Page 52 of Hate the One You're With
There’s no room for doubt, no space for second thoughts. All that matters is this moment, this connection, this burning need that’s driving us both to the edge. And as his lips find mine again, as his hands tighten on my waist, I know one thing for certain: I don’t want this to stop. Not now, not ever.
But just as I’m about to completely surrender to the moment, the reality of what’s happening hits me like a splash of cold water. I pull back, breaking the kiss, though it takes every ounce of willpower I have. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, my mind a whirlwind of emotions, all vying for attention.
Caleb’s eyes are dark with desire, his breathing just as ragged as mine. “See?” he murmurs, his voice rough, but there’s a tenderness there too, one that makes my heart skip a beat. “Playing with fire isn’t so bad.”
“You’re going to lose all the things you fought for,” I say, breathless, the weight of what just happened pressing down on me like a heavy blanket. The words come out more as a plea than an accusation, the fear of what we’re risking settling in.
Caleb’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the anger I’ve grown so accustomed to seeing in his eyes is replaced by something else—something I can’t quite place. Vulnerability, maybe? It’s disarming, and it sends a flicker of confusion rippling through me. “Maybe some things are worth losing,” he replies, his voice low, almost contemplative, as if he’s revealing a truth he’s only just discovered himself.
The words hang in the air between us, thick with meaning. This isn’t the Caleb I’m used to—the one who’s always so quick to throw up walls, to lash out, to protect himself at all costs. This is someone different, someone who’s letting me see a glimpse of what’s beneath the surface, beyond the anger and the defenses. And it terrifies me because I’m not sure what to do with it—with him.
I swallow hard, the realization settling in that this moment could change everything. The way he’s looking at me now—like I’m not just a part of his past, but someone who might still matter to him—it’s almost too much to handle. I want to reach out, to explore this new side of him, but fear coils tight in my chest. What if I find something I’m not ready to face? What if it changes everything for both of us?
Needing space to think, to breathe, I take a step back. “I need to clear my head,” I whisper, my voice barely steady. “We can’t let that happen again. This . . . us. It ended badly.”
Caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t push. He just nods, the understanding in his eyes making my chest ache. There’s a weight to his silence, a quiet acceptance that only deepens the conflict swirling inside me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Caleb
“So much forstaying away from her, asshole,” I mutter to myself, the taste of her still lingering on my lips, haunting me. She’s driving me fucking insane. I can’t stop thinking about how good she feels, how good she tastes—even though I know I should.
The lawyer wants usback now. He’s convinced we tampered with the apartment to avoid returning. Ethan’s already working on identifying who really messed with the plumbing and caused the damage to the apartments below.
Max passed on some information he got from Charles—Emmersyn’s alleged father. Turns out they found his name on her birth certificate, but it was removed after the divorce. DNA testing confirmed he wasn’t her biological father. But something Zoe mentioned caught my attention. Apparently, Em used to live in Brooklyn while growing up.
She even got some certification to babysit at ten, and everyone in the building loved her—hence, her ability to calm Emma down twice last night.
When I told them she was just putting on an act, Max shot me a glare and said, “If that’s what keeps you happy, then believe the shit you want. But maybe you should stop and smell the roses before you fuck your life up again.”
Again? Like I messed it up the first time? It wasn’t . . . her, not really. It was her grandmother, always messing with my head. I was just working for her granddaughter, a servant nothing more. She would dispose of me—and she did. Then there was some lawyer who appeared out of nowhere, threatening me one minute and offering me a big sum of money the next. And then my parents?—
I can’t keep running this through my head without answers. My frustration bubbles over as I pull out my phone and dial Clarissa.
“Day three, and he calls again. This shit is getting scary,” my sister answers, her voice laced with humor that I’m in no mood for.
“Why me?” I cut through her bad joke, my tone sharp. This is important. I need more than her usual banter.
“What are we asking?” she replies, her tone shifting slightly, sensing my seriousness.
“Why did she offer me the job of becoming her husband?” I ask, though the words don’t quite capture the weight of what I’m really asking. “Why propose the deal to me? She didn’t even know me. There were other much better candidates to fulfill the role of Emmersyn Langley’s husband.”
Okay, the last part came out a little too jaded but that’s exactly what her grandmother said when she met me and when she paid me and . . . every chance she had she would remind me I was a nobody that didn’t deserve someone like her granddaughter.
Clarissa sighs, a long exhale. She starts to explain the timing—how our parents were both unemployed, Dad was in the hospital, and we had no insurance because Mom didn’t want to pay the premium from her severance package.
They thought we’d lose the house. Emmersyn offered to help, but Clarissa knew our parents would never accept it. They’re too proud, and Em wasn’t exactly their favorite person.
Clarissa had used Emmersyn as an excuse for her own bad behavior too many times. Some of those times, Em wasn’t even there, but it was just easier to say, “Emmersyn Langley dragged me into it, made me, gave me . . .” When Em explained that her trust fund wasn’t accessible until she got married—and how she was being pressured to marry one of the trust fund jerks her grandma had picked out—Clarissa thought I was the best candidate.
Emmersyn could dodge the jerks, and she could offer me the money we desperately needed to help our family.
“So, was this all your idea?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around it.
“It took a while to convince her,” she continues. “She didn’t want to marry a stranger. I . . .”
“What are you not telling me, Clarissa?” I demand, lowering my voice in warning.
