Trip To Valcrest

"You are definitely wearing my hoodie," Victor pointed out, leaning over the center console of his impossibly sleek Aston Martin. The car smelled of rich, dark leather and his signature bergamot cologne. His eyes dropped to the oversized black fabric that was currently swallowing my top half. "Exactly when did you swipe that?"

"I didn't swipe it. I merely put it on an extended borrowing program. There is a distinct legal difference," I muttered, yanking the seatbelt across my chest and clicking it firmly into place. I adjusted the thick fabric around my shoulders. "Anyway, if my family successfully murders me on this weekend trip, I need you to tell the detectives that I died looking effortlessly cute and smelling fantastic."

"Noted and memorized. You sure you packed everything?" he asked, settling back into the driver’s seat and pushing a pair of expensive sunglasses up into his dark hair.

"Crippling anxiety? Check. A massive bag of emergency snacks? Check. The green silk dress my sister explicitly stated was 'too good for me' in a highly toxic voice note? Triple check." I ticked the items off my fingers, staring straight ahead through the windshield, my blood still simmering from Piper's parting shot two weeks ago.

Victor paused, his hands resting on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. "That was such a low blow from her. I still can't believe she went out of her way to say all that garbage over a dress. You holding up okay?"

"I'll survive." I gave a tight, dismissive shrug. "She's said much worse things to me in the past. This is just par for the course with Piper."

"And the most important item? Tell me you didn't forget it."

A wicked, vindictive grin spread across my face. "You bet your ass I didn't."

Victor let out a rich, booming laugh, shifting the car into drive and pulling seamlessly away from the curb. "Remind me to never get on your bad side, Haze."

"Or you could just remember to buy me an amazing wedding gift when the time comes," I teased, leaning my head against the cool leather of the headrest.

His smile faded instantly, replaced by a sudden, firm seriousness. "No need to worry about that. I am never getting married. Ever."

I rolled my eyes at his dramatic, brooding tone. "Literally everyone says that. Then boom, fast forward five years and suddenly they're happily married in the suburbs with twenty kids and a dozen golden retrievers."

Victor scoffed, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Cute picture. But that's absolutely not for me."

I frowned, turning slightly in my seat to study his profile. I had known Victor for five solid years, and this was the very first time he had ever drawn such a hard, definitive line about his future. "Why not?"

"Some things just aren't meant for some people," he said smoothly, effortlessly deflecting my curiosity as he rested one hand on the steering wheel. "Haze, look at me. Do I really look like the type of guy who fits neatly into that domestic picture?"

I took the opportunity to take a good, long look at him. From his striking green eyes, down to the sharp line of his jaw and his Adam's apple, all the way to the expensive ivory-colored cashmere sweater and tailored black pants he was wearing. "Sure you do."

He shook his head, a dismissive smirk playing on his lips. "I don't think so. I like my life exactly as it is right now."

"If you're so fiercely anti-marriage, then why on earth are you driving with me to Valcrest to pretend to be my fiancé?" I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest.

He threw a quick glance my way before turning his attention back to the highway traffic. "Who knows? Maybe I was possessed by the spirit of adventure. Maybe I'm just doing it for the wild experience. Or maybe it's just because I would do anything for you."

I let that statement hang in the air, warming the tight knot in my chest, before I pushed back onto the main topic. "Seriously though, why don't you want to get married? I know I definitely want to settle down someday when I'm older." I placed a hand over my heart for emphasis.

"You're turning thirty, Hazel," he cackled, ruthlessly shattering my innocent act.

"I can still use the phrase 'when I'm older'! There is no official rulebook that prevents thirty-year-olds from saying it," I argued indignantly. "Besides, you completely dodged the question. You never stated the actual reason why you swore off marriage."

Victor's jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. "Let's not dig up dead bodies, love."

I narrowed my eyes, shooting him a playful but determined glare. "I am absolutely going to get that story out of you eventually. One way or another."

"I'll be waiting until then, love," Victor smiled, though the dark mystery remained firmly locked behind his green eyes.

An hour into the drive, the monotone voice of the GPS echoed through the speakers: "Continue on I-95 North for 67 miles."

I looked over at Victor, tilting my head. "Okay. It is officially time."

"Time for what?"

I twisted dramatically in my seat, pulling my phone out of my pocket and unlocking the screen. "The road trip playlist. It is a sacred, unbreakable ritual. The first song sets the entire tone for the weekend."

Victor arched a dark eyebrow, his expression turning downright dangerous. "If you play Taylor Swift, I am driving us directly into a river."

I gasped, clutching the phone to my chest like he had just insulted my firstborn child. "You take that back right now."

"You take that terrifying playlist back."

Without warning, his free hand shot out to snatch the phone. I shrieked, dodging his grip, and suddenly we were wrestling over the device like a pair of unruly children. Victor refused to give up, his fingers brushing against mine as I desperately twisted away. At one point, I completely abandoned my spatial awareness, climbing halfway over the center console and practically into his lap to pry the phone back from his grasp. The solid heat of his chest pressed against my arm, and I could feel the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing beneath the cashmere as I scrambled for the device.

"I will end your life, Sterling!" I swore, giggling so hard my ribs ached.

