Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Tempest plopped down beside me, her thigh brushing mine. “You’re funnier when you’re depressed as hell. Maybe that’s why she fell for you.”
I groaned. “This again? Your sister’s happily married. And not here.”
My mouth was dry. I licked my lips. “I never slept with her.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Truth serum? Or just guilt?
“I kissed her. A few times. We took things slow. I wasn’t sure. Neither was she.”
Because even then—I was using her. The way I was using Tempest now.
But with her… somewhere along the way, I’d stopped.
I started looking forward to her smile more than the seduction. Then I forgot the plan altogether and thought of nothing but fixing things. Switching sides. Fighting for us.
Tempest turned onto her side, watching me. “Does she kiss better?”
I barked out a laugh. “Wow. You really do need all the words, don’t you?”
She scrunched her nose. The way it wrinkled was so damn adorable it hurt. “I’m younger by a minute,” she said with a shrug. “Of course I’m needy.”
I shifted toward her, heart thudding louder than it should’ve. “Must’ve been a long minute.”
She scooted closer. “It was.”
I licked my lips again, slower this time. “Well. I got a minute.”
I didn’t think.
Didn’t hesitate.
I leaned in and kissed her.
Soft at first. Testing. Then deeper, like I needed the lie to feel real.
Our lips slid together perfectly. Her breath hitched. Mine followed.
It was bliss—kissing her.
Easy.
Despite the secrets. Despite the poison. Despite everything.
I told myself it was part of the game. I told myself she’d just assume it was the serum still wearing off.
I was only lying to myself.
The kiss burned down to my soul, past lips, stolen words, confessions.
And not just from the heat between us—but from the truth I wasn’t ready to admit. Her lips moved against mine like a promise I didn’t deserve, soft and desperate and real in a way that terrified me.
I pulled her closer.
She didn’t struggle.
I cupped her breast and pinched her pebbled nipple through her shirt.
She let me.
For a breath.
Then—
Crack.
Pain bloomed at the base of my skull, a flash of white behind my eyes. My balance tilted. I staggered back, disoriented, mouth parting in a shocked exhale.
“What the f—”
Everything went black.
I woke up on the floor.
Not in bed. Not on the couch.
The floor.
My head pounded like a war drum. I groaned and sat up, the left side of my face screaming as if it had tried to take on a brick wall and lost.
Something cold brushed my palm.
A vial.
Bright green this time.
And a note, tucked neatly beneath it, written in blocky handwriting I recognized but hated instantly.
You weren’t the only one given instructions. Sorry about the bruise. Also: trust no one. Not even me.
My fingers curled tight around the paper.
“Tempest,” I muttered, fury and betrayal twisting inside me like storm ready to rage cross the sea.
The vial winked at me in the early morning light.
One step closer. Another test. Another secret.
And this time?
She played me.
I stared at the note again.
Not even me.
I laughed.
Then I stopped.
Because I wasn't sure which part hurt worse: the bruise on my face—or the fact that I’d started to believe she might actually care after last night, after our words, after our moment.
Joke’s on me.
This was all a business transaction—kisses included.
How depressing.
Bottoms up.
12
TEMPEST
Every parting gives a foretaste of death. — Arthur Schopenhauer
Ilearned early that poison works best when it’s expected.
Sugar on the tongue. Warmth in the chest. Safety first.
I snorted, should a person ever really have to learn when the best time is to ingest it? Should that even be a freaking thing?
I scowled and stared down at the pink drink in my hand. It could be poisoned and I’d never know, and the last thing I would have tasted would be watered down fruit punch—not even cold. Where the hell are the ice cubes anyways? And why did we plan our wedding so close to every other family event on the planet making this even more difficult? People get pissed and suspicious if we don’t show up, and when we do we’re watched like hawks. My nerves were shot. Two days in a row was painfully too much, even for me.
The backyard was strung with white lights and pastel balloons, the kind that bobbed gently in the breeze like nothing bad had ever happened here and nothing bad ever would. So safe. So cheerful. So taunting.
A folding table sagged under the weight of cupcakes, juice boxes, and a cake shaped like a cartoon dinosaur that probably cost more than the shoes I’m wearing.
Six years old, which automatically makes me feel ancient. I know I’m supposed to paste a smile on my face and be excited over what we were celebrating, but it just feels harder now. Things were easier when I was her age, when I had balloons like this, when I had cupcakes and laughter.