CHAPTER 3: THE DINNER TRAP
839 Words
Andre's pov
I spent two hours locked in my room trying to construct an emotional shield—a fortress of denial—before Sarah called me down for dinner. I picked out the most severe, high-necked sweater I owned, hoping the fabric would somehow absorb the terrifying electricity I knew was waiting downstairs.
When I entered the dining room, my fortress crumbled on sight. The long mahogany table was set beautifully, but the seating arrangement felt like a medieval torture device designed specifically for me.
Henry sat at the head. Sarah sat to his left. And there were the twins, already in their seats. Zane was to Henry's right. Which meant the only seat left was beside Zakk, across the table from Zane.
I felt the magnetic pull the moment I crossed the threshold. The combined scent of them—cedar and rain, sharp and heady—was so concentrated here that it made my head swim. My palms were instantly slick.
I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the empty chair. "Sorry, I'm late," I mumbled, pulling the chair out and sliding into the space next to Zakk.
I immediately regretted every life choice that had led me here. Zakk's arm was inches from mine, his warmth radiating off him like a personal furnace.
"You're right on time, Andre," Henry said cheerfully. "We were just talking about how busy the boys have been."
"Exhausting," Zakk agreed, his voice a low, smooth rumble that vibrated against the shell of my ear. I flinched, not physically, but internally, shrinking away from the sound.
I avoided looking at him by focusing on the twin across the table. Zane was watching me, his expression neutral, but his eyes were like two warm spotlights, missing nothing. He gave me a barely perceptible nod, a small, silent acknowledgement that he understood my distress. It was meant to be comforting, but it only made me feel more exposed.
"So, Andre, Sarah tells me you're majoring in English literature?" Zane asked, his voice polite and completely flat, initiating the social conversation.
"Yes," I managed, gripping my fork. "Poetry, mostly."
"Poetry," Zakk drawled, resting his wrist on the table, perilously close to mine. His sleeve was rolled up, revealing a strong forearm dusted with dark hair. "I prefer things to be more direct. But I suppose some people enjoy the challenge of decoding layers of hidden meaning."
His eyes weren't on me; they were on his plate, but the double meaning of the comment—I know your secret, Andre, and I enjoy watching you try to hide it—was loud and clear. He was flirting by proxy, using the dinner conversation as a weapon.
I felt my cheeks flush crimson. I quickly glanced at Sarah, praying she hadn't noticed. She was busy laughing at something Henry had said.
"Poetry is about rhythm," I countered, forcing a steady voice. "It's about the innate beat that drives the emotion."
"And what drives your emotion, Andre?" Zakk whispered, finally turning his head just slightly so his jawline was inches from my face.
It wasn't a question meant for the table. It was a secret spoken in public, and it shattered my composure. The sheer, overwhelming reality of the bond—the magnetic pull, the heat, the scent—surged between us. My hands began to shake uncontrollably.
Before I could reply, Zane intervened from across the table. "Don't pester her, Zakk," he said easily, but the look he gave his brother was a sharp warning. "She’s had a long day of unpacking." He was trying to protect me, to give me an out.
Zakk just shrugged, his shoulder bumping mine. The contact sent a jolt of liquid heat through my torso.
"Just making conversation, brother," Zakk replied, but his eyes locked with Zane's in a silent, challenging conversation of their own.
Aggressor versus Protector. I was the prize in a silent, secret battle being waged under the cover of a family dinner.
I pushed my plate away, the food suddenly tasteless. "I think I'm full. If you'll excuse me."
I stood up, desperate to escape the intense, shared attention.
"You hardly ate anything, dear," Sarah noted, finally looking at me with concern.
"Just a little tired," I lied, keeping my expression as neutral as possible.
As I walked out of the room, I didn't dare look back. But I felt their eyes—both pairs, identical and possessive—boring into my back. The scent followed me all the way up the stairs, chasing me back to the safety of my room.
The wall I had constructed was utterly useless. Zane and Zakk had successfully breached my defenses without even raising their voices. They had used the mate bond and my own overwhelming attraction against me.
I was trapped in this house, and the secret was already suffocating me.
- Writer
