Chapter 2
1456 Words
Chapter 2
Katie's POV
My heart beats like a war drum as I stand there, staring at Winfred on the upper deck. His hands are on her, fingers tracing her waist like they used to trace mine. Her red dress hugs her figure perfectly, like she knew she’d be on display. She tilts her head back, laughing at something he says, and he leans in to kiss her neck.
My fingers tighten around my glass so hard I’m afraid it’ll shatter. Of all the places, on this ship, at this moment...
“Unbelievable,” I whisper to myself, my breath shaky with rage.
I feel a presence beside me, that shift in the air when someone steps too close. Slowly, I turn my head and, of course, it’s him. Rogan. He’s leaning on the bar, one elbow propped casually, his eyes locked on mine like he’s already seen everything I just saw.
“Rough night?” he asks, his voice like silk over steel.
“You could say that,” I reply, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat. I face forward, tapping my nails against my glass. Don’t let him see you break, Katie.
“Want to talk about it?” he says, his voice low but sharp, like he already knows the answer.
“Not really,” I mutter, eyes fixed on the swirling amber liquid in my glass. But the words come out anyway, hot and fast. "Actually, yeah. Why not? You know what's fun? Spending months thinking you’re finally with a man who respects you, only to find him cozying up with someone who looks like she just stepped out of a perfume ad."
Rogan’s eyebrows lift, and for a second, I think he’s going to laugh. But he doesn’t. His face goes still, serious in a way that makes me feel like I just passed some kind of test.
“Sounds like he’s a fool,” Rogan says. His gaze flicks up to the deck where Winfred is still playing house with his mystery woman. “You want to make him regret it?”
My eyes snap to his. “What are you suggesting?”
He shrugs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You said it yourself. Men like him only care when they’re losing.” He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with challenge. "Let him lose."
The idea sinks into me slowly, but once it settles, it burns. I glance back up at Winfred. He hasn't even noticed me. Not once. His whole world is that woman in red. Fine. If he wants to play dirty, I can too.
I turn to Rogan, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
His grin is slow and wicked. “Simple,” he says, stepping closer. “We make him jealous.”
I raise a brow, skeptical. “And why would you help me with that?”
“Because I’m bored,” he says with a smirk. "And you look like fun."
I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m not a toy.”
“Good,” he replies, eyes dropping to my lips for half a second before locking on mine again. “Toys break too easily.”
The air between us shifts, like a current pulling us closer. I don't trust him, not for a second, but right now, I trust him more than I trust Winfred. And that's saying something.
"Fine," I say, setting my glass on the bar with a little too much force. "But I’m not some damsel waiting to be saved. This is about me, not him.”
“Atta girl,” Rogan says, his grin turning into something sharper. “I like that fire.”
He steps in front of me, his broad frame blocking my view of the bar, the lights, the whole world. For a moment, it’s just him—tall, unshakable, and watching me like I’m something rare. He offers his hand, palm up.
“Shall we?” he asks, eyes daring me to back down.
My heart races, every sensible part of me screaming no, bad idea, danger alert. But the other part, the one that’s sick of waiting, sick of being second place, says yes.
So I slip my hand into his.
His fingers close around mine, warm, firm, steady. He leads me to the center of the dance floor, where couples are swaying to the soft rhythm of a jazz band. I’m hyper-aware of every movement, every glance being thrown our way. Rogan doesn't seem to care. His hand presses firmly against my lower back, pulling me in like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
“Don’t tell me to relax,” I say, tilting my head up at him.
“Noted,” he replies, his smirk returning.
The music shifts to something slower, deeper, the kind of song where people lean in close. I hesitate, but he doesn’t. He pulls me in so close that I can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. I tell myself it’s part of the act. It’s all part of the act.
“Still thinking about him?” Rogan asks, his voice low in my ear.
I glance up at him. His eyes aren't teasing now. They’re... sharper. Focused.
“No,” I say honestly. “Not anymore.”
“Good,” he says, his voice like a rumble of thunder.
The dance floor spins slowly around us, or maybe it’s just me. His hand stays on my back, his fingers splayed like he’s making sure I don’t fall. His other hand rests on mine, thumb brushing once, twice, against my skin. I’m too aware of it. Every touch. Every breath.
“You’re good at this,” I say, forcing the words out to break the tension.
“I know,” he replies, his eyes holding mine. “I’m good at a lot of things.”
I should roll my eyes. I should pull away. But I don’t.
“Cocky,” I mutter.
“Confident,” he corrects, his grin flashing like lightning.
I glance over his shoulder, and there he is—Winfred. Standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes are on us. Not the woman in red. Us.
Rogan notices, too. His lips tilt into a grin so sharp it could cut glass.
“Looks like we’ve got an audience,” he says. “You ready to put on a show?”
“Absolutely,” I reply, lifting my chin.
I slide my hand up to his shoulder, tilting my head just enough for Winfred to see me. See us. The look on his face is priceless. His eyes narrow, his posture stiffens. Jealousy, party of one.
“Now he’s paying attention,” Rogan says, leaning in so his lips brush my ear. “Told you it would work.”
I shiver, but not from the cold.
The song ends, but neither of us moves. His hand stays firm on my back, like he’s daring me to step away first.
“Thanks for the help,” I say, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
“Help?” He raises a brow. “That was all you, sweetheart.”
I start to walk away, but his voice pulls me back.
“Careful, Katie,” he says, his tone too smooth, too knowing. “Once you start playing with fire, it’s hard to stop.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, eyes steady. “Maybe I like the heat.”
His grin is pure danger.
---
Later, as I walk toward my cabin, I hear footsteps behind me. I quicken my pace, heart pounding. Paranoia, I tell myself. It’s a big ship. People walk the halls.
But the footsteps match mine, too steady, too close.
I spin around. No one. Just the soft hum of the ship cutting through the waves.
My heart slows, but not by much.
I make it to my cabin, lock the door, and press my back against it. Calm down, Katie. It’s nothing. You’re fine.
But I can’t shake the feeling that someone was watching. Not just watching—following.
I slide the lock into place, double-check it twice.
Then I hear it.
A soft, steady scratch at the door.
It’s faint but unmistakable. My breath catches, heart hammering. I stare at the door, frozen.
Scratch. Scratch.
I back away slowly, eyes locked on the door like it might burst open at any second.
“Hello?” I call out, my voice too small, too uncertain.
No answer.
Just silence.
And then—
The scratching stops.
- Writer
