"Dom always does that," she continues, her voice idle, though it carries a sharp edge. "Leaves things behind. Once he forgot a sweater at my place and didn't even bother asking for it back. I think he liked the idea of me having to look at it."
The words hit me like a cool draft. I finally remember exactly whose name is branded across my back.
"I figured it was his way of keeping things uncomplicated," she adds, stepping into my peripheral vision. Her eyes are scanning me, looking for a crack, a blush—anything that proves I’m as affected as she wants me to be. "Easier than actually staying."
I finally turn, my face of professional indifference.
"Interesting," I say evenly, adjusting the strap of my bag. "I’ll keep that in mind."
I walk past her without another word, maintaining a steady, defiant rhythm until the doors of the lecture hall close shut behind me.
The moment I’m alone in the hallway, I stop. I look down, my fingers trailing over the matte-black color on my sleeve.
Uncomplicated.
I think of the infectious, triumphant smile he’d flashed in my rearview mirror—the way his eyes had crinkled, looking more human than I’d ever seen them. I’d let myself believe it was for me. But as I stare at the cuff, the image of that smile begins to warp. I wonder if I’d hallucinated the depth of it, or if I’d simply seen what I wanted to see.
If there was a sweater for Sienna, then this wasn't a breakthrough. It was a routine. A way to stake a claim without ever having to stay. He hadn't just helped me out of a mess; he’d branded me with his name and sent me off to deal with the fallout while he headed to the track.
I tug the jacket off, but the scent of him clings to my skin for a heartbeat before I shove the fabric deep into my bag.
It doesn't feel like generosity anymore. It feels like a debt I can't afford to carry.
Chapter nineteen
Carter
By the time I pull into the drive, the sky has gone dark and heavy, like it’s carrying something it might drop. I’m running on nothing but habit and the lingering, bitter taste of library coffee.
I didn’t go to the track. I couldn't. Every time I caught a glimpse of the black fabric of the jacket tucked in my bag, my stomach performed a slow, nauseating roll. Instead, I retreated to the back corner of the campus library, burying myself in the only thing that felt stable.
I spent hours staring at a screen until the fluorescent lights made my eyes ache, trying to drown out the memory of Dominic’s smile with reconciliations and tax law. I focused on the ledgers, the clean lines of debits and credits, and the comfort of a bottom line that always balanced if you worked it hardenough. I tried to audit my own feelings, looking for the error in my judgment that led me back to him, but the numbers wouldn't add up. No matter how many entries I double-checked, I couldn't account for the way he made me feel in that driveway.
The main house is quiet, but the pool is glowing—a rectangle of electric sapphire cutting through the dark. I see a rhythmic displacement of water, a dark shape cutting through the surface in a silent, punishing lap.
I don't stop to watch. I keep my head down, my bag heavy against my arm, and start the walk toward the pool house. I just need to get inside. I need to lock the door and pretend the last twelve hours never happened.
My hand is on the lever of the door when the splashing stops.
"You weren't at the track today."
The voice is rough, breathless from exertion, and closer than I expected. I close my eyes for a split second.So close.
The silence that follows is sudden and heavy. I freeze, my pulse thudding in my ears.Just go inside, Carter. Don't look back.
"You're coming in late tonight."
His tone is a low, rough vibration that cuts, anchoring me to the spot. My heart seems to move before my brain can catch up, a frantic, reflexive jerk in my chest that forces me to face him.
I turn slowly, my grip tightening on the strap of my bag. Dominic is hoisting himself out of the deep end, the water sheeting off his broad shoulders in the moonlight. He looks too lean, too powerful, his skin glistening with a lethal kind of grace that makes my throat feel tight.
He grabs a towel from a lounge chair, but he doesn't wrap it around himself; he just stands there, water trailing down the ridges of his stomach, watching me with an intensity that feels like a physical weight.
"Class ran over," I lie. The words feel like lead in my mouth. "Group project. We had a lot to get through."
Dominic doesn't move. His gaze takes its time, traveling slowly from my face down to my shoulders, then dropping to the side of my bag where his jacket is peeking out from the unzipped corner.
His eyes linger there for a moment longer than necessary. When he looks back up, his expression has shifted.
