Rain lashes the tall glass windows, streaking neon light across Leya’s face as she stands barefoot in the hallway, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her hair tumbles loose—half-curled, a little wild—and tonight she’s not hiding behind event-planner chic, just a faded vintage tee and pajama shorts. She hesitates by Vyn’s door, knuckles trembling before she knocks. When he opens, he’s shirtless, drawstring pants low on his hips, a rakish grin twisting his lips. His eyes are alert, too sharp, but his voice is low and soft.

“Can’t sleep?” he teases, stepping aside, inviting her in with a flick of his head. Leya steps past him, shoulders tense, the air between them thick. “Got something on your mind, Leya?”

She sits on the edge of his bed, fingers twisting in her lap, unsure where to let her gaze linger. “It’s stupid,” she says with a brittle laugh, watching rain shadow his tattooed collarbones. “I keep thinking about Kian. And I know he’s... he’s with Sarelle. I just—” She bites her lip, voice shaking. “I feel so invisible. Like I’m never the one anyone actually wants.”

Vyn moves closer, a calculated brush of his hand over hers. The heat of him is immediate, and his thumb traces slow, idle circles on her skin. “You don’t have to be invisible with me.” His voice is velvet, edged with hunger, but his eyes are searching—maybe for leverage, maybe for something softer.

Leya tries to laugh it off, but her heart is pounding loud enough to drown out the storm. She thinks, fleetingly, about all her secrets, about being chosen just once for herself. When Vyn leans in, she’s startled but doesn’t pull away. His lips graze her jaw, slow, coaxing, testing whether she’ll flinch. She doesn’t. She closes her eyes, letting herself fall into him.

His mouth is hot, purposeful, sliding over hers with practiced skill. Leya shivers as his hands travel—one up her spine, the other sliding beneath her shirt, tracing scars old and new. She gasps, surprise and fear flickering in her eyes, but Vyn murmurs, “You’re beautiful, all of you,” and Leya can’t tell if it’s a lie or if she’s just desperate enough to believe it.

Their need collides—her hunger more raw than she’s ever let anyone see, his coaxing touch both tender and possessive. He pushes her shirt over her head, kisses every inch of exposed skin, mouth lingering on marks she’s always hidden. She arches to him, surrendering. Underneath the rain’s drumming, her breathing breaks—the sound of longing and loneliness at war.

After, she curls against Vyn’s chest, hair sweat-slicked, eyes glazed with something like disbelief. “Why me?” she whispers, afraid to hear the answer.

He doesn’t answer—not truly. He just kisses the crown of her head and holds her too loosely, already half-turned away, distracted by the buzzing of his phone. Leya’s gaze follows his hands as he thumbs through something on-screen. She catches the briefest glimpse: a list of names, her own at the bottom, freshly added. Her stomach twists. All at once, the warmth between them feels cold, transactional—a conquest, not a connection.

Somewhere across the hall, Sarelle lies awake in Kian’s empty bed, fingers hovering over her ex’s contact. Her thumb hesitates, then taps out a message, just two words: “Miss you.” She doesn’t dare send it—not yet. But the screen’s glow in the darkness is a promise of trouble.

Vyn, sensing Leya’s eyes on him, turns away, jaw tight, face unreadable in the blue stormlight. She pulls the blanket higher, a surge of shame and regret washing over her. For a moment, she wishes she could vanish entirely.

Outside, thunder cracks, the city flickers, and a chasm widens between every apartment in The Glassen. In the hush that follows, Leya tells herself next time she’ll say no, but she’s not sure she means it.

To be continued...