Hate Me Like You Love Me (Serena and Caleb) novel Chapter 62

Lucas’s POV

Control is an illusion we maintain until the moment it shatters in our hands.

Serena shows up to our dinner date exactly on time, dressed appropriately, her makeup flawless. She slides into the booth across from me with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and orders a salad she won’t eat.

“You look beautiful tonight.” I reach across the table and cover her hand with mine. “That dress is perfect on you.”

“Thank you.” Her voice is hollow, offering nothing beyond the minimum required to maintain appearances. “You chose it, after all.”

I did choose it. I’ve been choosing a lot of things for her lately—her outfits, her schedule, the friends she’s permitted to see.

The blackmail should have brought her to heel by now. Should have made her compliant, grateful, eager to please the man holding her future in his hands.

Instead, she’s slipping further away with every interaction.

Her body sits across from me, but her mind is somewhere else entirely. She answers my questions with monosyllables.

She lets me hold her hand without resistance, but there’s no warmth in her touch. She smiles when I make jokes, but her eyes remain empty, flat, like windows looking into an abandoned house.

It infuriates me.

“I was thinking we should start looking at venues this weekend.” I squeeze her fingers, watching for any flicker of genuine emotion. “My mother knows some excellent planners who could fast-track the process.”

“Whatever you think is best.”

Whatever you think is best. The words should satisfy me—proof of her submission, evidence that she’s accepted her role in this arrangement.

Instead, they taste like ash. I don’t want a puppet. I want Serena—the real Serena, the one who used to look at me with something other than thinly veiled revulsion.

“Is something wrong?” I keep my voice gentle, concerned. “You seem distracted lately.”

“Just stressed about finals.” The lie slides out smooth and practiced. “It’s been a difficult semester.”

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, wouldn’t you?” I tilt my head, studying her face for cracks in the facade. “We’re going to be husband and wife. There shouldn’t be secrets between us.”

Something flickers behind her eyes—fear, maybe, or defiance quickly suppressed. “Of course. No secrets.”

We finish the meal in strained silence.

The drive home gives me time to think, and my thoughts turn dark. Rachel has been asking questions.

I’ve heard through mutual connections, old fraternity brothers, girls I used to know, that she’s been reaching out to people from my past. Digging into stories I thought were buried so deep they’d never see daylight again.

Someone mentioned a girl from Whitmore University. Jessica, I think her name was. A nobody, a forgettable encounter from two years ago that should have stayed forgotten.

The implications make my jaw clench so hard my teeth ache.

My parents sense something too. Not the truth, of course—they’d never believe their golden son capable of the things Rachel whispers about in dark corners.

But they notice the instability, the tension. The way Serena flinches when I touch her, the forced quality of her smiles at family dinners.

My father pulls me aside after Sunday brunch, his expression carrying the calculated concern of a man protecting his investments.

“Your mother and I have been discussing the engagement.” He keeps his voice low, private. “We think it’s time to make things official.”

“Official how?”

“A formal party. A public declaration.”

Thrilled. The word is laughable. But he doesn’t see what I see. None of them do.

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