Monday hit hard.
Ella thought she could handle the fire. Thought she could control it. But Ryan wasn't like any guy she'd known before—he didn't just flirt, he devoured. And now, every glance, every smirk, every whisper made her skin ache in places she couldn't explain.
And couldn't ignore.
Especially after last night's message.
"I'm not playing anymore. Are you?"
She hadn't responded.
Not because she didn't want to.
But because she did.
Too much.
****
She arrived early to the music hall the next morning, planning to breathe, to think.
The place was empty. Dim. Silent.
She moved to the piano in the center, pressed a few keys—soft, lonely notes drifting into the air.
"Didn't know you played," a voice said behind her.
Her heart jumped.
Ryan.
Of course.
He always showed up when she was weakest.
"Didn't know you stalked people," she replied, standing but not turning around.
"I wasn't stalking," he said, stepping closer. "I was waiting."
"For what?"
"You."
She turned now.
Big mistake.
He was close—so close she could see the shadows in his eyes, the slight bruise on his jaw from last week's fight in gym, the way his lip twitched like he wanted to smile but didn't trust himself to.
"You look tired," he said.
"Thanks."
"No... not tired. Haunted."
She froze.
His eyes searched hers, and suddenly everything felt too quiet.
Too real.
"You ever get tired of pretending you don't want someone?" he asked.
"I'm not pretending."
He tilted his head. "So kiss me, then."
Her pulse jumped. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." His voice dropped an octave. "Kiss me. Prove it doesn't mean anything."
She didn't move.
Couldn't.
"You're afraid," he murmured, stepping closer. "Because if you kiss me, you'll fall."
"I won't."
"Then do it."
So she did.
She kissed him.
Hard.
Furious.
Hot.
It was messy. His hands tangled in her hair, her fingers gripped the collar of his shirt like if she let go, she'd fall through the floor.
It wasn't gentle.
It was a war.
Mouths crashing, teeth clashing, breaths stolen between gasps. She shoved him back against the piano. He lifted her onto it, hands sliding up her thighs like he had every right to touch her there.
She moaned—soft, broken.
He froze.
Pulled back.
Breathing heavy.
Eyes burning.
"We can't do this," he said, voice rough.
"Then stop," she challenged.
He didn't.
Instead, he kissed her again.
Slower this time. Like he was memorizing the taste of her.
When he finally pulled away, her lips were swollen, her shirt halfway untucked, and her heart was pounding like a drumbeat she couldn't silence.
He leaned in close, breath against her cheek.
"This isn't a game anymore, Ella."
She whispered, "Then what is it?"
He didn't answer.
He just left.
****
Outside, Ella sat on the school steps, her fingers trembling.
This wasn't part of the plan.
She was supposed to break him.
But something inside her was cracking instead.
****
In his car, Ryan gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him.
This wasn't about the bet anymore.
He hated her.
He wanted her.
He needed her.
And that made her dangerous.
Because if she ever found out what he'd started this whole thing for…
She'd never forgive him.