
"Ethan!" she called out, voice a little too shrill.
But it was useless.
His bike was already a shrinking blur in the distance, the low hum of the engine swallowed by the neighborhood silence. Gone. Vanished. Just like that.
Vanessa stood there on the porch, holding the bag like it was a live grenade.
She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Great. Just... great."
For half a second, she debated chasing after him. But then she pictured it—her, sprinting through town like a lunatic, flailing a bag full of bondage magazines in her hand.
Yeah. No.
A deep, shuddering breath. Think, Vanessa. Think.
Ethan clearly wasn't going to come back for the bag. He hadn't cared. He hadn't even blinked. That was his thing—unshakeable, cool, borderline infuriating.
So now it was her problem.
And throwing it in the kitchen trash was not an option. She could already picture it: her mom rooting through the garbage, casually pulling out restraint techniques for beginners. Her soul would spontaneously combust.
Nope.
She darted back inside, rushed up the stairs like she was being chased, and shoved the bag deep into her backpack, jamming it beneath her work uniform like that would smother the shame radiating off it.
Out of sight, out of panic.
Sort of.
Another breath. She could still make it to work on time. Maybe a little late. Maybe still mildly dying inside. But present.
She grabbed her keys and bolted.
The second she walked into the ice cream parlor, the noise hit her like a wave—bubbling laughter, the chime of the doorbell, the hum of freezers, and—
"Hey, Vanessa!"
There they were. The girls.
"Did you come with your mystery man today?" Hannah asked from behind the counter, grinning over a giant scoop of mint chocolate chip.
Vanessa sighed and reached for her apron, trying to shake off the residual anxiety humming under her skin. "No. Not today."
Lily, stationed near the toppings bar, perked up immediately. "Ugh, why not? Your boyfriend looked so awkward last time. It was cute."
Vanessa barely suppressed a groan. She tied her apron a little too tightly. "Awkward isn't the word I'd use."
Tense. That's what he was. Like a panther in a cage. Ethan hated attention, and her coworkers? They'd swarmed him like he was a movie star.
Hannah leaned her elbows on the counter, smirking. "So, when's the next appearance?"
Vanessa made a face. "Never. I think one visit was already pushing it."
Lily pouted, dramatically offended. "Boo. He's hot. I wanted to talk to him more."
That stopped Vanessa mid-motion.
"Excuse me?" Her voice was a little sharper than she intended.
Hannah snorted, clearly enjoying this. "Oh, come on. You know he is."
Vanessa shot them both a look as she grabbed a scoop and yanked on her gloves like they'd personally betrayed her.
"He's taken," she said, tone final.
Lily raised her hands in mock surrender. "Doesn't mean we can't appreciate the view."
Vanessa muttered something unspeacable under her breath.
She wasn't jealous.
She wasn't.
She was just... territorial. Yeah. That sounded better. Cleaner. Less unhinged.
Then it happened.
A tug.
Just a small one. A hand brushing against her backpack, shifting it slightly to the side.
"Hey, Vanessa?" another coworker asked casually. "Your bag's kinda in the way—trying to get mine."
The blood drained from Vanessa's face.
The bag.
The bag was inside.
Still there.
Still full of things that should never, ever be seen by anyone in this building.
Her eyes widened, her heart stopped, and in one fluid motion born entirely of panic, she yanked her backpack off the counter like it had caught fire. It nearly smacked her in the face.
"Sorry!" she blurted. Way too fast. Way too loud.
Everyone turned to look at her.
Hannah blinked. "Uh. You good?"
Vanessa plastered on the fakest smile she had in her arsenal. "Yep! All good! Totally fine! Just—uh—lots of important stuff in here. Super personal. Super private. You know. Like...diary-level."
"...Right."
The awkward silence stretched. The judgment was palpable.
She laughed—nervously. "Okay! Who wants to man the freezer?"
Mercifully, the conversation shifted, the shift picked up, and everyone got distracted by the steady stream of customers. But Vanessa?
