Lana's pov:

The drive home feels like drowning in my own skin.      

The road blurs. Streetlights smear into gold streaks in my blurry vision, and every few seconds I blink too hard, like my body’s trying to restart itself. My hands are shaking on the steering wheel long after Aiden is just a speck in my rear-view mirror.

I hate him. 

I hate him.

I hate that he looked hurt. I hate that he walked away like that. I hate that I still see his face when I close my eyes.  

I pull into my driveway and kill the engine, but I can’t move for a solid minute. My heartbeat is still frantic, like my body hasn’t caught up to the fact that the danger is over.

Except it isn’t.

The danger is him.

The danger is me.

My throat closes as I stumble out of the car and into the house. It’s cold and lonely, too quiet, too empty. Every sound echoes, my footsteps, my keys hitting the countertop, the shaky exhale I push out of my lungs.

I drop onto the couch and cover my face with both hands.

He almost died.

I almost hit him.

He almost let me.

The thought slices straight through me.

A buzzing vibrates somewhere under my thigh. I flinch, scrambling for my phone. My group chat is exploding.

Girl’s Group Chat

Evelyn: babe open the door we're outside

Jude: we're freezing

Stella: I brought cookies :( pls let us in

I blink.

Then groan.

Of course they came. Evelyn is incapable of leaving anyone alone after a bad day. Jude acts like she doesn’t care but will stand outside my house like a disgruntled bodyguard. Stella just wants to make sure I’m not crying blood.

I drag myself up and unlock the door.

They tumble inside immediately, Evelyn complaining, Jude glaring at the cold, Stella clutching the box of cookies like it's sacred.

“Finally,” Evelyn huffs. “What took you so long? I thought you died.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good, because we have to get ready for Easton’s stupid vomit mansion.”

Jude looks at me once, just one look, and her eyes narrow.

“You look like shit.”

“Jude,” Stella scolds.

“What?” Jude shrugs. “I’m being supportive. She looks like shit. Now we fix it.”

I love them.

Evelyn drops her bag on the couch and squints at me suspiciously. “Something happened.”

Stella’s face softens. “Lana…?”

I swallow. 

The words are too heavy in my throat.

Evelyn crosses her arms. “Tell us who we’re burying.”

The accidental accuracy of it nearly makes me laugh. Or cry. Hard to tell right now.

“It was Aiden,” I said quietly, more like it was obvious. 

Three gasps.

Well, two gasps and one murderous exhale from Jude.

I sigh, she loves him as her brother but she’s too overprotective when he does something to me. Maybe because she knows him better. 

“What did he do?” Evelyn demands, hands on hips like she’s about to fight him in my driveway.

“Are you okay?” Stella whispers. 

“What. Happened.” Jude’s voice is so sharp it could cut glass.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say quickly. “Not now. I just… need a distraction.”

Evelyn glances at Jude.

Jude glances at Stella.

They nod in silent girl-language: We don’t know what happened, but she’s spiraling, and we will handle this with cosmetics and chaos.

“Alright,” Evelyn announces, clapping once. “Tonight we will drink Easton’s overpriced alcohol, trash his furniture, and flirt with boys we don’t even like.”

“No flirting,” I mutter. 

Evelyn waves that off. “Fine. Then we will make you hot. So hot the laws of physics get confused.”

Stella giggles. Jude smirks.

It helps, at least a little.

They pull me upstairs like they’ve done it a thousand times. And maybe they have, in different shapes and different moments of girlhood.

Evelyn throws open my closet dramatically. “Lana, you own too many sweaters. We’re having an intervention.”

“I like sweaters.”

“They scream avoidant attachment style.”

“I DO NOT—”

“Correct!” Evelyn claps. “Denying things is step one of healing.”

Jude pushes Evelyn out of the way, eyes scanning the hangers like she’s assessing weaponry. “She’s wearing black.”

“Black is too funeral,” Evelyn argues. “We want mysterious. Hot. Enigmatic.”

“She IS attending something close to a funeral,” Jude deadpans. “Her will to live died somewhere today.”

Stella puts a hand on my shoulder. “Should we skip the party? We can stay in and watch a movie.”

I shake my head too quickly. “No. I need… not this house. I need noise.”

They accept that.

In twenty minutes, there are clothes everywhere, dresses flung onto the bed, boots tossed aside, makeup spilling across my vanity. Evelyn does my hair, Jude does my eyeliner with surgical precision, Stella chooses jewelry like she’s curating a museum exhibit. 

By the time they’re done, I barely recognize myself.

