Chapter 7 | Shattered

MAYA

The hallway suddenly felt too small. Too quiet. Too full of him. And I realized- with a dizzying, terrifying rush- that I wasn’t dreaming anymore.

I wasn’t dreaming at all.

I couldn’t breathe.

He was real. Standing there. Flesh and blood and ink and muscle and those merciless black eyes that had already seen everything. Last night wasn’t a dream. His finger inside me. My screams. The way I’d soaked his hand and the couch and begged like I was dying for it.

He’d watched me strip in the hallway just now. Watched me drop my bra like some shameless idiot who thought she was alone. Heat exploded across my face, my chest, my thighs- shame so thick I could choke on it.

I wanted to disappear. But worse- far worse, was the traitorous pulse between my legs that hadn’t stopped since I saw him. My nipples tightened painfully under the open air, aching for the same cruel fingers that had ruined me hours ago. My body didn’t care about shame. It only remembered him.

He moved first. One step. Two. Closing the distance until he was inches away- close enough that I could smell rain and dark soap and the faint musk of man that made my knees threaten to buckle.

I gasped when his shadow swallowed me whole. My whole body trembled. Heart slamming so hard I thought it would bruise my ribs. I did not know what was going to happen- what he would say or do-

From the corner of my eye I watched him reach for the hem of his black shirt- lift it in one smooth motion and drag it over his head. My breath caught. Tattoos rippled over carved muscle. Broad shoulders. Veins snaking down thick forearms. The sharp V dipping into those low grey sweatpants.

For one dizzy second I thought- he’s going to touch me again. He’s going to pin me to the wall and- “Cover yourself.” His voice was flat. Cold.

He dropped the oversized shirt over my head like I was a child who’d wandered outside naked. Then he walked past me- brushing my shoulder just enough to send a jolt straight to my core, without another word.

I stood frozen for three heartbeats before reality crashed back. I yanked the shirt down over my body so fast the fabric burned against my skin. His scent wrapped around me instantly. That overwhelming, intoxicating scent- and I hated how much I wanted to bury my face in it.

Without thinking further and trying to process anything, I bolted back into my room and slammed the door. Inside my head I was screaming. How could I have been so stupid? So reckless? So fucking exposed in front of him- of all people. I had never humiliated myself like this. Not ever. Especially not in front of Tristan Desmond.

Hot tears pricked my eyes as I stumbled into the bathroom. The shower was scalding. I stood under it until my skin turned pink, trying to scrub away the embarrassment, the memory of his voice saying “would you like to explain,” the way my pussy had clenched just from his gaze.

It didn’t work.

When I finally stepped out, I pulled on the baggiest hoodie and sweatpants I owned- like armor. Like if I covered every inch of myself he might forget what he’d seen. I took the stairs slowly. Each step felt like walking to my execution.

He was there. Exactly where I knew he’d be- on the same leather couch from last night.

Cross-legged now. One arm draped over the backrest. Looking like a king on a throne made of sin. The second I crossed the threshold he spoke without looking up.

“Maya.” My name in his mouth felt like a whip and a caress at the same time. My heart jumped into my throat. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to drop to my knees and beg him to touch me again.

Instead I forced my legs to move and sat on the farthest cushion from him.

Silence stretched between us. Thick and suffocating. Finally, I opened my mouth. “I- I’m sorry. I was drunk, I didn’t mean- ”

“Who gave you the fucking permission to go out like that and get drunk?” he cut in, voice low and lethal. “Only to come home and act like a horny little slut?”

The words hit like a slap. I flinched. Hard. Tears stung instantly. I couldn't believe he’d use such harsh words- “I- I don’t do that every day,” I whispered. “I don’t even drink. I swear- ”

“What if your parents knew?” He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, eyes finally locking on mine. Cold. Disappointed. “Who gave you permission? You think this is a game? You must be doing this shit every other weekend.”

Each accusation sliced deeper. Tears slipped free before I could stop them. “I don’t!” My voice cracked. “I don’t! It’s all because of you!” The confession ripped out of me- raw, desperate. How could he say anything like that! He went still.

“How is it because of me?” I clamped my lips shut. My eyes widened slightly at realization- If I opened my mouth now everything would pour out. Every stolen glance since I was sixteen. Every night I’d touch myself whispering his name. Every time I’d pushed other boys away because they weren’t him.

I couldn’t say it. I wouldn’t survive it. He watched me for a long moment- silent, unreadable. Then he spoke again, quieter this time. Deadlier. “Don’t think I don’t know how you look at me, Maya.”

My heart stopped. “But forget about it.” His jaw tightened. “Forget every fucking thing. Forget what happened last night.”

The words landed like a blade between my ribs. How did he know- was I that obvious- I tried to speak- tried to beg, to argue, to tell him I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to- but he cut me off again.

“I’ve made it clear.” His voice was steel. Final. “Nothing fucking happened last night.”

He stood up and turned. He walked toward the hallway without looking back. And just like that- my entire world cracked open and bled out on the living room floor.

I sat there with tears streaming silently, his oversized shirt still drowning me in his scent, listening to the echo of his footsteps fade.

Nothing happened. He said it like it was law. But my body still ached for him. And my heart- my stupid, shattered heart- still belonged to the devil who just told me to pretend he never touched it.

I was curled up on the floor beside my bed, knees pulled tight to my chest, face buried between them. My eyes were swollen and raw from crying. Tears kept leaking even when I thought I had none left.

The rejection burned so deep it felt like someone had carved it into my ribs. Tristan’s words kept repeating in my head like a cruel loop. Nothing fucking happened last night.

Forget every fucking thing.

I sobbed harder, shoulders shaking. How was I supposed to forget the way his finger had stretched me? The way I’d squirted all over his hand while screaming his name? How was I supposed to face him after that?

He was staying here. In this house. For days. I couldn’t even leave my room.

How was I going to survive breathing the same air as him?