Chapter 4

--- Germaine

Adrenaline surges through me like fire in my veins. My hands tremble as I snatch the keys off the dining table, the metal biting into my palm as though to remind me this is real.

I don’t stop to think.

If I do, I’ll crumble.

Instead, I run—out of the house, into the garage, into my car—my only thought a desperate, furious need to move.

The engine roars to life, loud and wild, as if it shares my rage. I pull out, tires screeching against asphalt, and take off down the street. The day blurs into a smear of sun and heat as I drive faster than I should, faster than I ever have. Each turn, each reckless acceleration, feels like a release, but not enough.

The anger clings, heavy and suffocating.

Did Oliver really think that way of me?

The question claws at me, sharp and unbearable.

I replay it—Storm’ words exactly as if it was Oliver speaking. It's an

almost cruel certainty that Oliver only wants me for one thing.

I will laugh, scoff, or deny it. I will even say that Oliver can’t possibly be that shallow, that disgusting. He’d been kind when Cain first introduced us. Charming. Polite. He had stayed long after Cain left that day, his green eyes warm, his smile disarming.

He had asked me out on the spot, like he couldn’t bear to waste a moment.

And I had said yes.

That was only two weeks ago. Two weeks of texts that made my chest flutter, of long walks where his hand found mine like it belonged there. Two weeks where I convinced myself this might be different. That maybe, for once, I wasn’t destined to be the girl who gave too much and got shattered in return.

Now?

Now the doubt is poison, burning through me until all I can do is clutch the wheel tighter and push harder on the gas. My chest aches with something I don’t want to name.

By the time I swing the car around and head toward his place, my decision is made. I can’t keep spinning stories in my head. I need the truth from his mouth. If he’s guilty, I’ll know. I’ll see it. And if he isn’t… then maybe I can breathe again.

Minutes later, I pull up in front of his house. The tires crunch against the curb.

And I freeze.

The anger that propelled me here falters under the weight of sudden nerves. My hands clench the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. My heart hammers so loudly I can hear it echoing in my ears.

What if Storm is right?

What if Oliver is exactly what I fear?

I take a shaky breath, then another. My lungs strain against the tight band of dread wrapped around my ribs. If I stay in this car, I’ll suffocate.

So I force myself to move.

The door shuts softly behind me as I step out. His street is quiet, lined with tall palms that sway gently in the night breeze, whispering secrets I wish I could hear. The sun burns hot and bright, making the tee I'm wearing stick to my skin.

It casts long shadows across the road, bathing his bungalow in a soft, almost deceptive glow. It’s a nice house. Modest from the outside, though I know its interiors are anything but—arched ceilings, polished marble, furniture too expensive for comfort.

Selling houses has clearly treated him well.

I walk toward the front door, every step heavier than the last. My pulse thunders. My breath comes fast and shallow. I’m two feet away when—

Voices.

I stop dead.

The sound floats from the back, low and careless. I recognize Oliver’s laugh instantly, deeper and smoother than the other man’s. Cain’s rasp follows, and my stomach twists.

I shouldn’t listen. I should knock and demand answers. But my feet betray me, carrying me backward, then sideways, toward the sound.

Each step feels like a betrayal—to myself, to the fragile hope clinging inside me.

I creep closer until the voices sharpen.

“I’m telling you, man, Germaine’s got some racks on her,” Oliver says, amusement dripping from his voice. “I can’t wait to get my hands on those watermelons.”

The words hit me like a slap.

My breath catches, jagged and sharp. I want to believe I misheard. That he said anything else, anything but that.

But then Cain chuckles, his tone almost nostalgic. “I don’t think she’s going to be that easy. Germaine’s always been a tough cookie, even back in school.”

Ice slides down my spine. I remember those days—Cain’s lingering stares, the way he’d asked me out over and over, refusing to hear no. I had brushed it off, chalked it up to immaturity. I had still called him friend.

And then Oliver’s voice cuts through again, merciless. “Yeah, well. Just ‘cause you couldn’t get inside her pants doesn’t mean I won’t. I’m not called The Master for nothing.”

