Jealousy

*“No.”* Cami’s tearful whisper echoed through my mind, a relentless ghost from last night’s confrontation. *“I didn't love him.”* I had stood there on the balcony, waiting for the terrible truth that would finally explain why she had deliberately taken my fragile teenage heart and crushed it. But she had offered no grand explanation, only vague apologies and a desperate plea to start over. Now, twenty-four hours later, the phantom ache of that unresolved betrayal still pulsed a steady, agonizing rhythm beneath my ribs.

The cold metal of the car hood bit through the denim of my jeans. I sat in silence beside my dad, staring out at the breathtaking expanse of the twilight sky. A crown of deep crimson and bruised pink bled across the horizon, swallowing the last amber rays of the dying sun. Flocks of birds cut dark, jagged lines through the clouds, heading toward their shelters. Their distant, melodic calls felt like a warning, an announcement that the darkness was finally here to claim the day.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Dad asked. His voice was a low, comforting rumble in the quiet evening air.

I forced a small smile and turned to look at his weathered face. "Yes. Very. Thank you for bringing me here, Dad. It has been a long time since I last visited this spot. I really missed our sunsets."

We used to come out to this secluded meadow at least once a week. It was a tradition my grandfather had started, passed down to my dad, and then shared with my brother Rowan and me. Mom and Cami rarely joined us, preferring the comfort of the house over the wild chill of the outdoors. But after I moved to New York, the tradition fell apart. I couldn't be here, and the ritual lost its anchor.

"Me too, sweetheart," Dad sighed, his tone heavy with a thick layer of nostalgia. He kept his eyes fixed on the bleeding sky. "Without you, coming out here just didn't hold the same meaning."

"Yeah, well, Rowan got to have all the fun to himself for a few years," I joked, trying to lighten the heavy mood. My brother was stuck in a corporate meeting tonight and couldn't make the drive. "But I am glad you came out here with me today. It is my turn to have the view to myself."

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "No, our time here got pretty quiet. Even Evander stopped joining us after you left for high school."

The smile slipped right off my face. The mere mention of Van’s name sent a cold spike through my chest.

He used to ride out here with us all the time. Back then, I would eagerly wake up at four in the morning, shivering in the dawn air, just for the chance to sit near him and watch the sky change colors. Sitting beside him had meant more to me than any sunrise. But after his father died, he withdrew. The visits became rare, and eventually, they stopped. And then, everything else fell apart.

I heard Dad let out a long, slow breath. The silence stretched between us, thick with the things we were both avoiding saying.

"Sometimes, Sylvia," Dad started, his tone shifting into something softer, something far more serious. "Sometimes we have to let go of the past in order to actually live in the present. Because until you live in your present, you will never be able to accept your future."

I swallowed hard, tracing the seam of my jeans with my thumb. My family never pushed me on the issue, but they were not blind. They felt the massive, gaping distance between Van and me. They saw the ruin of a friendship that used to be the foundation of my life. But they did not know the whole truth. They did not know what happened in Cami’s bedroom, and they did not know how it felt to have your heart ridiculed by the very people you trusted most.

"But what if it is too hard?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the rustling grass. "What if letting go feels like tearing yourself apart?"

Dad shifted on the hood, turning his body toward me. His wise blue eyes locked onto mine, piercing straight through my defenses. "Nothing is impossible. Sometimes we wrap ourselves so tightly in our own pain that we refuse to see anything beyond it. It becomes a shield. All you have to do is pry your heart open a little wider. Be a little braver. Let go of the poison. Do not let your past hold you hostage from finding happiness right now."

I let my heavy, exhausted head drop onto his sturdy shoulder. I closed my eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of his worn leather jacket and the crisp autumn air. I remained silent.

Could I do it? Could I actually find the courage to let the scars heal? After my conversation with Cami, I had made the fragile, hesitant decision to give her another chance at being my sister. But Van was a different story. The grudges I held against Cami were rooted in anger. The distance I kept from Van was rooted in sheer survival.