She couldn't think of anything except the bag in the staff area. It sat there like a curse waiting to be unleashed. Like it was vibrating with potential humiliation.
Every time someone walked near it, her breath hitched.
Every laugh? Directed at her.
Every glance? Suspicious.
Every movement? Dangerous.
She had to get rid of it.
Fast.
Vanessa had just stepped into the shower, the steam wrapping around her like a comforting cocoon, the warm water pouring over her face and shoulders, chasing away the tension that had clung to her since the ice cream parlor.
For a blissful moment, there was silence. Just the water. Just heat and skin and escape.
Then—
"Vanessa!"
Her mother's voice pierced through the bathroom door, casual.
"Put your work clothes in the laundry. I'll wash them with the rest."
And without hesitation—without an ounce of thought—Vanessa called back, "They're in my bag!"
Her bag.
The words had already left her mouth. Out. Launched into the universe with all the finality of a nuclear missile.
There was a beat of nothing. Then it hit her.
The bag.
Her eyes snapped open. Water streamed down her face, but it might as well have been ice.
Her heart dropped. Her lungs seized. Her stomach twisted into a catastrophic knot.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
She could hear it. The sound. The distinct, casual, deadly sound.
Zzzzzip.
The zipper. Her bag being opened. Her mother's voice moments before—so cheerful, so helpful—echoed back in her skull like a curse.
And then... silence.
An awful, crushing silence.
Vanessa's soul left her body.
She launched herself out of the shower, almost slipping on the wet tiles as she scrambled. A towel wrapped hastily around her still-dripping body, she flung open the bathroom door, feet slapping against the hardwood as she sprinted toward the laundry room like a woman possessed.
Too late.
Far, far too late.
There her mother stood, calm as ever. Beside the laundry basket. Holding one of the magazines. Open. In one hand.
Vanessa skidded to a halt, mortified and soaked, her hair dripping, her mouth hanging open in mute horror.
"Well."
Her mother's tone was infuriatingly amused.
"Didn't know you were into this, sweetheart."
Vanessa's vocal cords seized. "I'M NOT—!"
Her mother tilted the magazine toward her, lips twitching. "Oh? So this isn't yours?"
Vanessa flailed. "No! It's not—"
"But it was in your bag."
"I KNOW, BUT—"
There was a pause, a long one, as her mother studied her like some rare animal at a zoo exhibit.
"Hmm," she said thoughtfully. "So, whose is it, then?"
Vanessa froze.
Her brain went blank. A field of static. Because what was she supposed to say?
She couldn't tell her mom it was Ethan's—because it wasn't. And even if she tried to explain how it got there, what would that even sound like?
"Oh, hey, Mom, some classmates planted porn on my boyfriend's bike, and I accidentally took it home."
Yeah. That'd go so well.
Her dad was right there in the next room. And if he even heard the word "BDSM," Ethan would be dismembered by dinner.
But the alternative?
She couldn't claim it.
There was no universe where she could look her mother in the eye and say, "Yes, I enjoy bondage-themed publications in my spare time."
Just. No.
She was so screwed.
Her mom, apparently delighting in her silence, started flipping through the pages with slow, deliberate fingers.
"You know," she said conversationally, "I don't judge. It's good to know what you like."
Vanessa's whole body lit up like it was on fire. She clutched the towel like it was the only thing anchoring her to this godforsaken earth. "MOM."
Her mother grinned—grinned.
"I just never would've pegged you as the submissive type."
Vanessa let out a strangled noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a scream.
"I AM NOT—"
"Oh, no need to be shy, sweetheart," her mother said far too sweetly, like she was complimenting a haircut and not gutting her daughter's soul open. "Your father and I were young once, too, you know."
Vanessa physically recoiled. "PLEASE DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE."
She needed to be erased. From time. From space. From existence.
Her mother, entirely unbothered, tossed the magazine back into the bag like it was an old receipt. "Relax, Vanessa," she said, brushing past her. "Your secret's safe with me."
Secret.
She had no secrets anymore. She had been emotionally strip-searched.
