Page 7 of Bitter When He Begs

His smirk twitches, like he’s considering something, like he’s not sure if he believes me, which is fucking ridiculous because I haven’t said shit. Then he chuckles. “I don’t believe you.”

My stomach twists at that. Not because I’m guilty, not because I have anything to hide. But because it doesn’t fucking matter what the truth is.

Luca Devereaux believes what he wants to believe, and that’s the only thing that matters.

“I haven’t.” I shake my head, heat rising to my face. “What the fuck do you want me to do? Swear on my life?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just keeps watching me, like he’s weighing the truth against whatever version of reality he’s already decided on. I know I haven’t done anything. I haven’t told anyone about what I overheard. I’ve spent the last three months keeping my head down, proving that I got the message loud and clear.

So why does it feel like it doesn’t matter?

He steps in closer. Not a lot, not enough to be obvious, but just enough that the space between us gets smaller, just enough that my body reacts before my brain can stop it. My muscles go tight, my breath hitching while every ounce of confidence I’ve built threatens to slip through my fingers.

“You look different,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

I swallow hard, ignoring the way my pulse jumps. “So?”

His smirk deepens. “Didn’t think you’d last here, if I’m being honest.”

Neither did I, but I’m not telling him that. I lift my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Luca hums, clearly amused, and even though I’ve spent the last three months becoming someone else—someone confident, someone who doesn’t flinch when guys like him push. I can feel it all seeping away. With one look, he’s dragging me back into the space I thought I’d crawled out of.

And when he leans in just a fraction, his voice dropping, I already know that I’m going to let him win.

“Meet me later.”

It’s not a question. It’s barely a command. I want to tell him to go fuck himself, push past him, go find Lee, and go back to my night.

But I don’t.

I swallow hard. “Where?”

Luca smirks, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts against my jaw. “I’ll find you.”

I hate that I hesitate. I hate that I don’t immediately walk away, and pretend like he doesn’t still have some kind of fucked-up hold over me.

I nod.

Then he leaves me standing there, my heart racing, my pulse erratic, my whole fucking night hijacked by one goddamn person who shouldn’t have this kind of power over me at all.

Luca

LaterIfindhimtucked away in the crowd, drink in hand, pretending like he doesn’t feel me watching him. He thinks he belongs here, thinks he’s carved out some little space in this world where no one looks at him and sees what I see.

But he’s wrong.

Sage Blackwell—the weak, too-smart, too-easy-to-break legacy kid who was supposed to disappear the second things got too real. Except he didn’t, and I need to know why.

I don’t waste time. I push through the crowd, moving like I already own the space around him, because I do. It doesn’t fucking matter how many people are in this house, how many voices are talking over the music—when I step up behind him, when I grab his wrist, when I lean in and say,“Let’s go,” he follows.

He resists for a second, a half-step of hesitation, before he swears under his breath, setting his drink down harder than necessary and following me outside.

Good boy.

The second we’re out of sight from the party, I tighten my grip, guiding him through the mass of parked cars, past the people making out against bumpers and taking sloppy drags from shared joints.

He doesn’t ask where we’re going, doesn’t tell me to fuck off like I know he wants to. He just moves with quick steps, breath slipping past his lips like he already knows he’s in too deep and doesn’t know how to get out of it.

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