Riley woke with a knot in her stomach, fighting nerves and exhaustion, barely hearing Sasha’s voice as her roommate relayed sarcastic commentary about the morning drills. She faked a smile, fingers trembling around her phone as she deleted yet another urgent message from her modeling agent. The secret flared hot behind her ribs. Shoving her phone into her locker, she reminded herself—discipline first. Details later.

By midday, the oppressive thud of boots and the barked orders from instructors had turned the air electric. Beth flounced past, rolling her eyes at Sasha, who fired back with a barbed retort—two magnets repelling. Riley tried to tune them out as Elias strode into the room, his presence cool and severe. His gaze landed on her, lingering just half a second too long. Her heart tripped, and impossibly, she saw the same flicker of hunger in his eyes that she felt in her own.

Training went cruelly slow. During weapons drills, Theo—newly introduced and impossibly calm—joked with Beth, scattering the tension for a moment. But Riley could barely hear them. Across the mats, Elias’s jaw was taut; his hands flexed unconsciously. When it came time to partner up, Riley braced for Sasha, but Elias’s voice cut quiet and final: “Summers. With me.” The world narrowed.

He moved with practiced precision, teaching her the proper stance. His hands—callused, warm—encircled her wrists, positioning her arms. The touch was instructional, but the way his thumb slid against her pulse left no doubt about the heat coursing under his stoic exterior. She looked up, breathless. “You need to focus, Riley.”

“I’m trying,” she whispered, and knew it wasn’t just about the lesson.

He stepped in close, stance dominant. She fought him, played into the move, but neither wanted to win. Suddenly she was pinned, his knee between hers, palm on the small of her back, her body arched against him. The moment stretched, heat blazing in the space between their mouths. “We can’t,” he murmured, but his hand slid higher.

Sasha’s eyes burned resentment from the sidelines.

Later, in the sunlit corridor, Riley ducked into a dusty supply closet to breathe, clutching the door as if it might steady her. Footsteps. The door wedged open—a silhouette, sharp and resolute. Elias. “We need to stop,” he said, voice raw, low with frustration. But when she reached for him, fingers wrapping in his collar, neither resisted.

He kissed her like he’d been starving for years, lips claiming, tongue insistent and deep. Her hands twisted in his shirt; she pressed her body into his, gasping as he backed her into the shelves. Clothes shifted. His hands dove beneath her shirt, exploring the heated skin along her waist, hips, ribs. She trembled, craving every rough caress. Her knees parted as he trapped her leg between his, grinding up, desperate and wild. She moaned, urgent, her fingertips raking down his back. The world dissolved into mingled breath, aching bodies, the metallic tang of fear.

“Riley—” His voice broke as she gripped his hair, pulling him even closer. He lifted her, her legs wrapping his waist, his mouth burying a cry in her throat. Every thrust, every feverish touch, was a plea: don’t let this end.

When it was over, they clung to each other, breathless, skin slick with sweat and thrill. “I’m not who you think I am,” she whispered, confession trembling on her lips, desperate for him to know the truth.

He tucked her hair back, met her gaze, and gave his secret freely in return. “Neither am I.” He spoke of a past affair, the shattering aftermath—the fear that history was repeating. Their shame and longing twined together, binding them in a shared vulnerability that felt like redemption.

Outside the closet, Sasha hovered, paralyzed as she overheard everything—the wet hunger of their kisses, the unguarded confession. Hurt and betrayal warred in her eyes as Riley’s laughter echoed softly through the cracked door.

Sasha turned away, heart thundering. The secret—the one she’d just discovered—threatened to detonate everything.

To be continued…