"Get back in your seat, you're going to get us pulled over!" he laughed, using his height advantage to keep the phone just out of reach while steering with his left hand.

Eventually, I admitted defeat, collapsing back into my passenger seat. I was entirely breathless, my face flushed with heat from the exertion and our sudden, intense physical proximity.

He handed the phone back to me, wearing a victorious, infuriating smirk. "Fine. Go ahead and play your dramatic heartbreak anthems."

"Damn right I will," I huffed, smoothing down my stolen hoodie.

I scrolled through my library and queued up an overly dramatic, angsty song about bitter betrayal and terrible exes. We let the music wash over the car, sitting in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a long beat.

Then, staring out the passenger window, I asked softly, "Do you really think they’re going to believe our lie?"

Victor didn’t answer right away. The hum of the engine and the melancholic lyrics filled the space between us.

Finally, his voice dropped an octave, cutting through the music. "I think if we’re not careful... we might start believing it ourselves."

My breath caught in my throat. I turned my head, and we stared at each other. The air in the car suddenly felt heavy, thick with a pregnant, unspoken tension that made my pulse hammer wildly against my wrists.

Then, almost simultaneously, we both burst into loud, tension-breaking laughter.

"You almost got me with that one," I giggled, fanning my face as the intensity evaporated into safe, familiar banter.

We had been on the highway for two hours. The conversation flowed exactly like it always did whenever I was with Victor—effortless, familiar, packed with sharp banter, and punctuated by long, comfortable silences that never felt awkward.

But the moment we passed the large, wooden 'Welcome to Valcrest' sign, my anxiety spiked so violently I thought I was going to throw up. Returning to my hometown always felt like a sudden, aggressive regression—like I was shrinking back into the insecure, overlooked younger sister I used to be, stripping away all the hard-earned confidence I had built in Philadelphia.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked, my voice pitching up in panic. "Because there is still plenty of time to turn around. We can fake a car fire. We can say you got severe food poisoning at a gas station. Or I can call my mother right now and say I had a traumatic pregnancy scare."

"I canceled a highly anticipated, very sexy vacation for this trip," Victor replied calmly, his eyes scanning the road. "I am not half-assing this now, Haze."

"Right. Because this is just a performance for you."

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shot me that intense, unreadable look again—the exact same gaze that made me feel entirely too exposed, seen in ways I was fundamentally unprepared for.

"This isn’t just a performance, Haze," he said, his voice hardening with absolute resolve. "It’s the start of a battle."

I swallowed the heavy lump in my throat and nodded slowly. "You're right. They are not going to know what hit them."

Despite my verbal agreement, my stomach plummeted straight to the floorboards. My phone buzzed relentlessly in the cup holder; the family group chat was still going off. I forced myself to look out the window, watching the scenery shift. These were the streets I used to know like the back of my hand. The local diner, the old library, the overgrown park. The houses grew steadily larger, more familiar, and infinitely more weaponized by a deep, suffocating nostalgia. Every corner brought up memories I thought I had successfully buried alongside my previous life here.

By the time Victor’s Aston Martin turned onto the private road leading to my childhood home, my palms were sweating profusely.

"Haze? You doing okay?" Victor reached across the center console, gently placing his large, warm hand on my thigh to ground me.

I forced a bright, entirely fake smile onto my face. "Of course. I just got a little sucked into the music."

We both turned our attention to the front windshield as the property finally came into full view. I stared at the house with a deeply glum, dreadful expression. Victor, on the other hand, slammed on the brakes, staring through the glass with sheer, unadulterated surprise.

"Haze, are you absolutely sure we're at the right house?"

I gulped audibly. "Yes."

The Thorne family estate sat nestled at the very end of a sprawling, winding driveway lined with ancient oak trees. It was a massive, intimidating stone monument of old money, with thick green ivy creeping aggressively along the edges of the walls like physical whispers of old family secrets. Two towering brick chimneys crowned the sharply gabled roof. Tall, elegant windows flanked the manicured front hedges, and a heavy wooden double-door entrance sat behind a sprawling wraparound porch complete with wrought-iron lanterns. To the left of the fortress stood a massive, blooming cherry tree, its vibrant pink petals creating a stark, almost mocking contrast against the cold gray stone.

"Your house is quite a bit bigger than I imagined," Victor muttered, taking in the sheer scale of the property.

"I guess I forgot to mention my dad is a retired federal judge," I confessed, frantically wiping my sweaty palms up and down my black joggers.

"You definitely skipped the part where you were supposed to let me know the Thornes live in a literal fortress."

Nevertheless, Victor took his foot off the brake and pulled the Aston Martin the rest of the way up the sweeping gravel driveway, parking it with the effortless confidence of a man who owned the entire state.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I looked through the windshield. The welcoming committee was already standing there, waiting for us at the front entrance like a firing squad.

My mother, standing tall with her usual disapproving posture. My older sister, Nora. My three judgmental aunties. My cousin Tessa, who flew in from Florida just to be nosy. My little niece. Piper, the bride-to-be, standing front and center in a sickeningly perfect head-to-toe white outfit.

And right there, standing directly behind her, looking exactly the same as he did the day he broke my heart—was Caleb fucking Mercer. He had that same relaxed, arrogant posture, fitting so seamlessly into my family’s portrait, occupying the space that used to belong to me.