The wind pushed against us, warm from the dying bonfire, cold from the ocean. My body didn’t know which way to lean.
I wanted to turn away.
I wanted to run.
But I stood there trembling, my eyes glued to the ghost of myself kissing him like he was the only source of oxygen left in the world.
Riley watched every flicker of emotion cross my face, devouring them one by one like they belonged to him.
Then, with deliberate cruelty disguised as softness, he added,
“And the best part?” He tucked the phone back into his pocket. “What do you think our parents would say if they saw you kissing me like that?”
The words didn’t land immediately.
They drifted through the fog of shock, sliding into my mind one by one.
Our parents.
The kiss.
The video.
I looked at him fully then. Really looked.
And I understood.
He had someone record it.
This wasn’t an accidental video from a stranger.
This wasn’t a random bystander.
This was a setup.
He’d planned it.
Not the kiss.
Not the dare.
Not the exact moment I snapped under the heat of him.
But everything afterward.
Riley had arranged this.
He wanted leverage.
He wanted control.
The realization hit so hard I swayed.
My breath shattered out of me. “You… you planned this? You had someone film it?”
His expression didn’t shift. Not even a flicker.
“I made sure I have what I need,” he said quietly.
