Adrian hadn't planned it. Maya hadn't wanted it. But guilt had a way of twisting into longing, and longing into surrender.
It was late, a storm hammering against the windows, when Maya showed up at Adrian's door. She was drenched, with her hair plastered to her skin, her eyes red from crying.
I can't take it anymore, she whispered the moment he opened the door.
The silence… the looks…
Elena knows, Adrian. She knows. This is past more than feeling and I can't breathe anymore to secrets.
Immediately he pulled her inside, shushing her, though his own chest felt hollow, collapsing inward.
No. I think she only suspect, maybe. But she doesn't… know or have any evidence.
She knows, Maya insisted, gripping his shirt like a lifeline. Her voice broke, raw and jagged.
Every time she looks at me, I feel like I'm already confessing. She's twisting me like a boiling pressure.
At this point, Adrian should have stepped back. Should have told her to leave. Instead, he pulled her closer, guilt and desperation colliding in the worst kind of alchemy.
Their lips met, fevered, reckless, a kiss not of love but of despair.
And somewhere, in the silence of the house, Elena moved through the shadows like a ghost.
She hadn't staged the storm, but she had left breadcrumbs, subtle nudges, quiet remarks, seeds of paranoia that led Maya straight here.
Now she stood at the edge of the hallway, unseen, watching them burn themselves alive.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. Not of triumph but of confirmation.
The betrayal was no longer suspicion. No longer puzzle pieces.
It was flesh, breath and undeniable.
And in that moment, Elena knew time ticking fast would not be all about discovery. It would be about reckoning.