Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 32

“Can we talk? Just the two of us?”

Lucas’s voice carries no malice, no sharp edges that would justify the ice spreading through my veins. Just wounded sincerity wrapped in careful politeness—and that’s what frightens me most.

A predator who snarls is easier to identify than one who speaks in gentle tones and keeps his hands in his pockets.

“I know this is all overwhelming,” he continues, gesturing toward the dining room where our parents are still discussing wedding timelines and venue possibilities.

“All the excitement, all the questions. I thought maybe we could step outside, away from the noise, and just… talk honestly. About what this means for both of us.”

Every instinct I possess screams warnings, but refusing would look suspicious.

What possible reason could I give for not wanting a private conversation with my newly announced fiancé? How do I explain that his reasonable tone makes my skin crawl without sounding unhinged?

“Of course,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. “That makes sense.”

I catch Caleb’s eye across the room as Lucas places a respectful hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the back door. His expression darkens to something thunderous, and he takes a step forward like he’s planning to physically intervene.

“Caleb, sweetheart,” Catherine calls out, appearing at his side with perfect timing. “Would you mind helping me bring the dessert plates from the kitchen? I think I made too much tiramisu for just the adults.”

“Mom, I can help with that later.”

“Nonsense, you’re so much better at carrying multiple plates than I am.”

She catches his arm with gentle insistence, steering him toward the kitchen doorway.

“Besides, Patricia was just telling me about the most fascinating conversation she had with your lacrosse coach last week.”

His protests are waved away as brotherly overprotectiveness, exactly what Lucas predicted would happen. I watch Caleb disappear through the doorway, his jaw clenched and shoulders rigid with frustration, and suddenly feel completely exposed.

Lucas opens the back door for me with old-fashioned courtesy, and December air bites through my dress like tiny knives.

The Bennetts’ back patio stretches before us, decorated with tasteful Christmas lights that twinkle along the fence line and cast everything in a deceptively warm glow.

He doesn’t crowd me. Doesn’t move closer than necessary. Instead, he keeps a careful distance with his hands tucked safely in his pockets, and that restraint unsettles me more than aggression would.

At least aggression would confirm what I think I know about him.

“Serena,” he begins, his voice soft enough that I have to lean forward to hear him over the wind chimes Catherine hung from the pergola. “I need to apologize for what happened at the party.”

My blood turns sluggish in my veins.

“I’ve been replaying that night over and over in my head,” Lucas continues, his breath forming small clouds in the cold air. “Trying to understand how everything went so terribly wrong. I think—God, I think it was just a terrible miscommunication.”

“Miscommunication,” I repeat, the word tasting bitter on my tongue.

“I’d had too much to drink. Way too much. And the music was so loud, the costumes were confusing, everything felt… I don’t know, surreal. Like we were all playing roles instead of being ourselves.”

He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture boyish and vulnerable.

“I thought you were interested. I thought the way you were looking at me, the way you stayed close when we were dancing—I thought you wanted me to kiss you.”

The certainty I’ve carried for weeks begins to crack at the edges.

“When you pulled away, when you said no—I stopped, didn’t I?”

His eyes search my face with what looks like genuine confusion.

“I didn’t force anything. I was hurt and confused by what felt like mixed signals, but I never would have… Serena, you have to know I would never hurt you.”

My mind races, trying to reconstruct the sequence of events from that night. The alcohol, the pounding music, the way fear and panic blurred everything together.

“I had feelings for her first. Real feelings. I confessed them to Caleb, told him I was thinking about asking her out, and asked for his advice on how to approach her.”

My stomach sinks.

“Two days later, he was dating her. Started pursuing her almost immediately after I bared my soul to him. The betrayal still stings, if I’m honest.”

The foundation beneath my certainty crumbles with every carefully chosen word.

Lucas sounds so reasonable, so wounded by past betrayals and current concerns. The version of events he’s painting makes a terrible kind of sense—enough sense that I can’t dismiss it outright.

But what if this is exactly what manipulation looks like when it’s done by someone truly skilled? What if Lucas is simply a better liar than I gave him credit for?

The back door opens behind us with a sharp crack that makes me jump.

Caleb steps onto the patio, his expression carved from granite and his eyes burning with barely contained fury. “Serena. Inside. Now.”

Lucas doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t argue or posture or rise to the obvious challenge. Instead, he offers me a sad smile that seems to say see what I mean? and steps aside like a perfect gentleman yielding the floor to a more aggressive rival.

I walk toward the door on legs that feel unsteady, caught between two men who both claim to want what’s best for me.

As I pass Caleb, his hand brushes my lower back, possessive, warm, achingly familiar, and I hate how much comfort that small touch brings me.

Behind me, Lucas’s voice carries through the cold air like smoke: “Think about what I said, Serena. That’s all I ask.”

I don’t look back, but his words follow me into the house anyway, wrapping around my thoughts like chains I can’t quite break free from.