Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 50

Caleb’s POV

The cruelest prisons are the ones built from other people’s good intentions.

The front door barely closes behind Rachel before my mother launches into warm nostalgia, her face glowing with the kind of hopeful excitement that makes my chest tight with dread.

“I always liked that girl.”

She settles onto the armrest of William’s chair, her eyes soft with memory.

“Do you remember how polite she was? Always offering to help with dishes, always asking how my day went. Such a sweet young woman.”

“She was good for you.”

William adds, nodding along with the easy agreement of a man who doesn’t realize he’s walking into a minefield.

“Settled you down during those rough years. Your mother and I used to say you were a different person when Rachel was around.”

“A better person.” My mother reaches over to squeeze my shoulder. “Not that you aren’t wonderful now, sweetheart, but she brought out something softer in you. Something I’d worried you’d lost.”

I can’t correct them. Explaining why Rachel was actually here, the threats, Lucas, the tangled web of secrets binding me to Serena, would unravel everything we’ve been fighting to protect.

So I say nothing, just nod along while my mother builds castles in the air from the rubble of my past.

“I’d always hoped you two might find your way back to each other.” Catherine’s voice takes on a wistful quality that makes my skin crawl. “Young love doesn’t always work out the first time, but when it’s real, it has a way of circling back around.”

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying.” She holds up her hands in mock surrender, but her smile doesn’t dim. “Seeing her here tonight, the way you were looking at each other—a mother notices these things, Caleb. I’m not blind.”

Across the room, Serena sits perfectly still on the couch.

I watch her from the corner of my eye—the rigid set of her jaw, the way her fingers dig into the cushion hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interrupt. Just absorbs every word like a series of small wounds she refuses to acknowledge.

“You should invite her to dinner properly,” Mom continues, oblivious to the tension thickening the air. “Give us a chance to catch up, get to know who she’s become. I’d love to hear about her studies.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” William smiles at his wife with genuine affection. “It would be nice to have some good news around here, after everything with the engagement situation.”

The engagement situation. Like Serena’s forced betrothal to her attacker is just an inconvenient scheduling conflict.

“I’ll think about it.” The words taste like ash on my tongue. “She’s been busy with school.”

“Of course, of course.” My mother waves a dismissive hand. “No pressure. Just don’t let this one slip away again, alright? Some connections are worth fighting for.”

The irony of that statement burns like acid in my throat.

Serena rises from the couch without a word, muttering something about being tired before disappearing up the stairs.

Our parents exchange knowing glances—probably assuming she’s giving me privacy to discuss my romantic prospects, probably congratulating themselves on raising such considerate children.

They have no idea what they’ve just done.

I escape to the bathroom as soon as I can manage it without raising suspicion, locking myself behind the door that connects my room to the shared space.

The fluorescent light buzzes overhead as I squeeze toothpaste onto my brush, going through the motions of normalcy while my mind races through everything we’re going to have to navigate now.

Rachel can’t come back here. Mom will never let it go. And Serena…

The door from Serena’s room swings open without warning.

She stands in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest, her expression carved from stone.

The softness I glimpsed earlier tonight has vanished completely, replaced by something cold and sharp and barely controlled.

“You still have feelings for her.”

I spit toothpaste into the sink, taking my time rinsing the brush before I turn to face her. “Excuse me?”

“Rachel.” The name comes out clipped, precise. “The way you touched her tonight. The way you comforted her, looked at her—I saw all of it, Caleb. Don’t pretend I didn’t.”

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