Tangled in His Shadows

I didn't stay long after the dance.

Finn had looked betrayed. Everyone else had looked entertained. And me? I'd felt like glass — cracked in too many places to keep pretending I wasn't breaking.

I left the Gala early.

My dress felt tighter with every step I took back home, like it was suffocating me — or maybe it was everything Knox had said. The way his hand had branded my back. The way his voice had wrapped around my throat like silk-laced rope.

You're standing in the middle of a battlefield.

He hadn't been wrong.

I didn't belong in this war. I was just collateral. But even that felt too kind. Because part of me had danced with the devil — and liked it.

The apartment was dark when I got in, but warm.

Nia was passed out on the couch, a half-empty glass of red wine perched dangerously on her chest.

Callie's room was silent, her door cracked just enough to see the glow of her laptop.

I kicked off my heels, padded down the hall, and shut myself in my room.

The silence hit harder than I expected.

I stripped out of the dress, skin prickling where Knox had touched me. I could still feel the ghost of his fingers, the heat of his mouth near my ear, whispering things I shouldn't have let affect me.

I changed into an oversized tee and curled up in bed, determined to forget him. Determined to think about Finn instead — how kind he'd been, how safe he made me feel.

But my heart didn't flutter when I pictured Finn.

It ached when I thought of Knox.

I hated that.

I hated him.

And most of all, I hated myself for letting him in — even for a second.

It was after midnight when I heard it.

Three slow knocks.

My heart jerked.

I sat up in bed, frozen. Another knock. Firm. Intentional.

It wasn't Nia. It wasn't Callie.

I stood and crept to the door. My hands were shaking as I opened it.

And there he was.

Knox.

Soaked from the rain. Shirt clinging to his chest. Tie gone. Hair wild. Eyes burning.

I couldn't speak.

He stepped inside without waiting.

"You shouldn't be here," I said hoarsely.

"I know."

"Then leave."

"Tell me you don't want me to stay."

My mouth opened — but no words came.

Because the truth lodged in my throat.

He moved slowly, like a predator gauging whether his prey would run. But I didn't move. I couldn't.

He reached me in two strides. His fingers brushed my wrist — gentle this time. Barely there.

"You danced with me," he said, voice low. "You could've said no."

"I didn't want to make a scene."

"You didn't want to stop."

My breath hitched.

His eyes flicked over my face, searching. Not with lust this time — with something raw. Something frightening.

"You're not like the others," he murmured. "You look at me like you see past the smoke. Like you're not afraid of what you'll find."

"I am," I whispered.

He leaned in, nose brushing mine. "Then why are you still standing here?"

I had no answer.

Only heat, and confusion, and a thousand questions tearing holes in my ribs.

"Because I'm weak," I whispered.

"No." His hand slid up my arm. "You're the strongest woman I've ever touched."

"Don't touch me."

"Then step away."

I didn't.

He tilted his head, mouth barely a breath from mine. "One kiss. That's all I want."

"I don't believe you."

A flicker of a smirk. "You shouldn't."

But before I could move, before I could think, his mouth was on mine.

It wasn't soft.

It was devastating.

Every unspoken thought. Every tension. Every "I shouldn't" I'd choked down for weeks — poured into that kiss. His hands cradled my jaw like I was breakable. Mine tangled in his wet shirt like I needed to tear something, anything, to stay grounded.

When we broke apart, I was gasping.

He rested his forehead against mine. "This is a bad idea."

"I know."

But I still hadn't let go.

His phone buzzed.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.

Reluctantly, he pulled it out. He looked at the screen. His expression darkened.

"I have to go."

"Then go," I said.

But my voice trembled.

He stared at me for a long moment. Then brushed his thumb across my lower lip.

"You don't know what you've started," he said quietly. "But you will."

He left without another word.

And this time, I didn't stop him.

The next morning, I woke to headlines.

KNOX HART INVOLVED IN LATE-NIGHT ALTERCATION OUTSIDE EXCLUSIVE CLUB

I stared at the screen, heart thudding. The photo was grainy but clear: Knox, blood on his cheek, shoving someone back, restrained by security.

The article was worse. Speculation. Drugs. Rage issues. Rumors.

Finn hadn't called.

Neither had Knox.

I sat on the couch, robe wrapped tightly around me, staring at the screen while the storm inside me raged.

Then a new message came in.

From a blocked number.

You're not safe anymore.

My blood ran cold.

And that's when I realized—

This wasn't just a love triangle.

It was a trap.