There's something deeply unsettling about waking up in a stranger's bed even if it's technically your own now.
The sheets are fresh, the air smells like laundry detergent and expensive aftershave, and the sun slicing through the curtains feels too bright, too deliberate. Like even the universe wants me to be uncomfortable here.
I shuffle to the bathroom in a daze, brushing my teeth properly this time no fungal cream involved. My face still burns when I remember yesterday's encounter with Tyler. Not the shirtlessness. Not the minty disaster. No, it's what he said before walking away.
"You were just... easy to mess with."
Like I was some side quest on his journey to alpha male perfection.
But it's the way he said it that gets me. Like it meant something more. Like I meant something more.
Uugh!!
I hate that I'm even thinking about this.
School is worse than I remembered. I walk the hallways like I'm navigating a minefield, waiting for whispers or snickers or someone to trip me for fun. But they never come.
Instead, people just... look. At me. Then at Tyler.
Word must've spread fast. Stepbrothers. Living together. Same house. Same car.
Same oxygen.
Tyler walks beside me like nothing's changed. Like we're just friends who happen to share DNA now. He nods at people, does his little chin lift, throws a wink at some sophomore who nearly drops her books.
I hate how smooth he is. Like the world is his stage, and he always hits his mark.
"You coming to practice later?" he asks casually as we near our lockers.
"What?"
He grins. "You know, moral support. Someone to admire me from the bleachers."
"I'd rather chew glass."
He chuckles and leans closer. "You'd look cute doing it."
I freeze.
He walks away like he didn't just say something completely unhinged.
I watch him disappear down the hallway, ignoring the flutter in my stomach that feels too much like betrayal.
Lunch is a nightmare.
Tyler's usual table aka the jock Olympus has an empty seat beside him, and of course, he pats it like I'm a stray dog.
I consider bolting.
But then someone else sits there.
His ex.
Katie...
Captain of the cheer squad. Skin like she filters her life. And eyes that lock onto mine like she's already decided I'm a problem.
They start talking. Laughing.
He leans in.
She touches his arm.
Something sharp and stupid twists in my chest, and I stab my sandwich like it personally offended me.
Dan slides into the seat across from me.
"Easy, killer. What did that turkey ever do to you?"
"Looked at me wrong."
He peeks over at Tyler and katie. "Yikes. That's an ex?"
"Apparently."
"They look cozy."
"So do raccoons before they rip each other apart."
Dan smirks. "Jealousy looks good on you."
"I'm not jealous."
"Sure. And I'm a backup dancer for BTS."
I glare at him. He just shrugs and keeps eating.
Later that night, I'm alone in the kitchen again.
Why is it always the kitchen?
I'm nursing a hot cup of tea like it might fix my emotional damage when Tyler walks in. He's still in his practice jersey, hair damp from a shower, phone in one hand, sports drink in the other. He looks like a spot god.
"Hey," he says, casual. Too casual.
"Hey."
He opens the fridge. "Mom left lasagna. You eat already?"
"Yeah. Earlier."
He grabs the container, pops it in the microwave, and leans against the counter. "Katie thinks you hate her."
Maybe I do , it's not his business who I like and who I don't like,but I did not say that to him instead I look up and ask. "Do you care?"
"Not really. Just thought it was funny."
I sip my tea. "Weird definition of funny."
He shrugs. "She said you were glaring like you wanted to set her on fire."
Setting her on fire sound like a good idea. where is all this coming from , I ask myself .
I quickly shake the thought away
"Maybe I was cold."
"Kitchen's heated."
"Then maybe it was your cologne. Gave me a headache."
He chuckles. "You're the weirdest person I know."
"Not your worst, though. That's progress."
The microwave dings.
He pulls out the lasagna, sets it down, and then pauses.
"You wanna watch something? I'm starting that murder show everyone keeps posting about."
"With you?"
"I mean, I live here. You live here. We both have eyes. Why not point them at the same screen?"
" there is no harm in watching a few episodes together
I blink. "Are you inviting me to... hang out?"
He looks at me. Really looks.
"I'm saying we don't have to hate each other every second of the day. Unless you want to, Because that sounds fun too."
Something tightens in my chest.
I nod. "Okay. One episode."
He grins.
We settle on the couch, him on one end, me on the other. A safe ocean of throw pillows between us.
The show starts. Murder. Secrets. Creepy music.
But all I can hear is the rhythm of his breathing.
Halfway through the episode, I glance over.
He's already watching me.
I turn back quickly, cheeks burning.
What is happening to me?
Later, when I finally drag myself to bed, I can't sleep.
Not because of the show. Not really.
It's the look in Tyler's eyes. The silence that didn't feel like war.
I hear a knock.
Soft. Tentative.
I sit up. "Yeah?"
The door opens.
Tyler steps inside, hoodie on now, shadows clinging to his face.
He doesn't speak. Just walks up and holds something out.
My phone.
"You left it."
"Thanks."
He turns to leave.
Pauses.
"Ben... if I ever really hurt you... back then. I didn't mean to."
I stare.
Then he walks out.
And leaves the door slightly open.
Like an invitation.
Or a warning.
But the real twist doesn't come until my phone buzzes a minute later.
One new message.
Blocked Number: You shouldn't trust him. You really think he's changed? Ask him what happened to Brayan. Ask him why he stopped showing up.
My blood runs cold.
Brayan.
A name I haven't heard in over a year.
A name I buried like a ghost.
My fingers tremble over the screen, and suddenly, the quiet house feels like it's holding its breath.
Because secrets have a way of resurfacing.they always do.
And Tyler Morgan?
Might be keeping one that could destroy everything.