Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 44

Serena’s POV

The date with Lucas is going smoothly—too smoothly, perhaps, like a performance that’s been rehearsed to perfection.

He’s attentive without being overwhelming, charming without seeming calculated, saying all the right things at precisely the right moments.

The restaurant he chose is elegant but not ostentatious, the conversation flows easily between safe topics, and his smile never falters.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” he says, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. “I know things have been complicated lately, but I feel like we’re finally finding our rhythm.”

“Me too,” I lie, because what else can I say? That every word feels scripted? That his touch makes my skin crawl even as I force myself not to pull away?

“Excuse me for just one moment,” Lucas says, his phone buzzing against the table. “I need to take this—work emergency. Two minutes, I promise.”

He squeezes my hand before stepping away toward the restaurant’s entrance, phone already pressed to his ear.

I watch him go, noting the way he transforms the moment he thinks I’m not paying attention—shoulders straightening, voice sharpening into something more authoritative.

I sit alone at our table, trying to reconcile the man in front of me with the monster Caleb insists he is. Lucas has been nothing but respectful tonight, nothing but kind.

Maybe Caleb’s jealousy has poisoned my perception. Maybe I’m seeing threats where none exist.

Then Rachel appears.

She slides into the seat Lucas just vacated with desperate urgency, her face pale and her hands trembling slightly.

I recognize her immediately from Caleb’s descriptions, though she looks smaller somehow, diminished in ways that speak to damage that goes deeper than physical scars.

“Serena,” she says, her voice low and rushed. “I know what happened at the party. Caleb told me everything.”

My stomach drops. “Rachel, I don’t think…”

“Please, just listen.”

She leans forward, eyes darting toward the restaurant entrance where Lucas stands with his back to us.

“I know what Lucas is capable of. What he did to me, what he tried to do to you—he hasn’t changed. He’s incapable of changing.”

“You don’t understand the situation…”

“I understand better than anyone.” Her voice trembles with barely controlled emotion. “The charming facade, the perfect gentleman act, the way he makes you question your own reality—it’s exactly that. A facade.”

She grabs my wrist across the table, her grip tight enough to leave marks.

“He’s going to escalate, Serena. He always does. First it’s small violations—touching when you don’t want to be touched, showing up uninvited, making you feel guilty for setting boundaries. Then it gets worse.”

“Rachel, please.”

“The engagement isn’t about love. It’s about ownership. He wants to lock you down before you figure out what he really is.” Her eyes are bright with unshed tears and raw terror. “Don’t let him do to you what he did to me.”

Before I can respond, before I can process what she’s telling me, Lucas returns.

His expression transforms the moment he sees Rachel sitting in his chair. The warmth drains from his face like someone pulled a plug, replaced by something cold and hard and utterly alien.

There’s no friendly greeting, no pretense of surprise at seeing an old acquaintance. Just ice.

“Rachel,” he says, her name dropping from his lips like poison.

She straightens in the chair but doesn’t move, meeting his stare with defiance that costs her visible effort. “Lucas.”

“I think you’re in my seat.”

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just… Seeing her brings back a lot of painful memories. The lies she told about me, the damage she tried to do to my reputation.”

His eyes plead for understanding, wide and vulnerable and exactly the right shade of regretful.

“I care about you too much to watch someone poison your mind against me the way she tried to poison everyone else’s.” He reaches up to cup my cheek with gentle reverence. “Can you understand that?”

I nod because it’s easier than arguing, because I’m not sure my voice would work anyway, because part of me desperately wants to believe his explanation even as a larger part recognizes the manipulation for what it is.

“Good,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “I just want to protect what we have. Is that so wrong?”

“No,” I whisper. “Of course not.”

He leads me back to our table as if nothing happened, and the date continues with the same smooth perfection as before.

We order dessert, discuss weekend plans, and he walks me to my car afterward with perfect gentlemanly courtesy.

But something has shifted inside me that cannot be undone.

I saw it—the real Lucas, just for a moment, before he locked it away again. The coldness in his eyes when he looked at Rachel. The way his voice turned sharp and commanding when he forbade me from speaking to her.

The complete transformation from charming boyfriend to controlling stranger and back again.

There’s no doubt now that something is deeply, fundamentally wrong with him.

The question is: how do I prove it without ending up in danger?