The Hottest Betrayal

Chapter 4

Lotus Pov

The kitchen shifts the second they walk in—laughter, shoving, easy-going chaos radiating from them like they own the space.

But it’s Salem who catches me off guard.

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even act interested.

Still, his eyes linger.

I feel it like a pull, slow and subtle, almost suffocating.

And of course, because my body loves to betray me, heat rushes to my cheeks and between my thighs. Ooo girl calm down.

"Ash, you need help here?" Mikea asks, casually leaning against the counter.

Ash plays it cool, flipping the chicken in the pan. "Nah, Lotus has been helping me just fine."

Mikea’s gaze flicks to me, and suddenly, all four guys turn their attention my way.

"Lotus, huh?" Luka says, voice hums with curiosity. "Are you new here?"

"Yeah," I manage, keeping my voice steady, but still fidgeting under their glares. "Just moved. Starting school this fall."

Jaun lets out a low whistle, eyeing me up and down. "Cute ... .maybe even hot. Innocent. Damn, they really shipped in the fresh ones. Lotus fits you well too." His eyes scans my body.

“Watch it…I’m not to be anyone fresh one. This is gonna be my senior year”

Brandon immediately smacks him in the chest. "Dude, you don’t have to be a pervert all the time."

Jaun smirks, rubbing his ribs. "You’re just mad I always pull the girls first. It’s the accent, my guy—gets ‘em every time."

I blink, staring at them.Okay, wow.

They’re all stupidly attractive—effortlessly cool, standing at ridiculous heights like they were genetically designed for intimidation but this ain’t that. They might be good looking but it's giving…a little slow.

Jaun, 6'0, lean with a sharp grin. Luka, 6'2, broad, with cocky energy. Mikea, 6'1, smooth and dangerously good-looking. Brandon, towering at 6'4, effortlessly charming. It checks out exactly what Ash said.

And Salem.

6'4. Dark aura. Silent. Still just watching. I continue to avoid eye contact. My heart is still broken from what occurred just 2 days ago.

I do not need any distractions. Especially not with everything going on with my parents.

But God help me.

Brandon snaps his fingers, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Alright, before you go spiraling, introductions—Jaun, Luka, Mikea, Brandon. And this quiet menace? That’s Salem."

My eyes flick to Salem.

And for a fraction of a second, I swear his lips twitch, like he’s amused.

Like he knows.

And I can tell it's going to be infuriating.

"Hi, I’m Luka," and right on his heels, Mikea "Man, do you smell that? The dinner is practically making out with my tastebuds." He tries to sneak a taste of the sizzling food, but before he can, Ash swivels and smacks his hand away, grabbing plates, napkins, silverware, and cups like a drill sergeant.

"Set the table, guys!" Ash commands, her tone playful but firm.

Laughing, Luka whines, "Well, what about the helpers? Can’t they set it?"

I can’t help but chime in with a teasing edge, "If you don’t help, you don’t eat!" My words hang in the air, and a few of the boys exchange amused glances.

Before I know it, Mikea pipes up, "I already offered!" His deep voice reverberates as he slightly towers over Ash.

In that moment—when he leans in just enough— you can see Ash’s breath hitches.

Their eyes lock, and I swear I can almost hear the sizzling tension in their silent exchange: his gaze promising mischief, hers a mix of protest and surprise that borders on flirtation.

Cock blocked by Salem appears behind them, clearing his throat in a low, deliberate way.

"Mikea, I know you’re not trying this with my sister," he warns, his tone cool but unmistakably protective.

I fan myself, half-amused and half-embarrassed by how hot it suddenly feels in here—both from the stifling kitchen and the charged atmosphere between them.

With a quick internal chuckle—Dammit, it’s getting scorching in here!—I shake off the steamy distraction and dash off to help the boys set the table, my mind still buzzing with the magnetic pull of Salem’s silent intensity. It’s like if I am being real then I don’t have time for something new with my ex best friend sleeping with my boyfriend and all but honestly my parents missing and them using that as their first excuse hurt me more than them being together. Its like all the love and patience I had for them died at that moment.

My stomach growls as Ash finishes setting down the food. I sit down, fix my plate, and moan as the food we just spent the last 2 hours putting together rest in my mouth. Eating is like s*x. It has to be compatible and work together with passion or else its trash. Or at least that's what I would hope lol since I never had it.

“ God ash… this is sooo good” I drop my head down. The guys begin to chuckle causing me to open my eyes with a pair of dark grey ones looking at me. We hold eye contact. One hand on his fork and the other over his mouth. His brown frown a bit but a smirk form replaced immediately by a frown before he whispers something to his Mikea who is to busy eating his food.

