005

The flashlight—fuck, it blinds her. Aria jerks, breath caught sharp in her throat. Her legs are trembling. Adrian’s fingers are still inside her. Still. Inside. Her.

She can’t even breathe. Can’t move. Everything's too loud—static crackling, a man’s voice too close, the night air biting at her half-naked skin like it’s punishing her. Her shorts are tangled around her ankles, tank top pushed up, sweat sticking it to her ribs. Her body’s exposed—open—and this random guy’s just standing there, looking. Looking.

Her whole chest tightens like it’s gonna cave in. Shame hits fast, hot, thick—sits right in her throat like she’s gonna throw up. But her body… her fucking body is still buzzing from Adrian’s hand like it’s the only real thing in this messed-up world.

“Get that damn light outta her face,” Adrian snaps, low and rough like a threat, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. His fingers stay right where they are—deep, possessive. She makes this sound—soft, wrecked, barely human—and instantly regrets it. The guard twitches, the flashlight dips, but he doesn’t look away. His gaze sticks to her like sweat on her skin.

Cover yourself, move, do something. Her hands won’t work. They’re damp, shaking, useless. All she can do is dig her nails into the seat, claw at the leather like that’ll anchor her.

“Mr. Cross—I—I didn’t know it was you,” the guard blurts, stumbling over the words, L.A. drawl thick with oh-shit energy. “Just on my rounds, saw the car…” He trails off. The radio crackles again—some woman’s voice muttering about the perimeter. Aria’s stomach drops. Mom. Marcus. Now this guy? Why is everyone catching her like this—falling the fuck apart with Adrian’s hand shoved inside her like it belongs there?

She wants to run. Or puke. Or disappear. Her brain’s scrambled, too foggy to think straight—run? Stay? Scream? The leather smell is overwhelming, mixing with the sickly sweet scent of herself, of sex, of sweat. Her throat burns.

“Out,” Adrian says. Just that. Like a king dismissing a servant. The guard flinches, nods too fast, and backs off. The flashlight jerks across the dash before the door slams shut.

Silence. And it's so much worse. Her ears ring. Her breathing’s all wrong—too loud, too fast, like it doesn’t belong to her. The car hums, a low mechanical purr, and she’s sitting in this twisted mess of grief, guilt, and arousal. Her brain won't shut up—Dad’s dead. Mom’s texting him. I let Adrian do this. In his car. With the windows down.

She wants to vanish.

“Adrian…” Her voice cracks. Barely there. Her hands won’t stop shaking. Everything’s too hot, suffocating. She wipes at her face and realizes she’s crying. Didn’t even notice.

“Why… why does this keep happening?” she stammers. “Why does someone always catch us?” It comes out messy, broken, like she’s trying to breathe and speak at the same time. She’s crying harder now, tears streaking down over smudged mascara and regret.

“What are you hiding? Why the hell is Mom—”

“Stop,” he cuts her off, sharp. Cold. Finally, finally his hand leaves her, and she gasps—empty. Hollow. Her whole body clenches like something sacred just got ripped out. He grabs her face, hard, makes her look up. His eyes are wild, stormy. There’s something else behind them—something she doesn’t want to name. Regret? Anger? Guilt?

“You don’t get to ask,” he says. Quiet. Firm. “Not after you came to me.”

It hits like a slap. Her mouth falls open. She pushes at his chest, weak, frantic. “Don’t—don’t do that,” she spits, voice cracking. “Don’t flip this on me.”

“You touched me. You started this. You made me—” She chokes. She can’t say it. Her mind floods with flashes—the pool house. His office. Her moaning his name. Her begging.

I’m sick. I’m fucking sick.

He leans in close. Close enough that she can feel his breath brush her cheek, and her whole body tenses. “You wanted it,” he whispers. “Still do. Don’t lie, Aria.” His hand slides down, hovering just above her thigh again—taunting. She jerks but doesn’t move away. Her body betrays her, arching toward him, her skin on fire.

“I—hate you,” she rasps. It’s weak. Hollow. A lie. Her sobs come hard now—snotty, shaking, ugly. Chest heaving. Arms trembling. Her vision’s all wrong, fuzzy around the edges. The blinking red and blue of the dashboard feels like it’s mocking her—cop lights, warning lights, whatever.

“You’re ruining me,” she breathes. “You’re turning me into something I don’t even—God—I don’t even recognize myself.”

Adrian watches her. Just… watches. Thumb stroking her thigh in slow, cruel circles. And then, softer—too soft—he says, “You’re not ruined.” Pause. “You’re mine.”

She doesn’t even get to respond—his mouth is on hers, hard, like punishment. No space to think, to feel, just him. His tongue forcing its way in like he owns it, owns her. She whimpers, arms wrapping around his shoulders, desperate, needy, disgusted.

He pulls back just enough to yank up her tank top, rough fingers curling around her breast, pinching her nipple until she gasps. Her back arches. Her legs twitch. His other hand? Already between her thighs again. She doesn’t even have time to breathe.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growls. Not a suggestion. A fact. His fingers slide in—slick, fast, practiced—and she’s gone. Her body jolts like it’s got its own motor, her hands clawing at the seat, his shirt, anything. Shame and heat crash together inside her like a car wreck.

“Adrian—oh, fuck—” She’s close. Too close. Everything’s spiraling—guard’s flashlight still seared into her memory, her mom’s name still glowing on his damn phone. Marcus’s smug voice in her skull, laughing.

What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?

He doesn’t stop. His eyes darken, feeding off her unraveling, and then—

“Say my name.”

She doesn’t even think. Just screams it as she crashes over the edge, a sob tangled in the moan, her whole body pulsing against his hand.

And then—

It’s over.

He pulls away like nothing just happened. Sucks his fingers clean, slow, watching her. She can’t look away.

“Go back to your room,” he says. Like it’s nothing. Like she isn’t a mess, broken and dripping and shaking in his passenger seat. “Don’t talk about this. Not to anyone.”

She nods, automatic, empty. Shame slicks her skin. She’s already grabbing her shorts when her phone buzzes.

The screen lights up. Unknown number.

I know what you did. Meet me tomorrow, or I tell your mom everything.

Everything stills. Her heart stops. The words burn like acid.

Adrian sees her face. Narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

But she’s already gone—scrambling out, feet hitting the cold pavement, her phone still glowing like a curse in her hand.