Vanessa stood there, dripping wet and catastrophically humiliated, as her mother walked off with the same smirk that had destroyed her life in the span of sixty seconds.
She didn't move.
She couldn't move.
She just... stood. Letting the worst moment of her life loop on repeat in her head like a cursed GIF.
She had to destroy the evidence.
The next morning, Vanessa woke like she'd just escaped a war zone. Her eyes snapped open, and the only thought in her head was: burn it.
There was no breakfast. No brushing teeth. No internal dialogue. Just rage and dread and the unshakable, clawing need to erase the crime scene.
She grabbed the backpack, yanked it open like it had insulted her ancestors, and dragged the magazines out with trembling hands.
There they were.
Glossy. Graphic. Unholy.
She stormed outside like a woman on a mission, slippers smacking against the concrete as she made a beeline for the trash bin.
She ripped the lid open, shoved the magazines down as deep as they could go, like she could bury the entire memory with them.
Then—slam. Lid closed.
No ceremony. No eulogy.
Good. Freaking. Riddance.
With the morning sun already clawing its way above the rooftops, Vanessa adjusted her bag and marched toward school with one singular goal: survive the day. After everything—after the cursed bag, after the magazines, after her mother—she needed normalcy. Quiet. A day without the universe taking personal offense at her existence.
But of course, the universe had other plans.
She hadn't even stepped onto campus before she saw him.
Ethan.
He was standing by the bikes, his back turned, fingers lazily securing the helmet to the black bike. From a distance, he looked like a painting—cool and still and maddeningly untouchable.
She should have turned around. Walked the other way. Pretended she forgot something.
But before she could act, he turned.
And there it was.
That smirk.
The exact same one from yesterday—sharp and smug and absolutely unbearable. It was the kind of expression that said he knew exactly what kind of chaos he'd left in his wake. The kind that said he'd enjoyed it.
Vanessa froze mid-step.
No. No. No.
He wasn't supposed to smirk. Not after what happened. Not after the magazines, not after her mom, not after she'd barely survived the most humiliating twenty-four hours of her life.
Her pulse thundered in her ears. She hadn't even made it to homeroom and she was already back in emotional freefall.
Before she could say a word, Ethan took his sweet time strolling up to her, every step deliberate, his body radiating that easy, insufferable confidence.
He leaned in—close enough for her to feel his breath fan against her ear. Close enough to drown her brain in static.
And then, in that low, velvety tone that never failed to mess with her equilibrium, he whispered:
"Don't ever try me again."
Vanessa's stomach flipped.
Her breath hitched, heart skipping like a scratched record.
Ethan pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, the gleam in his gaze making her feel naked beneath her clothes.
"Or else," he continued, voice honey-sweet and dangerous, "more of your peculiar interests will start finding their way to your parents."
For a second, the world tilted.
Her mouth opened, a sharp breath caught between indignation and sheer panic.
"WHAT?!" she hissed, grabbing a fistful of his collar before she could stop herself. "You—YOU TOLD THEM?!"
Ethan didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
Instead, he laughed. Laughed. A soft, amused chuckle that made her want to throttle him and melt into the sidewalk simultaneously.
"Not quite," he said, prying her fingers off him with maddening ease. "But your mom did call me last night."
Her blood ran cold.
What.
No. No, no, no, that couldn't—
That shouldn't—
She stared at him like he'd just confessed to murder. "What?" she croaked.
Ethan tilted his head in that way he did when he was deliberately being a little shit. "Why do you look so worried?"
"WHAT. DID. SHE. SAY?"
He sighed dramatically, like her panic was inconvenient. "Oh, you know, just some casual conversation."
Casual. CASUAL?!
Vanessa's brain was sprinting in circles. She felt sweat bead at the back of her neck, adrenaline spiking even though she wasn't moving.
"She wanted to know," Ethan said, his voice soft again, like a secret slipping from between his teeth, "if I liked the gifts you bought me."
Vanessa died.
She actually died.
Her soul up and quit.
