The following Monday arrived with skies the color of lead. Wind swept through Windmere's courtyard, scattering dead leaves across the concrete. Sophie sat on the edge of the fountain, hands curled tight in her lap, trying to summon enough air into her lungs.
Everything inside her felt like glass, fragile and trembling. Since Friday night—since Marcus had slipped into her room—nothing had been the same. His words haunted her, tangled around her heart like barbed wire:
You make me forget who I'm supposed to be.
She had replayed them over and over, each repetition deepening the ache. He wasn't just her tormentor anymore, not just the boy who had made her life at Windmere unbearable. He was a contradiction—shadow and flame, cruelty and tenderness, a storm she couldn't escape.
And the worst part was, she didn't want to.
She knew he was near before she saw him. His presence was a weight, a shift in the air, the way conversations faltered when he passed.
Marcus Hale.
He stood across the courtyard, flanked by his friends. They were laughing at something one of them had said, careless and loud, but Marcus wasn't laughing. His gaze was fixed on her, sharp as a blade, unreadable.
Sophie's chest tightened. She forced herself to look away, but the heat of his attention lingered like a brand on her skin.
A shadow fell over her. One of his friends, Ethan, leaned down with a sneer. "Hey, new girl. Still scribbling in that little notebook of yours? What do you write, fairy tales about people actually liking you?"
Laughter exploded behind him. Sophie's grip on her bag tightened, nails biting into her palm. She refused to answer. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Ethan reached as if to snatch her notebook from her lap. Before he could touch it, a voice cut through the air.
"Back off."
The laughter faltered. Ethan straightened, confusion flashing across his face.
Marcus.
He hadn't moved from where he stood, but his voice carried like a command. The courtyard quieted, tension sharp as wire.
Ethan blinked. "What's your problem, Hale? Just messing around."
Marcus's smirk curved, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Find someone else to mess with."
The silence that followed was heavy. Ethan laughed awkwardly, clapping Marcus on the shoulder. "Whatever, man. She's not worth it anyway."
But Marcus's gaze never left Sophie. Not until Ethan and the others drifted away, muttering.
Sophie's heart pounded. She didn't understand what had just happened, didn't know if it was protection or another game.
Marcus finally moved, crossing the courtyard with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped in front of her, shadows clinging to him like armor.
"You're welcome," he said, voice low.
Sophie swallowed hard. "I didn't ask for your help."
"No," he said softly. "You never do."
The rest of the day blurred, but one truth settled in Sophie's chest: something had shifted. Marcus had drawn a line in front of everyone, and now the air around them buzzed with speculation. Whispers followed her in the halls, sharp and suspicious.
By the time the last bell rang, Sophie felt like she was suffocating. She headed for the back exit, hoping to escape before anyone cornered her.
"Running again?"
She spun. Marcus leaned against the doorway, smirk lazy, eyes anything but.
"Go away," she snapped, shoving past him.
But he caught her wrist, gentle but firm. "Stop."
The single word froze her in place.
Marcus searched her face, his jaw tight. "You think I did that for them? For show?"
"I don't know what you did," Sophie said, her voice shaking. "I don't know who you are."
His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. "Neither do I."
The admission stunned her.
Marcus released her suddenly, stepping back. "Meet me tonight. Same place as before."
"I can't."
"You will." His smirk returned, brittle and sharp. "Because you want answers as much as I do."
And then he was gone, leaving Sophie trembling in the doorway.
That night, Sophie paced her room, heart hammering. Every part of her screamed not to go. But something stronger pulled her toward the window—the memory of his eyes when he said neither do I.
When the knock came on the glass, she wasn't surprised.
Marcus climbed inside, moving like he belonged there. Sophie crossed her arms, trying to mask her shaking. "What do you want from me?"
His gaze burned into hers. "The truth."
"About what?"
"About why I can't stay away from you."
The words slammed into her like a wave. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Marcus stepped closer, shadows clinging to him. "I hate this. I hate the way you make me feel. I hate that I think about you when I shouldn't. That I see you in places you don't belong. That I…" He broke off, raking a hand through his hair.
"That you what?" Sophie whispered.
His voice cracked. "That I need you."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Sophie's heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"Then why do you hurt me?" she asked, tears stinging her eyes.
Marcus flinched, as if struck. "Because it's the only way I know how to keep people out."
Her throat closed. "And if I don't want to be kept out?"
His gaze snapped to hers, raw and desperate. "Then you're a fool."
"Maybe," she said softly. "Or maybe I'm the only one who sees you."
His breath shuddered. He took another step closer, until their faces were inches apart. The tension between them burned like fire, terrifying and intoxicating.
"Say it again," he whispered.
"What?"
"That you see me."
"I do," Sophie said, voice trembling. "I see you, Marcus."
For a moment, he closed his eyes, as though her words were both a balm and a wound. When he opened them, they were blazing.
And then he kissed her.
The world exploded. His lips crushed against hers, fierce and desperate, like he was drowning and she was the only air. Sophie gasped, the notebook tumbling from her hands as she clutched his hoodie.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't careful. It was fire—hungry, reckless, consuming.
Her mind screamed to stop, to push him away, to remember every cruel word he had ever spoken. But her body betrayed her, answering with equal fervor. She was lost in him, lost in the storm, lost in the boy who had shattered her world and was now piecing it back together with fire.
When he finally tore away, both of them were breathless.
"This is wrong," he rasped, forehead resting against hers.
"Then why does it feel like the only thing that's right?" she whispered.
His chest heaved. He pulled back slightly, eyes burning into hers. "Because we're both broken. And broken things cut when they touch."
Sophie's tears spilled, but she didn't look away. "Then let me bleed with you."
Marcus stared at her, something breaking in his gaze. Slowly, he cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek.
"You don't know what you're asking," he whispered.
"Maybe not. But I know what I want."
The silence stretched, heavy and trembling. Finally, Marcus kissed her again—softer this time, lingering, as though afraid she would vanish.
When they parted, he whispered against her lips: "You're going to destroy me."
And Sophie, breathless and trembling, whispered back: "Maybe we'll destroy each other."
That night, long after Marcus had left, Sophie lay awake staring at the ceiling. Her lips still burned, her heart still raced, her notebook lay open on the floor where it had fallen.
She picked it up, writing with shaking hands.
Tonight I touched the fire.And it touched me back.We are ruin and salvation,chains and freedom,monster and girl.And I don't care if we burn.
She dropped the pen, burying her face in her hands. Because she knew there was no turning back.
The fire had started.
And nothing could stop it now.