The world tilts.

Cold dread roots me to the ground. My vision blurs, black edging into the corners. My stomach churns so violently I almost double over.

It’s true. Storm had been right all along.

I’m not special. I’m not cherished. I’m a game, a challenge, a conquest.

Their laughter echoes in my skull, louder and louder until it drowns out everything else. Rage and heartbreak twist inside me, tangled so tightly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Something in me hardens.

I won’t cry here, hidden in the shadows like a coward. I won’t let them get away with this—talking about me as though I’m just… meat.

Straightening, I step out into the open. My movements are deliberate, measured, but my insides tremble like glass about to shatter.

Their laughter dies instantly.

Two pairs of eyes lock onto me—Oliver’s widening in shock, Cain’s narrowing in guilt that vanishes too quickly.

I plaster a smile on my face, bright and sharp as broken glass. “Hi, Oliver.” My voice is deceptively sweet.

I see him scramble, see the faint flush creep up his neck. Cain shifts uncomfortably in his chair, but I don’t even glance his way. We’re done. Whatever we were, whatever flimsy friendship held us together, it’s gone.

I take a slow step forward, then another, savoring their silence. When I’m close enough, my smile twists. “Look at you,” I murmur. “Sitting here, feeling like Prince Charming.”

My gaze falls on the teacup in front of him. Steam curls lazily upward. I reach down and pick it up, the porcelain hot against my fingers. For a moment, I simply hold it, feeling the warmth, feeling the fury building in my chest until it’s unbearable.

“Turns out you’re just a jerk,” I say softly. Then I throw.

The tea splashes across his shirt and face, scalding-hot, and his scream rips through the night. High-pitched, panicked.

I don’t flinch. I don’t stay to watch him fumble and curse, his hands clawing at his clothes.

I just turn on my heel and walk away.

Each step is lighter than the last, though the ache in my chest remains.

What had I ever seen in him?

The question haunts me as I slide back into my car, slam the door, and start the engine. My hands shake, but my grip on the wheel is steady. I press the accelerator down hard, and the car leaps forward, tires screaming.

The city streaks past in a blur of lights and shadows. The speedometer climbs. My heart races to match it.

One hundred. One twenty. One fifty.

I push harder.

The roads are mercifully empty—Sunday night quiet—and I let the car fly, the engine growling like some beast unleashed. The wind roars through the cracks of the windows, tangling my hair, biting my skin.

Faster. Faster.

As though if I go fast enough, I can outrun the image of Oliver’s smug smile. Cain’s raspy chuckle. My own stupid hope.

Within minutes, I’m pulling into my driveway.

I slam the brakes. The tires screech. My body lurches forward, then slams back.

Before the engine has even quieted, I’m out of the car. My legs carry me forward on pure adrenaline, back into the house, through the door—

And straight into their gazes.

The three men.

Storm, with his strange, watchful eyes. The other two, silent but attentive. Their conversation halts the second I enter, as though my presence has rewound time.

They’re talking about me. I can feel it.

The words spill from me before I can stop them. “Alright, Storm, you win. I’m ready to go on this mission of yours.”

The silence that follows is electric.

And then—

The air shifts.

It happens all at once. The windows rattle violently, cracks spiderwebbing across the glass as though invisible fists slam against them. A sudden, unnatural cold seeps in, wrapping around me like icy fingers. My breath fogs in the air. My teeth chatter.

I turn, just in time to see frost creeping along the sills, spreading like veins across the glass. Ice crystals form under the door, inching forward, swallowing the floor in glittering white.

My body shivers uncontrollably. Fear prickles along my skin, raising every hair.

Storm rises slowly.

And then I see his eyes.

Gone is the strange, unreadable man. In his place is something otherworldly, terrifying, magnificent. His eyes burn with fire—orange and blue flames that lick outward, swallowing the whites. His long hair lifts and fans around him as though caught in a wind I cannot feel.

When he speaks, his voice is no longer human. It booms, deep and resonant, shaking the walls, shaking me down to my bones.

“It has begun!”