My reflection looks like confidence with sharp edges.

Like a warning wrapped in silk.

Like a girl who couldn’t possibly be weak enough to break in front of someone like Aiden Reeve.

I like her. No, I love her. 

“Kneel,” Jude commands.

I blink. “Excuse me?”

She holds up her phone. “Boots.”

“Oh.”

I sit. Evelyn sprays glitter mist everywhere. Stella tucks a soft bracelet on my wrist. Jude steps back.

“Perfect,” she declares.

I turn to the mirror again.

Yeah.

I look untouchable.

Good, I need that tonight.

After that I help them get ready too, a mix of glitter, makeup, and laughter. The best kind of hangout.

We cram into my car, music blasting, Evelyn handing snacks from the back seat, Stella adjusting her lip gloss, Jude threatening to murder anyone who spills anything.

My phone vibrates twice.

I freeze.

Aiden?

I don’t check.

I can’t.

Evelyn sees the way my hand curls around the phone. She doesn’t ask, but she reaches out and squeezes my knee.

It’s enough. 

The drive to Easton’s is a blur of neon lights and pop music. His mansion sits at the top of a hill like a gothic castle built by someone with too much money and not enough supervision. There are cars everywhere, music rattling the windows, people shouting, laughing, running around the lawn. 

The second we step out, I inhale sharply.

Good. Chaos. Noise. Distraction.

Evelyn loops her arm through mine. “We are getting drunk.”

“I’m not getting drunk,” I say.  

“You’re getting tipsy.” 

“I’m not—”

“TIPSY,” Jude interrupts. “We are not babysitting you while you dissociate in a corner.”

Stella nods. “Please don’t dissociate tonight.”

“Fine,” I mutter.

We walk inside, swallowed by heat and music and the smell of cologne, perfume, and questionable decisions.

Easton’s mansion is full, packed with students from every grade, glittering lights everywhere, bodies moving to bass-heavy music. Evelyn disappears almost immediately to annoy Easton. Jude scouts for threats. Stella looks for drinks that don’t taste like gasoline.

From the corner of my eye, I notice Stella and Enzo staring at each other, Evelyn taking her pocket knife out and Easton’s eyes widening. I see Alistair walking to a room with a girl, and Jude looking at the drama. 

So the Royals are all here, except him.

I wander.

Not too far.

But not too close.

My head is still full of Aiden. 

The way he said leave like it tasted like swallowing glass.

Why didn’t I drive away?

Why didn’t he?

I grab a drink from a passing table and take a sip.

It burns. Good.

A group of boys walks by, all loud laughter and cheap cologne. One bumps into me and mutters a half apology. I barely register it.

I suddenly feel… weird.

Not dizzy. Just Hyperaware.

Like someone’s watching me.

I turn.

Nothing.

Just partygoers and flashing lights and noise.

I exhale shakily.

Why am I thinking about him? Why does it feel like he’s—

My phone buzzes again.

My heartbeat stutters.

I pull it out.

A single notification glows back at me.

Satan: Are you home?

I stare.

My stomach twists.

He’s checking on me.

After everything. After I screamed at him, shoved him, told him to leave.

Anger flickers up again, bitter and hot.

I type back without thinking:

Me: Why do you care?

I hit send before I can stop myself.

Immediately regret it.

I shove the phone into my pocket and down the rest of my drink in one swallow.

Stella appears beside me like a soft angel. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—” My voice wavers and I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

She nods quietly, linking her arm with mine. “Let’s get fresh air.”

We slip outside onto the balcony where the music is muffled and the night air is sharp and cool. She doesn’t ask again. She just sits beside me, legs swinging.

After a minute, she murmurs, “It’s okay to be overwhelmed, you know.”

I close my eyes.

“I don’t want to feel like this.”

“You can’t turn feelings off,” she says softly.

I give her a look.

She laughs gently. “Okay, YOU can, but it’s not healthy.”

I snort despite myself. “Thanks.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.”

I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat.

My phone buzzes.

My pulse jumps painfully.

I look.

Satan: Because I do.

My breathing stutters.

I lock the phone quickly, like touching it burns.

I don’t reply.

I can’t reply.

Not when tonight was supposed to be distance.

Not when everything feels too raw, too sharp, too much.

Suddenly, the balcony door slams open and Evelyn bursts out, flushed and breathless.

“HOLY SHIT—” she pants. “Lana. Jude is about to stab someone.”

Stella gasps. “Who?!”

“That guy who tried to grab Lana’s waist when she walked past him earlier? Now he was trying to harass another girl.”

