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“Okay.” I returned his smile, heart soaring in my chest. “Even though we’re not going to do anything else… I still want you to kiss me.”
“Good. Because I want that too.”
His mouth was on mine again almost immediately. Thrusting my tongue deeply between his lips, I kissed him back with everything I had in me, desperate to show him how much I wanted him.
We slid lower in the bed, bodies entwining beneath the blankets, and we kept kissing and squeezing each other for what felt like an eternity. One of the last coherent thoughts I recalled having before I drifted off to sleep was that Tate was assuredly wrong about Paxton. He was the nicest guy I’d ever met.
He pressed one last tender kiss on my left cheek as my head lolled with exhaustion. I finally closed my eyes, certain I was one of the lucky few people in the world who’d actually managed to meet the love of their life as a teen.
The next time I saw Paxton, he was standing over me with a butcher’s knife, covered in blood and hissing at me to run.
Except that wasn’t the entire exchange. He didn’t just say the word ‘run’. More came after that. Five words that sent a chill slithering down my spine every time I recalled them.
“Run… or I’ll kill you too.”
Sienna
A smile graced my lips as I hurried across campus, heading for the Observer office. My first staff meeting was starting in fifteen minutes, and I was excited to meet everyone and get started with the internship.
Despite my rocky start here at Worthington—courtesy of Paxton Cole’s presence—orientation week had gone swimmingly. Following that, my first week of classes had also gone very well. The intimidating lecture halls were now spaces brimming with engaging discussions and lively debates, and the unfamiliar faces in Whittaker Hall that had once seemed daunting had quickly become friendly acquaintances.
There was nothing to be scared of anymore. Paxton Cole might be freely wandering the campus, but there was no way he’d go near me after everything that happened in 2019. The slippery psychopath had managed to get away scot-free back then in a stroke of luck—surely there was no way he’d tempt fate by going after me a second time.
At least that’s what I kept telling myself so I could remain stable.
I finally found the Observer office and took a deep breath. Then I pasted on an amiable smile and pushed the door open. A young woman with wavy blonde hair and warm brown eyes waved at me from across the room. “Hi!” she called out. “I’ll be with you in a second!”
She ushered me into a cramped office a moment later. “Sorry about the mess. Things are always crazy in the first few weeks,” she said. She stuck her hand out. “I’m Karyn Bester, by the way. Deputy editor.”
“Sienna McConville,” I said, shaking her hand.
“Nice to meet you, Sienna. Please take a seat.” She gestured toward a tan-colored chair opposite her desk as she sank into a swivel chair. “I’m sorry Lucy couldn’t be here to meet you. She’s caught that horrible flu that’s been going around. Yet another reason why things are so crazy here at the moment.”
“That’s Lucy Carlyle, right? The editor-in-chief?”
“Yes. You’ll meet her eventually.” Karyn slid on a pair of glasses and flashed me another smile. It quickly faded, and her brows furrowed. “Hey, aren’t you…”
She trailed off, eyes narrowing behind the lenses as she tried to place me. My heart sank. She was about to recognize me as one of the Forrester massacre survivors.
Even though I’d changed my hair color, started wearing makeup, looked slightly older, and went by my mother’s maiden name instead of Holland, it still happened on occasion.
I hated it every single time. That look of pity on their face—or disdain, if they were a fan of Paxton Cole—and the way they immediately started treating me like a fragile object drove me insane. Worse, there were the true crime aficionados who asked all sorts of invasive questions and begged me to go on their fledgling podcasts so they could cash in on my infamy.
“That’s it!” Karyn drummed her fingers against the desk. “I saw you at the Blades game a couple of weeks ago. I knew I recognized your face from somewhere.”
My shoulders slumped with relief. “Oh, you were there?”
“Yeah, I was sitting in the row behind you, so I saw you come in. But then you ran out right at the start.”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I said, scratching the side of my neck. “Food poisoning, I think.”
Karyn grimaced. “You had one of the hot dogs from that food truck outside the arena, didn’t you?”
“Um. Yes.”
I hated lying, but what else could I say? ‘I had a panic attack because I saw my high school boyfriend out on the ice, and I’m pretty sure he’s a mass murderer but hardly anyone else agrees with me’?
No, the truth was too wild for anyone to take seriously. That had been made abundantly clear to me years ago.
