CHAPTER 7: THE SKELETON’s CLOSET
561 Words
Zara had barely gotten any sleep.
Her body still hummed with the memory of Jace—his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered her name like a secret and a sin at the same time.
But something felt... off.
It wasn't just Vanessa's warning haunting her. It was the way Jace had looked after their second time. Like there was something heavy sitting behind his silence. Something locked up tight.
She wanted to pretend it didn't matter.
But it did.
She was in too deep not to care.
⸻
The answers came from a place she didn't expect: Miss Devon, the art teacher.
After class, she stopped Zara at the door. "A word?"
Zara braced herself.
"I know you've been spending time with Jace Maddox," she said softly, her tone careful. "I'm not judging. But you need to understand... he's been through more than most people twice his age."
Zara tilted her head. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I saw the same look in his eyes once," Miss Devon murmured, "years ago. When his brother died."
That landed like a slap.
Brother?
"He doesn't talk about it," Miss Devon went on. "But it broke something in him. His family has money, power... but no warmth. Jace came back from that funeral a ghost. He started fights, got expelled, disappeared for weeks. Now he's back, and quieter—but it's still in him. That pain."
Zara nodded slowly, the pieces clicking together in her mind.
The danger.
The darkness.
The way he clung to her like he was drowning.
⸻
That night, she didn't wait for a text.
She went to him.
His dorm window was cracked. She climbed through it like a thief, landing in the soft mess of his bed, startling him upright.
He blinked. "You could've knocked."
"You could've told me about your brother."
Silence.
His face shifted. Carefully blank.
"I don't talk about that."
"I'm not asking for gossip," she said. "I'm asking because I feel you. When you touch me, when you look at me... you give me pieces of you. But not the whole story. And I need to know what I'm holding."
He stared at her. Long. Hard. Then his jaw flexed.
"I watched him die," Jace said, voice low and raw. "It wasn't an accident. It was a deal gone bad — a setup. My father paid everyone off. And told me to keep my mouth shut. Like nothing happened. Like he didn't matter."
Zara swallowed.
Jace's eyes shimmered, but no tears fell. "I've done things I don't want you knowing about. Dangerous things. And if you're smart, you'll walk away now."
She crossed the bed to him. Climbed into his lap. Straddled him, her hands framing his face.
"You're right," she whispered. "I should walk away."
She kissed him instead.
Slow this time. Deep. Not hunger. Just feeling.
"And yet here I am."
⸻
That night, their bodies tangled with more urgency than ever — but it wasn't just lust anymore.
It was survival.
It was healing.
It was two broken souls pretending that for a few stolen hours, they could fix each other with skin and sweat and breathless moans.
And afterward, as Jace lay with his head against her chest, Zara knew the truth:
She didn't just want him.
She needed him.
And that was even more dangerous.
- Writer
