Destined to be with you (MXM)

Chapter 8

It’s Tuesday morning. I wake slowly, the pale light of dawn filtering through my curtains and trembling across the quilt beneath me.

I lie on my back, eyes fixed on the plaster ceiling above, and drift back into the memory of yesterday.

I can still feel the soft nip of his lips against mine, the way his tongue teased every corner of my mouth as if mapping secret territory. Inhale— I taste him in the air, a heady mix of citric and something warm, like late autumn leaves sun-warmed on pavement.

His weight had pressed down on me, the heat of his body and the quick rhythm of his breath murmuring against my ear.

I never imagined anything could feel this exquisite.

And now I’m terrified.

Is this love... or just a fleeting pleasure for him?

He’s younger than I am—how can I possibly weave my world around his?

My heart hammers. I’ve never kissed anyone before. Am I doing something wrong? Is this beautiful intimacy really my reward, or am I simply another curiosity to him?

Before my thoughts can tumble into panic, my phone chimes on the nightstand. A new message from Nathan:

“Morning baby!! Did you sleep well?”

My cheeks heat so fiercely I can practically see the blush in the dim room. I grab the phone and type back:

“Good morning!! Yes, I slept well. How about you?”

Another buzz:

“I’m going with Dad to an important meeting at the office. Sorry I can’t pick you up today😘”

A dull ache spreads through me. I scold myself under my breath: Wake up, Ethan—don’t turn into a needy monkey.

He’s busy—of course he is.

He’s the son of a billionaire; his life is full of boardrooms and briefings.

I tap out: “Oh, great. Don’t worry about me. Good luck with the meeting.😊”

Almost immediately: “Ugh, so boring. Dad always drags me into shareholder chats so I can ‘learn the ropes.’”

I slip out of bed, my feet sinking into the plush carpet as I brace myself for the day.

By lunch, the week had blurred into routine.

Nathan’s preoccupied with training for his upcoming match, so our chats are just quick dings between meetings and drills. Meanwhile, the school’s group chat explodes with a news article featuring “Nathan and Rachel Christiana.”

I open it to find a glossy photograph—Nathan immaculate in a tailored black tuxedo, crisp bow tie framing his elegant jaw.

Next to him, Rachel glows in a sleeveless black velvet dress, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders like silk.

They’re both laughing at the camera, arms entwined, as if they belong at each other’s side.

My chest contracts. I should have known this joy would shatter.

At lunch, the cafeteria roars with chatter and clattering trays. Steam rises from trays of pasta and soup, and the tang of tomato sauce drifts in the air.

I sit with Thea and our friends, but my appetite’s gone.

I feel phantom glances burning into my back;

I know that look—Nathan’s look—and I desperately scan the room, refusing to meet anyone else’s eyes.

Why did he let me hope for something real if he’s out there smiling next to someone else? My vision blurs. I swallow hard, determined not to cry, but every breath tastes like salt.

“Ethan, you’ve got to come to the get-together on next Friday night,” Martin says, sliding a hand across the table.

“My brother’s friends are coming over.”

I nod weakly. “I’ll try.”

Thea leans forward and rests a palm on my shoulder. “We’re going, Ethan. You need a break.”

I glance at where Nathan usually sits.

His bench is empty—just a scattering of textbooks—and then back at Thea’s steady gaze.

“Sure,” I whisper. “I’ll be there.” I remind myself I can always bail last minute—claim a headache, some emergency at home, no one would question me.

Suddenly a loud crash echoes: a plate crashing to the floor, chairs scraping across tile. Heads swivel.

My breath catches in my throat. Then I see him—Nathan—pushing his way through the crowd toward our table.

“Hey, Ethan,” he calls quietly when he reaches me, voice low against the cafeteria din.

“I need help with calculus. I’ve got a test next period—could you help me study?”

My heart stutters. He doesn’t have a test.

But I manage a nod, eyes flicking to Thea, who shrugs in confusion.

We slip away together, weaving past startled classmates, until we stand in an empty corridor. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, their glare bouncing off the dusty windows of the old computer lab at the end of the hall. Without warning, Nathan draws me inside, presses me against the cool metal door, then turns and locks it with a sharp click.

He’s closer than before—his chest against mine, his breath warm and uneven. I can smell the faint tang of his cologne mixed with sweat. His eyes search mine, fierce and uncertain.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he demands in a whisper, voice shaking. “You won’t even look at me—or smile.”

I open my mouth, but my throat tightens.

He shifts, anger flaring in his gaze. “Why was Thea so close to you today?”

I shake my head, words failing me.

“Are you punishing me?” His voice cracks, and he takes a step closer, so close his lips are just inches from mine. “Is it because of that post on the school website?”

Silence stretches between us, my heart pounding so hard it’s all I can feel. Then, before I can find an answer, his lips crash into mine again—urgent, desperate, and all-consuming.