I take another bite. And the conversation flows. I hear about their school, the most popular sports, the clubs, the click, all of it. In the middle ash poured us wine. I don’t often but when I do, I lose control a little. The room tilts ever so slightly when I blink. Everything feels soft-edged and warm—too warm. My skin buzzes, flushed from that last glass of wine I definitely didn’t need. My limbs are heavy, my thoughts swimming like they’re underwater.

“Okay Salem, I think its best if you take her home since you're the only one that hasn't drunk.

My vision flickers—streetlights streak across my gaze like stars as I’m half-dragged, half-carried into the backseat. I think I laughed? Maybe snorted. Hard to tell. I hand someone my phone. I slur something that sounds like “apartment” and “fourth floor.” And then I’m out again.

When I blink back, we’re parked in front of my building.

Salem’s arms loop under me like it’s nothing, his grip firm but careful—like I might break if he holds me the wrong way.

I groan as we climb the stairs. These damn stairs.

I squint as I’m eased onto my couch, and he hands me a glass of water. My lipstick’s smudged. My pulse? Still racing.

“That Stella was strong, sister,” I mumble to absolutely no one, then laugh at myself.

When I look up, he’s still there. Still watching me.

Those dark eyes? Unforgiving and way too quiet.

Then he says it.

“I don’t usually respect women this far, ya know.”

The words are teasing, but there’s something else layered underneath. Something that makes my skin buzz.

I don’t even think.

My hand moves up his chest, fingers tracing slow. Solid heat. Lean muscle. My fingertips find his abs, and I outline them one by one like I’m reading Braille with bad intentions.

He stiffens. A breath catches in his throat.

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stop me.

Those eyes drop to my hand—then back to my face.

My head tilts. I smile like a girl who knows she’s trouble, even if I’m faking it.

God, it’s hot in here. When did my apartment turn into an actual sauna?

I pull my hand back quickly, scooping the water into my lap like salvation.

"Okay. That’s enough Stella for one night," I mumble, my voice half a laugh, half a mess.

He chuckles softly, and something about it sends a new shiver straight down my spine.I barely remember being carried into the car or who I handed my phone to, but when the door to my apartment opens, I feel solid arms around me again—familiar.

A glass of water is pressed into my hands. I blink hard.

“That Stella was strong, sister,” I mumble, then giggle at myself.

And then he’s there.

Salem.

Towering. Still. Too close.

His dark eyes meet mine, and everything around me sort of... dissolves.

“You shouldn’t drink like that,” he says quietly, almost like he’s scolding me but not quite.

I tilt my head, my breath catching just a little. “If you knew half of what I’ve been through this year, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

His gaze softens—just a fraction. That unreadable look in his eyes falters, and in it, I see something fragile and hot and real.

My stomach churns. Not in a dramatic way—just that slight dizzy wave.

“Oh no...” I clutch my middle and mutter, “Uh-oh, I don’t feel cute anymore.”

Without a word, he guides me toward the bathroom, his hand gently steadying me by my elbow.

“Can you make it, or are we about to have a disaster?”

“I’m fine,” I say, wobbling dramatically and catching myself on the doorframe.

He pauses, like he’s debating something... and I swear I see his jaw clench. He turns just before I shut the door, clearly fighting the urge to sneak a look.

Good. That makes two of us off-balance.

When I come back out wearing a big T-shirt and cotton shorts—thankfully something I had stashed—I wobble a little and instinctively reach for him.

“Carry me?” I whisper.

His arms lift me like I weigh nothing, and I can feel the muscles shift under his shirt, the steady beat of his heart under my palm.

“If I didn’t respect you,” he murmurs, walking toward the bedroom, “you wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

I look up at him, letting the innocence drip from my voice. “Maybe I wouldn’t want to stop you if you didn’t.”

He freezes just enough to feel it.

The heat between us pulses.

Our mouths are inches apart. His lips part slightly. My breath brushes his skin.

Then I blink.

And I’m asleep.

Salem's POV:

She’s small—delicate even—but there’s something stormy about her, like she’s been through fire and hasn’t figured out yet if she survived it.

The way her cheek presses against the pillow… it makes her look soft. Breakable.

But I know better.

I start to step away, ready to give her space.

Then I feel her fingers grab for mine.

She mumbles something broken and small. “Everyone leaves me. Don’t leave too.”

God.

I stare at the ceiling. This isn’t a good idea.

But I slide in next to her anyway, careful, controlled.

She shifts in her sleep and curls into me, like it’s instinct, like I’m a place she trusts. Her hand rests on my chest, and I can feel her heartbeat syncing to mine.

Then, so softly I almost don’t catch it—

“I miss cuddles. From before. From when they were still here…”

Her voice cracks. Her parents.

A lump forms in my throat that I can’t swallow.

And I just lay there, holding the girl who smells like lavender and trouble and loss—wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into.