The sharp buzz of my phone vibrating in my pocket shattered the quiet moment.

I pulled it out and squinted at the bright screen. "It is Penny. She and Gwen want to grab dinner at the diner."

Dad nodded, patting my knee before turning his gaze back to the chromatic horizon. We sat there a while longer, letting the wind wash over us, before finally sliding off the hood and heading home.

After dropping him off at the house, I turned my car around and drove straight into the heart of town. The neon sign of Orion's Diner flickered in the descending night, casting a harsh pink glow over the wet pavement.

The bell above the door chimed as I walked in. The familiar scent of frying oil, black coffee, and baked sugar hit me instantly. Penny and Gwen were already crammed into our usual booth in the back, nursing oversized milkshakes. I slid into the vinyl seat across from them, letting my purse drop onto the table.

For the first twenty minutes, the conversation flowed easily. But the moment our food arrived, the topic shifted to the exact thing I was trying to avoid.

"So, you actually decided to forgive her?" Penny asked, raising a perfectly arched brow over the rim of her glass.

I shrugged, aimlessly twirling my fork into a massive pile of spaghetti. I watched the red sauce stain the white porcelain plate. "I told her I would try."

"I think it is great," Gwen said, flashing a warm, encouraging smile. "Life is way too short to hold onto that kind of anger forever. I agree with your dad, Syl. You have to heal."

Penny let out a loud, dramatic scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. "That kind of inspirational garbage only works in the cheesy romance novels you read, Gwen. It does not work in the real world. Once a backstabber, always a backstabber."

"Penny!" I shot her a warning glare.

She rolled her eyes and took a long drag from her straw. "I am just saying! If my sister pulled a stunt like that on me, I would salt the earth she walked on. Thank God I am an only child."

Gwen scowled at her before turning back to me, her expression softening. "Ignore her. You do whatever feels right for your own peace of mind." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the sticky table, her eyes glinting with a sudden curiosity. "So... now that you are working things out with Cami, does that mean you are going to consider burying the hatchet with Evan—"

"I am not talking about him," I cut her off immediately, my grip tightening on my fork. "Please, Gwen. I just want to sit here and enjoy my pasta. Can we leave him out of this?"

There was no hatchet to bury. Van had not actively destroyed my life; he had just been the catalyst for it. But letting him back in meant risking the very heart I had spent seven years turning to stone. I was leaving for New York soon. I just needed to survive the next few days.

"Well," Penny drawled, her gaze suddenly snapping to something over my shoulder. "I guess the universe does not care what you want."

I froze. "What are you talking about?"

"Look behind you," she muttered.

Gwen let out a sharp gasp. "What is he doing here?"

A cold dread pooled in my stomach as I slowly turned my head. There, sitting in the furthest, darkest corner booth of the diner, was Van. He was flanked by three intimidating men in sharp, expensive suits. But they were not the reason my breath hitched.

Sitting flush against Van’s side was a woman.

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, and she was stunning. She had porcelain skin, delicate features, and a cascade of fiery red hair that fell in perfect waves down her back. She was not dressed for a casual diner run. And she was sitting far too close to him to be a simple business associate.

As I watched, one of the men told a joke. The redhead tipped her head back and laughed. It was a delicate, tinkling sound that somehow carried over the clatter of the diner. As she laughed, she brazenly reached out and rested her perfectly manicured hand flat against Van’s broad shoulder. Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his dark shirt.

I waited for him to shrug her off. I waited for the cold, detached mask he always wore.

Instead, Van turned his head toward her and smiled.

It was not a smirk. It was a rare, breathtakingly soft smile. The exact same smile I used to hoard in my memories. The smile I thought belonged only to those quiet mornings watching the sunrise.

A sharp, physical pang of pure agony struck the center of my chest. It felt like a serrated blade sliding between my ribs. My throat closed up. I turned back around, facing my friends, and swallowed hard against the sudden, rising nausea.