“Oh no,” I groan, standing. “We have to stop her.”

“Oh no, baby,” Evelyn corrects, grabbing both arms. “We have to record it.”

“No we absolutely DO NOT—”

But it’s too late, she’s dragging us all back inside.

We find Jude in the center of the living room, staring down a very terrified senior boy who looks like he’s reconsidering every life choice he’s ever made.

Jude’s voice is ice-cold. “Touch her again and you won’t be able to feel your fingers for a month.”

The boy sputters. “I didn’t—it was an accident—I swear—”

Evelyn records openly.

Stella hides behind me.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jude.”

Jude turns her glare onto me. “He touched you and her”

“Barely.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Jude,” I sigh. “You can’t fight everyone.”

“I can try.”

I put a hand on her arm. “Let it go. Please.”

Something in my voice must hit, because she exhales sharply and steps back.

The boy scurries away like a frightened rabbit.

Evelyn pockets her phone. “Ten out of ten performance.”

“Shut up,” Jude mutters.

But her eyes flick to me again, checking, always checking.

Like a protector she never agreed to be but refuses to stop being.

It reminds me of him and I look down, sighing. 

Why can’t he get out of my mind?

The night rolls on, music, drinks, laughter, chaos. But I stay sober enough that everything feels too real. Too loud. Too close.

Around midnight, people start dancing in clusters. Stella joins, swaying like a fairy. Evelyn drags Jude into a chaotic spin. I stand at the edge of the crowd, watching, arms folded.

Then—

My phone buzzes for the third time.

My heart drops into my stomach.

I know it’s him.

I know it.

Satan: Just tell me you’re safe.

My throat closes.

Another follows instantly.

Satan: I won’t bother you after that. I swear.

My chest aches so sharply I have to suck in a breath.

I stare at the messages until they blur.

Evelyn appears at my side. “Aiden?”

I don’t answer.

She sighs softly. “He… looked for you earlier. At the café. Before we walked out.”

My head snaps toward her. “What?”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she admits. “You were already anxious. But yeah. He asked if you were okay.”

I swallow hard.

Evelyn studies my face. “You care.”

“No, I—”

“Lana.” She raises an eyebrow. “Honey. It’s us. You can lie to the world, but not to your girl group.”

My jaw tightens.

She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You don’t have to know what you want yet. But don’t pretend he’s nothing.”

Before I can respond, the music shifts—lower, heavier—and the lights dim a little.

I reply to Aiden on instinct, barely aware I’m typing:

Me: I’m safe.

I stare at the message.

It feels like stepping off a cliff.

But it’s done.

And two seconds later—

Three dots appear.

Typing.

Typing.

Typing.

Then:

Satan: Good.

A pause.

Then:

Satan: Don’t disappear again.

My breath stutters.

I type back slowly, fingers trembling.

Me: I’m not disappearing. Just… taking space.

A minute passes.

Then:

Satan: Okay.

Satan: I can do that.

It’s simple. Short.

Almost shockingly respectful.

The rest of the night drifts around me, my friends dancing, laughing, the mansion glowing under colored lights, but my mind keeps circling back to a dark road, a boy with glassy eyes, a shout between us like a storm breaking open.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I don’t know what we’re becoming.

I just know one terrifying thing:

For the first time…

Distance isn’t helping.

At all. The music at Easton’s house is practically vibrating through the walls.

People spill into the hallways, lights flicker purple and blue, and everything smells like expensive perfume, alcohol, and teenage stupidity.

Jude drags me inside before I can object, her hand wrapped around mine, her glittery eyeliner already smudged in excitement.

“You’re not thinking about him, right?” she shouts over the music.

“No,” I lie.

The truth is: I haven’t stopped thinking about the way he walked away.

The echo of it still stings.

We make our way through the crowd, and I keep pretending everything is fine. I laugh when I have to. I nod when people talk. I sip something warm and sour.

But my chest is tight.

And then, the crowd shifts.

A few people look toward the doorway.

Someone mutters, “Shit—Aiden’s here?”

My stomach caves in.

I turn sharply, ready to deny reality, but the universe hates me tonight because—

There he is.

Aiden walks in like the room owes him silence.

Dark jacket. Messy hair. Eyes too cold for the heat inside the party.

He’s sober now.

Which somehow makes him even scarier.

He scans the crowd, jaw set, expression unreadable.

He’s not here to have fun.

He’s here for a reason.

And then his eyes land on me.

My breath stops.

His mouth twitches in a humorless almost-smirk, like he’s thinking, Of course you’re here. Even though I barely ever go to parties, especially not his own friend’s.                      

