Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 45

Trust is a luxury I can no longer afford—not when everyone around me wears a different face than the one they show the world.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, textbooks spread around me like a fortress of normalcy I desperately need but cannot maintain.

The words on the page blur together, refusing to form coherent meaning no matter how many times I read the same paragraph.

My mind keeps circling back to the restaurant, to Lucas’s mask slipping just enough to reveal the darkness underneath, to Rachel’s quiet warnings echoing in my skull.

Something is deeply wrong with him.

I knew that already. I’ve known since Halloween, since before Halloween if I’m honest with myself.

But seeing it confirmed, watching that flash of genuine rage twist his handsome features before the polished exterior slammed back into place, leaves me hollow and afraid in ways I cannot name.

The sound of running water drifts from the bathroom. Caleb, showering.

I try to focus on my notes, forcing my eyes to track across the highlighted sentences, but my thoughts betray me. They wander toward him without permission, painting images I have no right to imagine.

Him throwing his head back under the spray. Him pushing wet hair from his face. Water streaming down his chest, his abdomen, lower.

I want to trace those droplets with my tongue, follow their path down the planes of his body until I find—

My hand drifts toward the waistband of my shorts, fingers slipping beneath the elastic before I catch myself.

No.

Heat floods my cheeks as I yank my hand away. I cannot keep letting him consume me like this, cannot keep building my world around a man who shares my last name and sits across from me at family dinners.

This obsession is a poison I’ve been drinking willingly, and it needs to stop.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand—a video call from Dad and Catherine.

I answer before I can think better of it, forcing a smile onto my face as their familiar features fill the screen.

Dad looks tired but happy, Catherine radiant beside him, both of them framed by what appears to be a hotel room somewhere warm and sunny.

“Sweetheart!” Dad’s face brightens when he sees me. “We weren’t sure you’d pick up. How’s everything going?”

“Good, Dad. Everything’s fine.”

Catherine leans into frame, her blonde hair swept back from her face. “Is the house still standing? Caleb hasn’t burned the kitchen down yet?”

“The kitchen is intact,” I assure her, keeping my voice light. “We’ve been surviving on takeout and frozen pizza. Very civilized.”

“That’s my boy.” Catherine laughs, and the warmth in her voice makes my chest ache with guilt. “Speaking of Caleb, is he around? I wanted to ask him about…”

Behind me, the bathroom door opens silently.

I don’t turn around, I don’t need to. I feel him there, a presence that shifts the air in the room, that makes my skin prickle with awareness I cannot suppress.

“Serena?” Dad’s voice cuts through my distraction. “You okay? You look a little flushed.”

“I’m fine.” The words come out steadier than I feel. “Just… It’s warm in here.”

“Is Caleb home?” Catherine asks again, trying to peer past me through the screen. “I thought I saw the door move.”

I risk a glance over my shoulder.

Caleb stands in the doorway, a towel slung dangerously low on his hips, his skin still glistening with water from the shower. Dark hair drips onto his shoulders.

Those piercing blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. He raises a finger to his lips. Don’t say a word.

“He’s…” I turn back to the screen, swallowing hard. “He’s not home right now. Went out to grab some groceries, I think.”

Why am I lying for him?

“Of course. We love you.”

“Love you too.”

I end the call with trembling fingers, the screen going blessedly silent.

The moment it does, I drag Caleb up by his hair, pulling his mouth to mine with a desperation that borders on violence. He tastes like me, like sin, like every wrong choice I keep making and cannot bring myself to regret.

His hands grip my waist as he crawls over me, the towel falling away, nothing between us now but the thin barrier of my shorts and the fragments of my shattered restraint.

“You’re insane,” I breathe against his lips. “That was our parents.”

“I know.” His smile is sharp and satisfied. “Tell me to stop.”

I should, I know I should. But when my hands find the hard planes of his shoulders, when his weight settles over me with a rightness that defies everything I know to be true…

The word stop never comes.

Instead, I pull him closer, kissing him like I’m starving for exactly what he’s offering—and maybe I am.

Maybe I’ve been starving for years without knowing it, and now that I’ve tasted this forbidden thing, I cannot imagine ever being satisfied by anything else.

His hand slides beneath my shirt, and I arch into his touch, surrendering to the hunger I’ve tried so hard to deny.

We’re going to destroy each other.

But destruction has never felt so much like coming home.