"Wow," Penny whistled low. "I heard a rumor he did not let women get close to him. Guess the rumor mill is broken."

"Penny, shut up!" Gwen hissed, kicking her under the table. Gwen looked at me, her eyes wide with concern. "Syl? Are you okay?"

Penny’s teasing expression vanished, replaced by instant guilt. "I am sorry, Syl. I did not mean to rub it in. Do you want to leave? We can pay the check right now and get out of here."

"No," I forced the word out of my tight throat. I waved my hand in a jerky, dismissive motion. "No need. I do not care if he is here. I do not care who he brought with him. We came to eat, so we are going to eat."

I picked up my fork and shoved a massive bite of spaghetti into my mouth. It tasted like ash. My hands were shaking. Despite my desperate attempt to focus on the table, I could hear her high-pitched laughter cutting through the ambient noise of the diner. It burned my ears. It made my skin crawl.

Gwen and Penny were outright glaring at the corner booth now.

"Just look at him," Penny muttered, stabbing a fry. "Getting all cozy with that leech. And here I thought him sending you flowers and practically stalking you meant he was actually obsessed with you."

"Can you filter yourself for one second?" Gwen snapped at her. She reached out and touched my wrist. "Syl, she could just be a friend. Or a client. After the way he acted at the race track, he clearly wants you. Men like him do not put in that kind of effort just to play games."

"Bullshit," Penny countered. "Look at them. Their thighs are touching. Friends do not sit like that."

Another wave of agony ripped through my gut. My teeth ground together so hard my jaw ached.

"I do not care what they are!" I snapped, dropping my fork onto the plate with a loud clatter. "Why would I care? I am not his girlfriend. We are nothing. Whatever he did at the track meant nothing. Stop talking about it!"

I stared down at my ruined food. My appetite was dead. The silence at our table stretched, thick and suffocating.

Against my own will, my traitorous eyes darted back to the corner booth.

The redhead had shifted closer. Her arm was now fully linked through Van’s, her chest pressing against his bicep. And Van was letting her. His large hand came up and lightly patted her knuckles.

A heavy, consuming storm of pure jealousy erupted in my stomach. It was ugly, irrational, and overwhelming. My vision blurred. A hot, humiliating sting hit the back of my eyes.

A loud crack of thunder rattled the large glass windows of the diner, signaling the start of the storm outside.

Right at that exact second, Van lifted his head.

His stormy grey eyes cut across the crowded diner and locked directly onto mine.

I did not look away. I could not. I sat there, paralyzed by the sheer weight of his stare. Surprise flashed across his sharp features, followed instantly by something darker, something unreadable. Noticing his sudden distraction, the redhead followed his line of sight. When she saw me staring, her eyes widened. She quickly untangled her arm from his, creating a small space between them.

But Van did not move. He did not push her away. He just sat there, looking at me with an infuriating calm.

The air in the diner vanished. I was suffocating. My lungs burned. The jealousy and the pain morphed into a blinding panic.

I grabbed my purse, my fingernails digging into the leather strap. I stood up so fast my knees cracked against the underside of the table.

"Syl?" Gwen started, half-rising from her seat.

"Stay here," I choked out. "Finish your dinner. I am leaving."

"You cannot go out there, it is storming!" Penny protested.

"I will call you later. Bye."

I spun on my heel and marched toward the exit, blind to everything but the door. The storm brewing in my chest was tearing me apart. I needed oxygen. I needed to run. I shoved my way through the heavy glass door and spilled out into the night.

As I stepped onto the pavement, a solid shoulder crashed into mine.

"Whoa, Syl?" Deacon’s voice cut through the noise. He grabbed my upper arm to steady me, his face morphing into confusion and concern under the flickering neon light. A massive flash of lightning illuminated his features. "Are you okay? You look like you are going to be sick."

I ripped my arm out of his grasp. I did not speak. I just pushed past him and walked straight out from under the diner’s awning.