Because her mother—her actual, blood-related mother—had called Ethan about BDSM magazines. About those magazines. And asked if he liked them.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Ethan pulled back just enough to catch her reaction, his eyes dancing with amusement, his smirk deepening into something wicked.
"I told her," he said slowly, "they were quite the surprise."
Vanessa could not breathe.
She couldn't think.
She was going to spontaneously combust.
Before she could scream or cry or do something reckless, Ethan patted her head—patted her like she was some docile pet—and strolled past her, completely unfazed.
"I'll see you at lunch," he tossed over his shoulder.
She stood there, still frozen, still reeling, as he vanished into the building like a devil who'd just set fire to the world and walked away whistling.
This. Was. WAR.
Absolute, full-blown war.
By the time lunch rolled around, Vanessa had gone through five different strategies to emotionally recover, and none had worked. She still felt humiliated. Exposed. But also?
Angry.
She wasn't letting Ethan win this.
Not after last night. Not after that phone call. Not after that damn smirk.
When she spotted him—perched in his usual cafeteria corner, half-hidden in shadow, arms crossed like a brooding model—Vanessa felt something cold and calculated settle over her.
She had him now.
She plopped down across from him, .The tray in front of him was filled with the usual healthy stuff of course. Typical. Ethan always health conscious as ever.Tho there were fries on there as well.
Without ceremony, she snatched a fry off his tray and popped it into her mouth.
Then she tilted her head, voice sugary sweet.
"So," she said, twirling another fry between her fingers, "since we're apparently sharing things with my mother now... maybe I should return the favor?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow. His lips twitched in amusement.
"Oh?"
Vanessa smiled. Slowly. The kind of smile she'd learned from watching villains in drama series.
"Maybe I should tell your uncle," she said, leaning forward ever so slightly, "how you've been buying certain... magazines?"
For a fraction of a second—barely even noticeable—his smirk slipped.
Just the tiniest bit.
But Vanessa saw it.
She pounced. "I mean, I'm sure he'd love to know about your sudden interest in... rope."
Ethan exhaled through his nose, clearly not amused anymore. "Nooo You wouldn't."
Vanessa's grin widened. "Try me."
The table between them might as well have been a battlefield. His calm against her fury. Her pride against his ego.
They stared.
The air between them thickened, stretched, coiled.
Then Ethan leaned back with maddening ease, lips quirking.
"You're cute when you try to play mind games."
Her eye twitched. "I will actually kill you."
He grabbed his drink and took a slow sip, deliberately smug, before setting it down with a soft clink.
"Then who would tease you?"
Vanessa grabbed another fry and hurled it at him. It hit him square in the forehead.
He didn't even blink. Just casually flicked it off.
Still smirking.
She groaned, dropping her head onto the table like a woman in mourning. "I hate you."
Ethan propped his chin on one hand, watching her like she was the best part of his day. "Mm. And yet, you're always around me."
She glared at him from under her bangs. "Not by choice."
He didn't reply. Just kept looking at her with those unreadable eyes.
And then he said it.
Soft. Casual.
"Where do you think I got them from?"
Vanessa blinked.
Fry halfway to her mouth.
She froze.
"...what?"
Ethan just looked at her, cool and unbothered, like he hadn't just lobbed a grenade into her psyche.
And then, almost lazily, he added:
"You heard me."
Vanessa stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're telling me... your uncle—your actual uncle—bought those?!"
Ethan shrugged. "Not exactly. He had them lying around. I just borrowed a few."
And just like that, Vanessa's brain blue-screened.
She imagined it. Against her will. Ethan's uncle—who was tall and serious casually flipping through one of those magazines.
She choked. Out loud. People turned to look.
She didn't care.
"You're lying." Her voice was a whisper of horror.
Ethan tilted his head, deceptively innocent. "Am I?"
She pointed a shaking finger at him, like it might ward him off. "I can never look that man in the eye again."
Ethan took another sip of his drink. "Probably for the best."
Vanessa dropped her face back into her hands.
This was it. This was rock bottom. There was nowhere left to fall.
She'd lost.
Completely.
Utterly.
Catastrophically.
~~~~~