The weekend passed in a haze Sophie could barely name. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his mouth against hers again—desperate, furious, trembling. Every time she touched her lips, she remembered the taste of smoke and fire.
And every time she looked in the mirror, she didn't recognize herself.
She had kissed Marcus Hale.
Not just kissed him—she had let him see her, let him strip away the fragile walls she'd built around her heart. And worse, she had seen him too. Not the monster, not the cruel smile in the hallways, but the boy who whispered you make me forget who I'm supposed to be.
She should have felt stronger, bolder. But all she felt was trapped in a secret too dangerous to hold.
By Monday morning, the rumors had shifted. They always did—whispers twisting like knives in the air. But Sophie could feel eyes on her more than usual, heavy and sharp. She tried to convince herself it was in her head, paranoia fed by the weight of what she carried.
Until she heard it.
"Think Hale's got a new toy?" one of the boys snickered near the lockers. "Saw the way he's been watching her."
"Maybe he's bored of the rest. Doesn't take much to mess with a stray."
Laughter rang out. Sophie's stomach churned.
She slammed her locker shut and walked quickly down the hall, ignoring the sting in her eyes. She would not cry. Not here. Not for them.
But then she turned the corner—and froze.
Marcus stood against the far wall, hands shoved in his hoodie, smirk faint but eyes dark as he watched the scene unfold. He hadn't said a word in her defense this time. He hadn't even moved.
Their gazes locked. Sophie searched his face, begging silently for some sign that what had happened between them mattered, that it wasn't just another game.
But Marcus only lifted his chin slightly, mask firmly in place.
The betrayal sliced through her like glass.
She turned away, walking fast, her chest burning.
At lunch, she sat alone in the far corner of the cafeteria, untouched food before her. The noise of hundreds of voices crashed around her, but all she heard was the echo of his silence.
Her notebook lay open on the table, words spilling out like wounds:
You kiss me in the dark,and in the light you pretend I am nothing.Which one of us is the lie?Which one of us is real?
The chair across from her scraped. Sophie looked up sharply.
Marcus.
He sat down, ignoring the curious stares and muffled laughter from nearby tables. His smirk was absent, his jaw tight.
"You're avoiding me," he said.
Sophie's chest tightened. "You made it easy."
His eyes flickered. "Sophie—"
"Don't." Her voice shook. "Don't say my name like it means something when you act like it doesn't."
The air between them crackled. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Marcus leaned forward, voice low. "Do you think I can be who I was in the dark when everyone's watching?"
"Then why kiss me at all?"
"Because I couldn't stop myself."
The rawness in his voice unraveled something in her, but she held firm. "That's not enough."
Marcus's hand twitched on the table, like he wanted to reach for her but didn't dare. His eyes were wildfire, desperate and contained all at once.
"You'll never understand what it costs me," he muttered.
"Then let me," Sophie whispered.
But he pushed back his chair abruptly, standing. The mask slammed back into place. "Careful, Sophie. Wanting to understand me is how you'll break."
And then he was gone, leaving her with the weight of every eye in the cafeteria.
That night, Sophie couldn't write. Couldn't breathe. Her chest ached with too many contradictions. She hated him. She wanted him. She wanted to erase him. She wanted to keep him forever.
She sat by the window again, staring into the darkness, waiting without meaning to.
But he didn't come.
Tuesday was worse. Ethan cornered her near the stairwell, smirk cruel. "So what's the deal, sweetheart? Hale's little charity case? Or just practice?"
Sophie shoved past him, heart racing.
Marcus wasn't there.
Not in the stairwell. Not in the halls. Not by her locker.
For the first time since she'd arrived at Windmere, he was absent.
And the silence of his absence hurt more than his cruelty ever had.
By Wednesday night, Sophie broke. She climbed out her window, the notebook clutched to her chest, and walked the streets with no destination. The autumn air was sharp, the moon pale and watchful.
She found herself at the old music shop where she had first seen him that Saturday night. The brick wall loomed, the alley dark and empty.
"Looking for me?"
Her heart lurched. Marcus stepped from the shadows, hood low, eyes burning.
Sophie's voice cracked. "Why are you doing this to me?"
His jaw clenched. "Because I don't know how not to."
"You kissed me," she whispered, tears spilling. "You made me believe—"
"I made you nothing," he cut in, voice harsh. But the tremor betrayed him. "I'm poison, Sophie. You touch me, you'll rot."
"Then let me rot," she snapped, stepping closer.
His eyes widened, fire and ruin colliding in his gaze.
"You don't mean that."
"I do," she cried. "Because you're the first person who sees me, even if it's only in the dark. And I'd rather burn in the dark with you than freeze in the light without you."
The words tore from her like a confession.
Marcus stood frozen, every muscle tight. Then, with a strangled sound, he grabbed her face and kissed her again.
It was different this time—not just hunger, but desperation. A plea. A surrender.
Sophie clutched him back, matching his fire, her tears mixing with his breath.
When they finally broke apart, Marcus pressed his forehead to hers, trembling.
"You don't know what you're asking," he whispered. "You don't know what I've done. What I'm capable of."
"Then show me," Sophie whispered back. "Show me everything."
His eyes burned, torn between fury and longing. Slowly, he nodded.
"Then don't say I didn't warn you."
And in that moment, Sophie knew she was lost.
Not to Marcus Hale the tormentor.
But to Marcus Hale the boy of chains and fire.
And she didn't care if she never found her way back.