"Sylvia, wait! Where are you going? The rain is freezing!" Deacon yelled after me.

I ignored him. I stepped out onto the open pavement, and the storm hit me.

Heavy, freezing raindrops lashed against my flushed cheeks. The howling wind ripped through my thin clothes, raising instant goosebumps across my bare arms. But the brutal chill of the weather was nothing compared to the fiery rage boiling in my blood.

It did not make sense. I had no claim on him. I had rejected him. I was running away from him. So why did seeing another woman touch him feel like someone was tearing my skin off?

It hurt. It hurt so much I wanted to scream. I hated him for making me feel this way, and I hated myself for caring.

My car was not parked near the front. The valet must have moved it to the overflow lot across the dark street. Wiping the stinging rain and the hot tears from my eyes, I kept walking. The rain plastered my hair to my skull and soaked my shirt through to my skin, but I did not care.

I stepped off the curb and into the slick, black asphalt of the lot.

Suddenly, a pair of blinding, high-beam headlights consumed my entire field of vision. The glare was absolute.

A deafening blare of a horn pierced the thunder. Tires screeched, burning rubber against the wet road.

Before my brain could even register the massive machine barreling directly toward me, someone screamed my name.

A pair of impossibly strong arms wrapped around my torso like steel bands. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. I was wrenched backward with bone-jarring force, my feet lifting off the ground as the speeding car whipped past me. The side mirror missed my hip by less than an inch.

The driver rolled down the window, screaming a string of vicious curses into the rain, before peeling out of the lot.

I stood there, suspended in the rain, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. My mind was entirely blank, paralyzed by the raw terror of the near impact.

"What the hell is wrong with you!" a voice roared over the thunder.

Large hands grabbed my shoulders and gave me a harsh shake. I blinked through the driving rain, staring up into Van’s face. His stormy grey eyes were blazing with unhinged fire. Water ran down his sharp jaw. His chest heaved with every ragged breath.

"Where was your attention?" he shouted, his fingers digging bruisingly into my skin. "You could have just died right there! God damn it, Sylvia, look at me!"

The sight of him snapped the shock right out of my system, replacing it with pure, venomous fury. He was done playing with his beautiful redhead in the warm diner, so now he was out here playing the hero?

"So what!" I screamed back, shoving my hands against his rock-hard chest to break his grip. "Like you would care! Go back inside and enjoy your cozy dinner with your perfect girlfriend!"

His jaw locked. A muscle ticked wildly near his ear. He lunged forward and grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip. "She is not my girlfriend."

"I do not care!" I shrieked, kicking at his shin. "Let me go! Do not ever touch me again! I am warning you, Van, let me go!"

I planted my feet, twisted my arm, and yanked out of his grasp with every ounce of strength I had. I spun around, ready to sprint to my car.

I took exactly one step.

Before I could take another, a massive force collided with my back. Van caught me, spun me around, and slammed my body flush against his chest.

One thick, muscular arm wrapped tight around my waist, locking me against his torso so firmly I could feel the hard ridges of his stomach through our soaked clothes. His other hand shot up and grabbed the back of my neck. His long fingers tangled in my wet hair, gripping the sensitive skin at my nape, holding my head captive.

"I will not leave you alone," he growled, his voice a dark, lethal rumble that vibrated straight through my skin. "Get that into your stubborn head right now."

I placed my hands flat against his chest, trying to push away, but he was an immovable wall of muscle.

He lowered his head. His cold nose brushed directly against mine. The heat radiating off his body was an insane contrast to the freezing rain pouring down on us.

"And as for touching you," he murmured, his breath fanning hot across my trembling lips. "No one can stop me from touching you. Not even you, Snowdrop."

His grip on my neck tightened, forcing me to look directly up into his eyes.

"Because you are mine to touch."

My breath hitched and died in my throat. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out the storm. The rain soaked us to the bone, cementing our clothes to our skin, but my blood ran impossibly hot. The friction of his heavy thighs pressing against mine, the unyielding band of his arm keeping my hips locked to his—it sent a wild, terrifying jolt of heat straight to my core.