I look away immediately.

I shouldn’t have looked.

I shouldn’t have cared.

Jude says something in my ear, but I don’t hear her.

Because suddenly, a girl touches Aiden’s arm.

She laughs at something he doesn’t say, leaning into him, flipping her hair.
He doesn’t push her off.

My chest twists sharply.

I hate it.
I hate him.
I hate her.

I’m not jealous. I’m just irritated. Infuriated.

He walked away like he was breaking inside and now… now he’s standing there letting some random girl grab his jacket like she owns him?

I turn away, throat tight.

And that is exactly when Jude decides to shove a random drunk guy toward me.

“Oh my GOD, Lana—this is Connor—he thinks you’re cute!”

Before I can process, the guy stumbles forward and grabs my waist to steady himself.

I gasp and push him back, but he’s too drunk to understand boundaries.

And that’s all it takes.

A chair scrapes and I hear someone curse.

Aiden is suddenly moving.

He storms toward us, shoving past people without a word.

“Reeve—” someone tries, but he doesn’t hear.

He rips Connor’s hand off me so hard the guy yelps.

“Touch her again,” Aiden growls, “and I’ll break every finger.”

The party goes quiet around us, people watching like hungry vultures.

“Aiden, stop,” I hiss, pushing at his shoulder.

“No.” His voice is low, lethal. “He doesn’t get to touch you.”

“You don’t OWN me!”

“I know,” he snaps back. “But he sure as hell doesn’t either.”

I glare at him, furious, humiliated, burning.

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“Good.”

“Aiden—”

“Let’s talk.”

“No.”

He grabs my wrist, not hard, just enough to make it clear he’s serious.

“We’re talking.”

Before I can protest, he pulls me away from the crowd, down the hall, past a bathroom, through a half-open door, into some kind of storage room.

He shuts the door behind us.

The bass from the party thumps through the walls like a heartbeat.

“You’re unbelievable,” I spit.

“No,” he says, stepping toward me. “You are.”

“Oh, here we go—”

“What the hell were you doing with that guy?”

“I wasn’t with him! Jude shoved him at me!”

“And you just let him put his hands on you?”

“AIDEN. He was DRUNK.”

“You pushed ME earlier,” he snaps. “Why didn’t you shove him?”

“BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO HIT EVERY PERSON WHO GETS NEAR ME!”

“Oh, so just me then?”

“You push my buttons!”

“So don’t get close to me!”

“YOU GET CLOSE TO ME!”

We are shouting over each other, over the music, over every wound we left open between us.

“You can’t stand seeing me with someone else,” he accuses.

I laugh, sharp and cold. “Please. You walked in here with that girl attached to your arm.”

His jaw clenches. “She walked up to me.”

“You didn’t push her away.”

“She’s not the one I’m angry at.”

“Oh,” I scoff, “lucky me.”

“Stop pretending it didn’t bother you.”

“It didn’t.”

He steps closer.
Too close.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, eyes razor sharp.

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.

He smirks. A cruel, quiet thing. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t care what you do.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I DON’T!”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

My breath stumbles.

My hands shake.

I hate that he sees everything.

“Get out,” I whisper.

Aiden’s eyes flash. “This again?”

“Yes. Get out.”

“No.”

“Aiden—”

“We’re not done,” he growls. “I’m not leaving until you stop pretending you don’t feel anything.”

“I DON’T!”

“Yes. You do. And you hate it.”

I shove him again, but this time he grabs my hands mid-shove, slamming them gently but firmly against the wall beside my head, caging me in without touching me.

“You’re scared of me,” he says softly, almost like he hates it. “So scared you’re willing to destroy yourself just to prove you don’t care.” 

My voice cracks. “Let go.”

“No.”

“Aiden… let go.”

“No.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I DO.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I twist under him, furious, shaking, burning.

“Let go of me!”

“Then STOP RUNNING!” He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath.

“STOP CHASING ME!” I push him hard, no longer scared.

“NOT A CHANCE.” He presses his lips to mine. 

I almost choke on air when he kisses me. Our lips touch, no, they fight against each other, his tongue slips inside my mouth as he continues to dominate my mouth and I kiss back just as fiercely. One of his hands came up to my throat, not squeezing, just there.

The kiss isn’t soft, sweet, or romantic, it’s the opposite. Filled with anger, frustration, hate, and dominance. 

When he’s about to pull back to breathe, I bite his lower lip in anger and blood spills almost instantly. He doesn’t care though, he’s looking at me with a drunk gaze except I know he’s not drunk.

