Chapter 4 ~ 4

Here is the edited Chapter 4. The middle section has been revised to weave in Hay’s sting of disappointment over Chris blowing off their long-awaited night together, her rationalizing his sudden coldness, and her desperate search for her phone to clear the air.

Chapter 4

~ Hay ~

I flopped onto the massive bed in my new room in the Fletcher mansion and stared at the ceiling.

Bored. I was so incredibly bored.

I'd already spent the last hour pacing, ranting to myself about how unfair everything was. How Mom had just abandoned me here with him. How the house was too big and too quiet and too... Fletcher.

But beneath the boredom was a raw, heavy sting in my chest that had been settling there since prom night.

Tonight was supposed to be it.

Chris and I had been planning prom night for over two years. It was supposed to be the night I finally gave myself to him completely, the special milestone we'd talked about in hushed, nervous whispers all through high school.

Instead, he’d handed me a weak, dismissive excuse right after the dance. "Guy's night, babe. Just grab an Uber."

An Uber. From my own boyfriend. On the night we were supposed to make love for the first time.

My stomach twisted into a tight knot. How could he just completely forget about our plans? Did two and a half years of waiting mean so little to him that he could swap our night together for a team hangout?

Or... had he really forgotten at all?

Part of me wondered if he was just spiraling because of the news. Drake Fletcher was his fierce rival, and now Drake was officially my stepbrother. Maybe Chris was overwhelmed, hurt, and lashing out because he felt threatened by the whole bizarre situation. I couldn't even blame him if that was the case—it was weird. It was uncomfortable for both of us.

Still, the humiliation burned. He’d crowned Felicia as his Prom Queen, left me standing alone in a long dress, ditching our intimacy, and didn't even care enough to send a single text to check if I made it home safely.

I sat up abruptly, rubbing the heels of my hands against my tired eyes. No. I needed to hear his voice. I needed him to tell me he was just stressed, that he still loved me, and that we were okay.

Where the hell was my phone?

I scrambled off the bed and searched the bedroom—checked the nightstand, the dresser, pulled open my purse. Nothing.

Think, Hay. Where did you last have it?

The car. The ride back from the airport. I'd been clutching it tight in my lap, ignoring Drake's obnoxious attempts at conversation, and when we got home, I'd bolted straight for the front door without looking back.

"Shit," I muttered.

I'd left it in the car.

Which meant I had to go get it. Which meant I risked running into him.

I crept to my bedroom door and eased it open, peeking out into the hallway like a spy in enemy territory. The plan was simple: avoid Drake at all costs for the next two weeks, get through this nightmare, and start fresh at Gothenburg where I could pretend none of this ever happened.

But I needed my phone first.

The hallway was empty. I slipped out, padding quietly across the marble floors. This house was ridiculous—all high ceilings, expensive art, and endless rooms I hadn't even explored yet. It felt more like a cold museum than a home.

I was halfway to the stairs when I saw her. A girl, young and pretty, wearing what looked like a staff uniform. She was dusting a side table, humming softly to herself.

Relief flooded through me.

"Hi!" I said, probably too enthusiastically.

She jumped, spinning around with wide eyes. Then her face broke into a warm smile. "Oh! Miss, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you coming." Her accent was soft, musical. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Actually, yeah." I glanced around, making sure Drake wasn't lurking nearby. "I think I left my phone in the car. Is there any way you could... maybe get it for me?"

She tilted her head, considering. "I could ask Mr. Fletcher junior if he's seen it…"

"No!" The word came out sharper than I intended. I lowered my voice quickly. "No, please don't tell him anything. I just... I don't want to bother him."

Or see him. Or talk to him. Or exist in the same space as him.

Understanding flickered across her face. "Ah. I see." She leaned in conspiratorially. "My name is Manana, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Manana."

She glanced over her shoulder, then whispered, "The car keys are in the garage. There's a board with all the keys hanging up. You should be able to find it easily."

"Thank you so much!" I resisted the urge to hug her. "You're a lifesaver."

She winked. "I didn't see anything."

I practically tiptoed to the garage, my heart hammering for no good reason. It was just a phone. In a car. In the garage.

The space was huge, big enough for at least ten cars. Drake's car sat in the first bay, gleaming under the bright fluorescent lights.

I found the key board exactly where Manana said it would be, grabbed the right fob, and hurried to the passenger side.

Deep breath. Just grab the phone and go.

I unlocked the car and leaned inside, scanning the leather passenger seat.

"Looking for this?"

I jolted so hard I cracked the top of my head directly on the door frame.

"Ow!" Pain bloomed across my scalp. I backed out of the car, clutching my head, and spun around.

Drake stood right there, my phone dangling casually from his fingers, looking completely unbothered by the fact that he'd just scared me half to death.

And… God help me… he looked good. He'd changed into a simple black tank top and grey joggers—a casual outfit that should have been unremarkable, but on his frame, it looked unfairly attractive. The tank showed off his muscled, tan arms, decidedly throwing off my concentration.

"Jeez," he said, though he didn't sound particularly sorry. "Didn't mean to scare you."

I rubbed my head, glaring at him. "Give me my phone."

He raised an eyebrow, lifting the device just out of my reach. "That's not how we ask for things in the Fletcher house."

"What?"

"Magic words, Hayden." His voice was almost playful. "Please. Thank you. Excuse me. Pardon me. You've been remarkably rude since you got here, you know."

The way he said my full name—Hayden—made something jolt in my chest. Something I absolutely refused to examine.

I tried to summon my anger, tried to channel all my frustration over Chris and tell him exactly where he could shove his magic words.

But the words stuck in my throat.

There was something intense about standing this close to him. The strange, suffocating heat radiating off his body made my skin feel entirely too tight.

"Give me my phone," I managed, my voice far less commanding than I wanted it to be.

Drake's smirk widened. "Still not very polite."

Before I could react, he swiped the screen, unlocking it with my face and flicked open the camera app.

"What are you…"

He stepped closer—way too close—and held the phone up at arm's length.

"Say cheese, stepsister."

Click.

The flash went off, capturing both of us—me looking shocked and flustered, him grinning like he'd just won a game.

"Drake, what the hell…"

His fingers moved across the screen with practiced ease, tapping away. Then he handed me the phone, that insufferable smirk plastered across his face.

"Payment for not using your magic words," he said simply.

And then he turned around and walked away, leaving me standing alone in the garage with my phone clutched in my shaking hands.

I looked down at the illuminated screen.

My messaging app was open to Chris's contact.

And there, right at the bottom of our text thread, was the selfie Drake had just taken. Both of us in the frame—him looking annoyingly perfect, me looking flushed and close enough to his chest that it looked... intimate.

The message had already sent.

"Oh my fucking God," I breathed.