Page 39 of Misconducts & Temptation

"Please," she whispered, taking a step back as if to escape the truth that now hung between us.

"Elodie," I replied, my voice softening despite myself. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I —" she said, looking down at the floor, the walls, everywhere but me. "I have class."

But her words were weak.

"You should have told me," I insisted, stepping closer to her.

"And what good would it have done?" she snapped back, finally meeting my gaze again. Her eyes were filled with anger and something else—something raw and vulnerable.

"It would have changed everything," I insisted, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I need to know why you didn't say anything."

She crossed her arms, a defensive stance that only fueled my irritation. "Because it wouldn't have mattered, Keaton. You're you. I'm me. We're from two different worlds."

"That's bullshit," I shot back, feeling my temper rise. "I already told you I'd marry you?—"

She shook her head, her expression hardening. "And you think I actually believe you? You're Keaton Douglas. If you're not playing hockey, you're getting drunk. You don't even know me."

"Then help me know you!" My voice echoed in the empty locker room, the frustration clear in every word. "You can't just pretend that night didn't happen."

"I can and I will," she said through gritted teeth. "Because it doesn't change anything about our lives."

"You're scared," I accused, stepping closer until there was barely any space between us. "You're scared of what this could mean."

"I'm not scared," she retorted, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her words. "I'm realistic. You live in a world of privilege and power, and I?—"

"Stop using that as an excuse," I interrupted, my voice harsh. "You think I don't know what it's like to be trapped by expectations? To feel like you're suffocating under someone else's control?"

Her eyes widened slightly at my words, but she quickly masked it with anger. "Oh please," she scoffed. "Your problems are nothing compared to mine."

"Don't you dare minimize what I've been through," I growled, my fists clenching at my sides. "You think it's easy living under my father's thumb? Being pushed into a marriage I don't want?"

"You have choices," she argued, her voice rising in intensity. "You can walk away from all of it if you really wanted to."

"And lose everything?" I countered, the desperation creeping into my tone. "My inheritance, my future—everything I've ever known? Everything my mother?—"

"Then maybe you don't want it badly enough," she said quietly, but the words hit me like a punch to the gut.

I stared at her, breathing heavily as the weight of our argument settled over us. This girl—this infuriatingly stubborn girl—was challenging everything I thought I knew about myself and my life.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to do next.

"Look," I said, my voice firm. "I'm being serious. About all of it. I'll marry you right the fuck now. And it has to be now."

Her eyes widened in surprise, and then she laughed—a bitter, incredulous sound that grated on my nerves.

"You considered it," I pressed on. "That night?—"

"I got… I got swept up," she interrupted, shaking her head as if trying to dispel the memory.

"Are you telling me you want to marry whomever the fuck they're going to make you marry?" I demanded, frustration boiling over. "That's what you want in your life?"

"And you're better?" she shot back, her voice dripping with skepticism.

"I know I am," I said with conviction. "Look, meet me at the River Styx after your class. We'll—fuck—we'll come up with rules if that's what'll make you feel better."

"Rules?" she echoed doubtfully, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

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