Unspoken Heart

Chapter 10: The Breaking Point

The party blurred into a haze of loud music, flashing lights, and too many drinks.

I wasn’t drunk, but I was tipsy enough to make bad decisions.

And I was about to make the worst one yet.

Bodies moved around me, the heat of the crowd pressing in as I danced with some guy—I didn’t even remember his name. His hands skimmed my waist, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered something I barely heard over the pounding bass.

I forced myself to smile, to laugh like I wasn’t completely aware of Ethan somewhere in this house, probably wrapped around the girl he’d walked in with.

So I let this stranger pull me closer, let my hands rest against his shoulders as the music swallowed us.

But before I could lose myself in the act, a strong hand wrapped around my wrist, yanking me back with a force that nearly sent me stumbling.

A gasp left my lips as I was pulled away from the crowd, past the drunken laughter and flashing lights, until my back collided with a wall in a quiet, dimly lit corner of the house.

The air left my lungs in a sharp breath.

Ethan.

His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, his jaw tight, his body tense. The music was muffled now, but the intensity radiating from him was deafening.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was low, rough, barely controlled.

I scoffed, shoving at his chest. “Having fun. Isn’t that what you’re doing too?”

His grip on my wrist tightened—possessive, unyielding. “This isn’t fun, Aria. You think this is a game?”

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “Isn’t it?”

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. A warning. A challenge. A silent battle neither of us was willing to lose.

And then, before I could think, before I could stop it—his lips crashed against mine.

It wasn’t like the first time.

This wasn’t slow. This wasn’t careful.

This was desperate. Angry.

His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him, pressing me into the wall like he was trying to prove a point neither of us understood. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping him like he was the only solid thing in the world.

I should have pushed him away.

I should have walked out of this party and out of his life before this got worse.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I kissed him back with the same reckless desperation, my heart pounding harder than the music outside.

His hands moved up my spine, fingers digging into my skin like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go. But I wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight.

My head was spinning—whether from the alcohol or from him, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was burning, drowning, completely and utterly lost in him.

Then, just as suddenly as he kissed me, he pulled away.

We were both breathing hard, our chests rising and falling in sync.

His eyes searched mine, his grip still firm on my waist, his thumb brushing against the fabric of my dress. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

I opened my mouth.

But no words came.

Because we both knew the truth.

We were never going to stop.

This wasn’t just a game.

It was war.

And we had already lost.