Chapter 4: Betrayed
1021 Words
Lily's POV
"Lily? Where'd you go?"
Jax's voice cut through the music, closer than I wanted. I shoved at Drake's chest, whispering sharp. "Go. Now."
He smirked and slipped back into the shadows. I smoothed my skirt, stepped out, and found Jax within seconds, weaving toward me with a beer in hand.
"There you are." He looked over me. "Your face is red."
"It's hot in here."
He watched me a beat too long, then let it go. I spent the rest of the night at his side, laughing at the right moments, playing normally, while Drake's eyes found me across the room whenever I forgot to be careful.
Four days passed in a careful blur. I got better at reading Jax's schedule, texting back at the right pace, keeping my collar up. Drake and I met in snatched hours — early mornings, late evenings, the gaps where no one was watching.
His text came midweek during a lecture I wasn't absorbing anyway.
Motel off the highway. 8 PM.
I stared at it for a long moment. Then I put my phone away and started counting the hours.
The neon sign buzzed dim over cracked pavement. Drake leaned against the door frame, key in hand, eyes moving over me once before he stepped aside without a word.
The room was plain — faded walls, heavy curtains, amber lamplight. He pulled me in by the wrist and the door clicked shut.
"Forget everything outside this room," he said. "Just us tonight."
What followed was rough and slow in turns, his hands taking their time, pushing every limit I had until I stopped tracking them. Afterward we lay tangled, his arm heavy across my waist, breath evening out at the back of my neck.
No going back now, he'd murmured.
I stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about Jax.
The days that followed had a rhythm I was starting to recognize. Gym sessions that ran long, his hands always finding reasons to linger, his marks hidden under makeup and high collars. Campus had shifted around me in ways that were hard to ignore. Guys held eye contact. A girl from my sociology class stopped me to ask about my jacket.
Mark from history caught me after Thursday's lecture. Sweet smile, easy manner, completely harmless. We talked for maybe five minutes before I made an excuse and left.
Drake heard about it anyway.
Our next gym session he was quieter than usual, jaw set, hands gripping my hips harder than necessary during squats. "He asked you out?"
"He was just being friendly."
"He touches you, I'll end it." His fingers pressed bruises into my skin that I didn't tell him to stop.
Sarah caught me in the quad a few days later, her voice low and pointed. "Slt makeover won't change what you are."
I looked at her and felt almost nothing. I walked away.
It was the first time I'd done that without shaking.
Jax cornered me after a lecture that Friday, face stormy. "Drake's jacket was in your car yesterday. I saw it."
My stomach dropped. "I borrowed it from a friend."
He took my arm, firm but careful. "Don't lie to me. He's doing this to get to me — you know that, right? He doesn't care about you. He finds girls like you and he breaks them, and then he moves on."
The words landed hard. I didn't answer.
That night I drove to the edge of campus and called Drake. "Jax said you have a history. Girls you've been through."
A pause. "I'm not a saint."
"That's not what I asked."
"Past is past." His voice was even. "You're not them."
I wanted to believe it. Part of me did. Part of me drove home with his answer sitting in my chest like something I hadn't finished swallowing.
The weekend brought another party — Jax's idea, his eyes on me the whole Uber ride over. The house was packed, music loud, air thick with bodies and cheap alcohol. I'd been there an hour when Drake arrived with his team, eyes finding me through the crowd before he'd even cleared the doorway.
Mark appeared at my elbow twenty minutes later, harmless as ever, asking if I wanted a drink. We were mid-conversation when Drake materialized beside me.
"Can I borrow her?" He didn't wait for an answer.
He steered me down the hall, into the bathroom, door locked. His expression was controlled, but his jaw was tight. "You were smiling at him."
"We were talking."
"Same thing." He crowded me against the sink, hands at my hips. "You need a reminder of where you stand?"
It should have made me angry. It didn't entirely.
When we came out separately, Jax was standing in the hallway.
His eyes moved from me to Drake, then back. Something in his face went very still.
"Tell me I'm wrong," he said quietly.
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Drake stepped up beside me, hand settling at my waist. "You're not wrong."
Jax's expression broke open. He moved fast — shoulder dropped, fist already swinging. Drake caught it and shoved back, and then they were grappling in the narrow hallway, bodies slamming the wall, people scattering. I grabbed Jax's arm trying to get between them, screaming at them to stop.
A wild elbow caught my jaw.
The floor came up fast. I hit it hard, tasted blood, and the surrounding noise went strange and distant.
I woke to white ceiling tiles and the antiseptic smell of a hospital. Jax sat beside the bed, elbows on his knees, head down.
He looked up when I stirred. His eyes were raw. "I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry." He exhaled slowly. "But I'm telling you — he's poison. Whatever this is, it's going to destroy you."
The door swung open before I could answer.
Drake filled the frame, hair disheveled, knuckles wrapped. His eyes found me immediately, something unguarded moving through them before his expression locked back down.
"She's with me now," he said. "That's done."
Jax stood up slowly. "Over my dead body."
- Writer
