Serena’s POV
The house sits in a silence that feels borrowed, the kind of quiet that only exists between one catastrophe and the next.
One week until Simon's marital contest hearing. One week until Lucas's criminal trial.
Everyone is preparing — William reviewing depositions, Catherine rehearsing testimony with a cold cup of tea she never drinks, Caleb running miles he doesn't count.
I sit cross-legged on my bed with a blank sheet of paper.
‘Dear Mom,’ I write, and the two words crack open a door I've kept sealed for six years.
‘I fell in love with someone impossible. He's Catherine's son, and he's cruel and tender and terrified of becoming his father. A man named Lucas hurt me. I survived it. I've been carrying grief like a second skeleton inside my body, and I'm tired. But I'm not the girl you left behind. I'm becoming someone who fights, who chooses, who doesn't run. I think you'd be proud of her.’
I fold the letter small enough to fit inside the locket, press it against Elizabeth's photo, and close the clasp. The locket settles warm against my sternum, holding both of them now.
Then I cross the hallway and knock on Caleb's door.
He opens it shirtless, hair damp from a shower, and the look on his face isn't surprise. It's recognition. Like he's been waiting without knowing he was waiting.
"Can I come in?"
He steps aside. I walk past him and sit on the edge of his bed. No panic driving me here tonight. No crisis. Just a decision I made somewhere between the first line of that letter and the last.
He leans against the closed door with those blue eyes that have learned every version of me — the angry one, the grieving one, the one who pretends she's fine when the ground dissolves beneath her feet.
"Whatever happens next week, I need you to know something." My voice comes out steady, grounded in certainty I've never felt before. "I'm not running anymore. Not from this. Not from you."
I stand and cross the room. My hands find his face, palms against the rough edge of his jaw, thumbs tracing his cheekbones.
"I love you. Not because you saved me. Not because we're broken in matching ways." I hold his gaze, refusing to let either of us look away. "Because you're the only person who's ever made me feel like myself."
His hands come up to cover mine, fingers wrapping around my wrists, and he presses his lips to my palm with a tenderness that makes my chest ache.
"Say it again," he murmurs against my skin.
"I love you."
He kisses me — not desperate, not frantic, nothing like the collisions we've made of each other before.
This kiss is slow and certain, his mouth moving against mine with a patience that says ‘I'm not rushing this, not when the world might try to take it tomorrow.’
His hands slide to my waist, drawing me flush against him until I feel his heartbeat through my ribs.
The kiss deepens with the weight of everything we might lose. His fingers find the hem of my shirt and lift it over my head with a reverence that turns the act into a confession.
His mouth follows his hands — pressing slow, open kisses across my collarbone, down my ribs, lingering at the dip of my waist where his breath fans warm across my skin.
"You're shaking," he whispers.
"Not from fear."
He looks up at me, and the rawness in his expression steals whatever composure I have left. He unfastens my bra with careful hands and lets it fall, then presses his lips to the space between my breasts where the locket rests against my skin.
I break apart beneath him with his name and ‘I love you’ tangled on my tongue, and I feel him shatter seconds later — my name caught in his throat like a prayer he didn't know he was saying.
VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABEL
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb)