The restaurant Lucas chose screams first-date ambition—white tablecloths crisp enough to cut glass, candles flickering in crystal holders, waiters who materialize like well-dressed ghosts.

He pulls out my chair before I can reach it.

“You look incredible tonight.” His smile is warm and genuine, and I want so badly to feel something in return. “That dress is perfect on you.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.” I smooth the napkin across my lap. “It’s beautiful.”

“Only the best for you, Serena.”

The words should make my heart flutter, but my mind keeps drifting to that photo on my phone.

Who took it? What do they want from me? Is this blackmail waiting to detonate, or a warning shot across my bow?

Lucas asks about my constitutional law class, and I give answers that sound rehearsed even to my own ears. He laughs at my jokes with appropriate enthusiasm, leans forward when I speak, remembers details from our previous conversations.

He’s doing everything right, and it feels like watching a play where I’ve forgotten all my lines.

“The professor sounds like a character.” He refills my wine glass without being asked. “Did he really throw chalk at that kid?”

“Allegedly.” I manage a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “The kid deserved it, though.”

“Remind me never to fall asleep in your classes.”

The candle between us flickers, casting shadows across his face that make him look like a stranger.

“Serena?” Lucas touches my hand across the table, concern creasing his forehead. “You seem really distracted tonight.”

“Sorry.” I pull my hand back to reach for my water glass. “Just school stress weighing on me.”

“Anything I can help with?”

Can you explain why someone photographed me at my most vulnerable?

Can you tell me why my stepbrother makes me feel more alive in fury than you do in kindness?

“No,” I say instead, swallowing the truth with my Chianti. “But thank you for asking.”

The rest of dinner passes in a blur of pasta and polite conversation that I’ll forget by morning.

He walks me to my door afterward, and the house glows warm from within. Through the window, I can see our parents on the couch, Catherine’s head resting on my father’s shoulder as the television flickers.

They look happy, and the sight makes my chest ache with complicated emotions I can’t untangle.

Lucas turns to face me on the porch, moonlight catching the gold in his hair, making him look like something from a romance novel.

“I had a really great time tonight.”

“Me too.” The lie tastes like the wine still coating my tongue.

He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away, and I let him kiss me because I need to know.

I need to know if this can be better than the kitchen with Caleb.

His lips are soft, his technique practiced and confident, and I feel absolutely nothing. No electricity crackling beneath my skin, no desperate hunger clawing at my chest.

Just the clinical awareness that his mouth is on mine and my body has filed the experience under “unremarkable.”

The front door swings open behind me.

Caleb stands in the threshold like judgment personified, and his expression could freeze fire in its tracks. His eyes drop to where Lucas’s hand rests on my waist, then rise slowly to my mouth—still parted from a kiss that meant nothing.

The muscle in his jaw jumps once, twice, three times before he speaks.

“You should go, Bennett.” His voice is terrifyingly calm, each word measured and precise. “Now.”

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