Suddenly, I’m angrier, that was my first kiss. My first kiss. 

With Aiden Reeve? Fuck no. 

I yell out in frustration.

His voice drops to something dark and wounded. 

“You push me away like I’m poison,” he says. “But you keep looking at me like you can’t stand the thought of me leaving.”

I freeze.

His face is inches from mine, breathing, hurting, furious and vulnerable all at once.

“You’re driving me insane,” he whispers. “And you know it.”

My heart pounds so loud it drowns out the party.

This fight is different.

Worse.

Deeper.

It’s not about jealousy anymore. Or pride. Or even ego or anger.

It’s about the truth neither of us wants to say.

He leans in, barely, just enough for breath to mix. “Say you don’t feel anything for me. Say it like you mean it.”

I swallow hard.

And I can’t.

I can’t say it.

Not this time. His breath is warm against my cheek. His fingers are still wrapped around my wrists, caging me in. His eyes dare me to lie.

“Say it,” he murmurs. “Say you don’t feel anything for me.”

I stare at him, chest rising too fast.

“Let. Go.” My voice trembles.

He doesn’t.

“Lana,” he says quietly, “stop hiding behind anger and just—”

“Let go.” I practically spit it.

“No.” He leans in closer, his forehead almost brushing mine. “Tell me you feel nothing.”

Something in me tears open. “I SAID LET GO!”

Aiden’s jaw flexes, but he still doesn’t move.

“Why can’t you just say it?” he snaps. “You spit every other insult at me without thinking. Why is this the one thing you choke on?”

“BECAUSE YOU DON’T LISTEN!”

“I am listening!”

“You NEVER listen!”

“Then make me understand!”

“You CAN’T understand!”

“TRY ME!”

He’s yelling now too, loud, raw, desperate.

The music outside pulses like a heartbeat. The room feels too small, too hot, too tight.

And then I snap.

Not the angry, petty kind of snap.

The ugly one.

The kind where all the walls crumble at once.

“You want the truth?” My voice comes out cracked and vicious. “Fine.”

Aiden’s brows knit, defensiveness flaring.

“You’re so fucking sure I feel something,” I hiss. “You’re so convinced there’s some deep meaning every time I breathe in your direction—”

“Because there IS—”

“No.” I shake my head, my voice spiraling higher. “No, Aiden. You’re not special. You’re not some exception. You’re not some tragic, misunderstood boy I secretly want.”

He flinches.

Good.

I push harder.

“You are a complication I never asked for.”

His throat bobs.

But I’m not done.

“You think I’m scared of how I feel about you?” I laugh, sharp, brittle. “No. I’m scared of YOU. Of what you do to my life. Of how you drag chaos everywhere you go.”

His expression hardens, wounded under the anger.

“Lana—”

“You ruin things. You ruin ME. Every time you show up, something in me breaks.”

His eyes go dark, pained.

But I keep going, I can’t stop.

“You want to know why I can’t say it?” I step forward, inches from him, voice trembling with pure fury. “Because there is nothing to say.”

“Lana—”

“You don’t matter to me.”

The silence after that is violent.

Aiden freezes like I slapped him.

His hands loosen involuntarily. His breath stutters.

But I don’t stop.

I’m too far gone to stop.

“You think I look at you because I feel something?” I whisper harshly. “I look at you because I’m waiting… waiting for the moment you finally disappear so I can breathe again.”

He inhales sharply.

My voice shatters.

“You’re not the person I cry over. You’re the person I regret.”

Aiden’s face goes blank.

Completely blank.

His eyes extinguish. Not anger. Not even heartbreak.

Just… nothing.

A hollowing.

He steps back like something inside him gave out.

For the first time, Aiden doesn’t try to argue. Doesn’t try to prove anything. Doesn’t move toward me.

He just stares.

Quiet.

Empty.

And that terrifies me more than any fight.

Finally, his voice comes out low, rough, like he’s speaking through pain he’s trying to swallow.

“Got it.”

I blink.

He says it again, quieter this time. “Got it.”

He turns toward the door.

But right before he touches the handle, he stops, shoulders tense, fists clenched.

Without looking back, he says:

“Just so you know… you’re not the person I regret.” 

A beat. 

“You’re the person I would’ve done anything for.”

The words slice through the room.

Then he walks out.

And for the first time, I’m the one left shaking.

******

To Be Continued. 

Yeah so that was a lot… guys barely any of you guys are voting or commenting 😣 pls votee I appreciate it.  

Also, Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!