He shifted his hand from my neck, bringing his large, warm palm to cup my wet cheek. His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, wiping away a mixture of rain and tears. His stormy eyes darkened, the anger melting into a raw, insatiable desire as his gaze dropped to my parted lips.

"Mine," he rasped, his voice rough and ragged with need. "Just mine."

He tilted his head. He lowered his mouth and pressed his hot, scorching lips right at the corner of my mouth.

My eyes fluttered shut. My hands, which had been pushing against his chest, curled into the wet fabric of his shirt. A soft, humiliating whimper escaped my throat. I was drowning in the intoxicating scent of him, the sheer physical power of his body holding mine.

He adjusted his angle. He opened his mouth, shifting his head to fully claim my lips.

A piercing, deafening car horn blasted from the street behind us.

The abrasive sound acted like a physical blow. It jolted me out of the blinding trance. The reality of what was happening—the danger of giving in to him—crashed over me like ice water.

Panic surged through my veins. I shoved my hands hard against his shoulders and broke the connection.

Van stumbled back half a step. Surprise and a deep, agonizing flash of disappointment crossed his hard face. His hand shot out, reaching to pull me back against him. He caught himself mid-motion, his fingers curling into a tight fist in the rain. He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath. When he opened them, the raw fire was gone, replaced by forced composure.

"Sylvia, I—"

"No!" I shouted, shaking my head frantically.

I spun around and bolted across the lot. I reached my car, yanking the door open with trembling hands. I threw myself into the driver's seat, jammed the key into the ignition, and slammed my foot on the gas.

The tires squealed as I tore out of the lot. I did not look back, but in my foggy rearview mirror, I saw his dark, rigid silhouette standing alone in the pouring rain, staring after me until the night swallowed him whole.

I drove blindly for miles, the windshield wipers thrashing against the heavy downpour. Finally, unable to breathe, I pulled over onto a deserted side street, slammed the car into park, and collapsed over the steering wheel.

I sobbed. I gasped for air, the tears pouring down my face in hot, ugly streams. The heavy, residual heat of his body still burned on my skin. The memory of his lips at the corner of my mouth made my chest cave in.

*You are mine to touch. Mine.*

I squeezed my eyes shut, terrified. I could not do this. I could not let him back in. If I let him kiss me, if I let myself fall for him again, he would destroy me. I would not survive a second heartbreak at his hands.

My phone blared from inside my purse on the passenger seat.

I wiped my face with the back of my trembling hand and pulled it out.

It was Cami.

I stared at the screen, forcing my breathing to steady before hitting answer. "Hello?"

"Hey, Syl," Cami said, her voice bright and hopeful. "Dad told me you went to dinner with your friends. I hope I am not interrupting."

"What is it, Cami?"

"I wanted to let you know we are doing a big family dinner at Deacon’s place tomorrow night," she rushed out. "His uncle is flying in, and it would be a great chance for our families to properly reunite before you head back to New York. I would really love it if you came. You will come, right?"

The silence hung heavy in the dark car.

I stared out the rain-streaked window. I thought of the grudges. I thought of the redhead touching Van. I thought of Van pinning me in the storm, laying claim to a body and a soul he had no right to own.

I had to run.

"Syl?" Cami asked, her voice faltering. "You will join us, won't you?"

"I am sorry, Cami," I replied, my voice broken and hollow. "I cannot."

Before she could argue, I pulled the phone away and ended the call.

My fingers were shaking as I pulled up my contacts and hit dial. It rang twice before the line clicked open.

"Hello?" Declan answered, the background noise of a television playing through the speaker.

"Book two tickets and pack your bags," I demanded the exact second he spoke.

"What?" Declan asked, his tone spiking with confusion. "Wait, now? Why? What happened?"

I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned stark white.

"We are leaving. Tonight."