Jacob and I had been dating for almost a year by the time I turned seventeen and a half.
He was sweet. Kind. Tall. Smart. And annoyingly charming when he wanted to be.
He brought me chocolate shaped like vampire fangs.
He watched horror movies without flinching.
He even sat through two and a half hours of slow-burn Korean thrillers just because I said I liked the director.
And he never pushed.
Not once.
Which made it worse—because I was the one who wanted to push things forward.
I didn't want to die a virgin again.
And if I was going to do it this time around, it should be with someone I liked. Someone safe. Someone who didn't breathe loud or try to make me decode mixed signals.
So one day, while we were alone in his family's enormous, echoing home theater, I asked:
"Dude, what's your deal?"
Jacob blinked, caught mid-sip of his drink.
"Huh?"
"Do you actually like me, or are you just into the snacks and sarcasm?"
He laughed, nearly choking.
"No, I just enjoy feeding random girls and bringing them into an empty house for funsies."
I raised an eyebrow.
"You're a sarcastic bastard. I like that."
Then I stood, walked over to his chair, and climbed into his lap.
"Let's kiss."
He didn't need to be told twice.
We Didn't Go All the Way
But we got close.
Our mouths crashed. My shirt came off. He unhooked my bra like a professional.
He kissed my collarbone. My neck. My chest. His hands were warm and confident, but respectful.
We touched. Explored. Breathed each other in.
No awkward fumbles. No fear.
Just heat and curiosity.
When I whispered, "Take your shirt off too," he obeyed, and I finally got my hands on those abs I'd admired from a distance.
We didn't sleep together.
But I came. He came.
By the time we were done, my hair was a mess and my smile wouldn't leave my face.
Afterward, I used his ridiculous spa-style shower and wrapped myself in a fluffy robe.
He offered to join me. I declined.
"After I turn eighteen," I told him through the door.
"In a fancy lakeside cabin. With a view. That's how it's happening."
He laughed.
"Then I know what to get you for your birthday."
Three weeks later, we threw the party of the year.
Our eighteenth birthday.
Lily wore a golden gown. I wore red. We sparkled like celestial opposites—sun and flame. Light and shadow.
We danced in a literal castle.
I had personally sent out a donation campaign in our name—every orphan supported by our family's foundations got a care package and a gift for their own eighteenth birthdays.
Mom cried when she found out.
"You have a golden heart," she whispered, hugging me tightly.
"Don't let anyone convince you otherwise."
And no, it wasn't a PR stunt. It wasn't to dodge taxes.
It was... something I needed to do.
Because I knew this second chance at life was unfairly kind. And I wanted to deserve it.
Jacob arrived in a black and red suit I'd picked for him.
He handed me an envelope.
Inside was a printout itinerary—flights, cabins, a full week of summer vacation. Secluded lake. Mountains. Firewood. Thick blankets. A wraparound porch with a view.
"My birthday present to you," he said, smiling.
"I'll bring weapons," I replied, smirking. "Just in case we end up in our own horror movie."
"Your parents will probably send armed mercenaries to follow us anyway."
I laughed and kissed his cheek.
The Night Fell Like a Fairytale
We danced. We drank fancy sodas in crystal flutes.
My dress swirled when he spun me. The chandeliers glowed. Everyone I loved was laughing.
Lily finally danced with Jack, her longtime maybe-boyfriend.
Even Caelum behaved himself.
For once... life felt perfect.
But I should've known better.
Because by the end of that summer...
Jacob would break my heart.