***
The message haunted me.
I sat on the edge of my bed, phone still clutched in my hand, screen glowing like a warning flare in the dark. Ask him about the fire.
My skin prickled.
I glanced at the door—closed but not locked. After last night, locking it felt pointless. I should've felt satisfied, maybe guilty. But mostly, I just felt raw, like he'd peeled back layers I didn't even know I had.
And now… this.
A warning. A mystery. A name I didn't recognize.
Or maybe I did.
Jace.
That name burned on my tongue like sin. And now it came with questions I didn't dare ask.
I typed back.
Me: What fire? What are you talking about?
No reply.
Of course not.
I tossed the phone onto the bed and stood. The walls of this house felt smaller, like secrets were closing in. I needed air.
But when I stepped into the hallway, I nearly collided with him.
He was leaning against the doorframe across the hall, arms crossed, like he'd been waiting. Shirtless again—because apparently that was his uniform—his eyes moved over me slowly, heatedly, the way they had last night.
Only now, I didn't melt.
I shivered.
"What's wrong, Princess?" he asked, voice smooth as smoke. "Look like you've seen a ghost."
"Maybe I have," I snapped.
He cocked a brow. "That so?"
"Don't play innocent, Jace. You're hiding something."
He stilled.
It wasn't a visible tension—just a subtle shift, a change in the air. Like a predator deciding whether or not to pounce.
I swallowed. "Someone texted me last night. Said I should ask you about a fire."
His eyes darkened instantly.
"What. Text?"
I stepped back. "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."
"I don't," he said, voice low now. Dangerous. "Show me the damn message."
"No."
His jaw flexed. He stepped closer. "Leah—"
"No!" I snapped. "You think you can come into my house, crawl into my bed, and then give me half-truths and smirks like that's enough?"
"Careful," he said softly, almost warningly.
I met his eyes, heart pounding. "Or what? You'll burn me too?"
That one hit.
Hard.
His fists clenched at his sides. "You don't know a damn thing about me."
"Then tell me." My voice cracked, but I didn't back down. "What fire, Jace? What are you running from?"
He stared at me for a long moment.
And then, without a word, he turned and walked down the hallway. Not storming. Not slamming. Just… leaving.
And that hurt worse than anything he could've said.
***
Later That Day
I couldn't focus. Not on my online class, not on the assignment I was supposed to submit, not on anything except the question clawing through my chest.
What happened to Jace before he came here?
I thought I was good at reading people. But Jace was like smoke—slipping through my fingers the moment I tried to hold on.
And yet, I couldn't let go.
So I did the one thing I knew would either break the silence or burn the bridge—I went through his things.
His room was exactly what I expected: messy, masculine, and oddly meticulous in certain corners. His cologne lingered in the air, spicy and dark. I tried not to breathe too deeply.
A duffel bag sat unzipped on the bed. I reached inside, fingers trembling.
Clothes. A passport. A burner phone. A beat-up leather journal with initials burned into the corner—J.M.C.
And then… a newspaper clipping.
It was folded and faded, edges yellowing like it had been touched a hundred times.
I opened it slowly.
"Mystery Fire Destroys Westview Academy Dormitory – One Student Presumed Dead, One Missing."
My blood ran cold.
Westview Academy. That was the elite boarding school in Vermont.
Jace had said he got kicked out of a few places—but he never mentioned anything like this.
I scanned the article. "The fire broke out just after midnight in Dormitory C. The cause is still under investigation, but authorities suspect arson. Two students were reported unaccounted for—one confirmed deceased, the other missing and presumed dead…"
A name caught my eye.
Jace Monroe Callahan.
My stepbrother. My addiction. My liar.
My pulse hammered as I snapped the journal shut and shoved the clipping back inside. But when I turned—
He was standing in the doorway.
Watching me.
Eyes stormy. Jaw tight.
"Enjoying yourself?" he asked coolly.
I froze. "I—"
"Looking for secrets, Leah? Or just another reason to hate me before you crawl back into my bed?"
My face burned. "I had a right to know."
"No," he said sharply, stepping in. "You had a choice. You could've asked. But you didn't trust me."
"You didn't give me a reason to."
"I gave you me," he said fiercely, his voice cracking. "Every broken, fucked-up piece. And you went digging like I'm some dirty mystery to solve."
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them away.
"What happened that night?" I asked softly.
His hands trembled—only for a second—but I saw it.
"I didn't start it," he said finally. "But I didn't stop it either."
I swallowed hard. "What do you mean?"
"I saw the gas. Smelled the smoke. But by then… it was too late. I was drunk. I passed out. When I woke up…" He shook his head. "My roommate was gone. Dead. I ran. I panicked. They thought I died too. That's why I've been off the grid."
"You changed your name?"
He nodded. "Went by Monroe for a while. Then just Jace. David—your mom's husband—he's the only one who knows."
"Why would he let you stay here?"
"Because I saved his ass in Thailand four years ago. Long story. Doesn't matter now."
My head was spinning.
"So what now?" I whispered.
His eyes met mine, raw and unguarded. "Now you know the truth. You want me gone, just say it. But don't act like this thing between us was some accident."
I stepped forward.
Every voice in my head screamed no.
But my body? My heart?
They whispered yes.
I reached for him. He caught my hand.
And when our lips met again, it wasn't fire—it was a storm.
A hurricane of tongues and teeth and tangled limbs. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, placed me on his bed, his mouth tracing fire across my skin.
"I should hate you," I breathed.
"But you don't," he growled, tearing my shirt over my head. "You crave me."
His fingers slid beneath my lace panties. I gasped.
This was madness.
And I was addicted.
***
Hours Later
We lay tangled in the sheets, our bodies slick with sweat, our minds still spinning.
But the storm wasn't over.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Another text. Same number.
Unknown: You found the article. Good. But that wasn't the whole story. He didn't just watch the fire. He lit the first match.
I stared at the screen, my blood turning to ice.
And beside me, Jace stirred.
"Leah," he murmured, brushing his lips against my bare shoulder.
I turned to him, heart pounding in my chest.
Because now, I wasn't sure if I had just fallen into his arms…
…or into his trap.