Just when Liam starts to push forward, the sound of loud banging slams through the walls like gunshots.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Yo! Liam, you in there? Coach is looking for you!”

The voice is male. Loud. Stupidly casual.

Another bang rattles the locked door, and that’s all it takes.

Liam freezes—but only for a second.

Then he explodes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growls, voice like gravel dragged across steel.

Lara reaches up with trembling hands, brushing his chest. “Liam…”

But he doesn’t hear her.

His body vibrates with fury—unfiltered, murderous. He’s not just annoyed. He’s not just frustrated.

He’s ready to kill.

He jerks up from the bed, yanking on his pants, movements so sharp they’re almost violent.

“I’m going to rip his fucking throat out.”
His voice is so low and venomous it makes the air in the room colder.

“I should’ve locked that damn door with a chain,” he mutters. “Should’ve tied you down so no one could fucking interrupt this.”

Before Lara can respond, he storms toward the door like a weapon ready to fire.

The music is louder than it needs to be. Someone’s spilled half a drink across the kitchen counter. People are dancing, laughing, yelling—and Lara’s standing in the middle of it all, trying to pretend she isn’t falling apart inside.

After that, she had rushed back to her friends, wrapped herself in laughter and tequila like armor, and refused to think about Liam’s voice, Liam’s eyes, Liam’s hands…

Now she’s four shots deep, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild, and her heels uneven.

“Laraaaa!” Molly giggles, looping an arm around her. “You are so wasted.”

“I’m not drunk,” Lara slurs. “I’m just... passionately horizontal.”

“You’re standing.”

“Exactly.”

Across the room, Liam reenters, fresh from a meeting with Coach.

He’s barely inside the house when his eyes lock on her.

Her messy hair. Her glossy, tipsy eyes. The way she’s leaning against the counter like the ground betrayed her balance.

And the guy next to her—Brayden—is standing way too close. Talking too loud, touching her arm. Laughing at things that aren’t funny.

Liam’s jaw ticks.

Molly notices first. “Oh no. Uh oh. Hulk’s back.”

Lara turns, teetering, blinking at Liam.

He marches over.

“Hey there, lover boy,” she slurs dramatically, arms flinging open like she’s about to stage dive. “You abandoned me.”

“You ran,” Liam mutters, catching her before she faceplants.

“I floated away, emotionally.”

“Yeah, well now you’re floating sideways.”

She melts into him, arms looped lazily around his neck. “You smell like sin and stupid decisions. I missed it.”

Liam tightens his arms around her, jaw softening slightly. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re sexy.”

“Lara.”

“I would climb you like a tree if I could see straight.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself. “You’re not climbing anything.”

“I’ll take her,” Brayden says, stepping forward suddenly. “She’s too drunk, I’ll drop her home—”

And in a blink, Liam punches him.

Hard. A sickening crack echoes over the music as Bryden stumbles back, clutching his face.

The room falls silent.

Lara, still clinging to Liam, blinks slowly. “Did you just... punch Bryden?”

“He touched you twice,” Liam growls. “He offered to take you. I don’t fucking share.”

Brayden is groaning on the floor, and someone yells, “Shit, his jaw’s broken!”

Molly gapes. “Liam, she’s not property!”

“I know,” he says, eyes still locked on Lara. “She’s mine.”

Lara giggles and boops his nose with her finger. “You’re scary hot.”

And just like that—she passes out.

Full weight drops into his chest. Liam catches her before she hits the floor, wrapping his arms around her like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

“She’s out cold,” Molly says, still wide-eyed.

“I got her,” Liam mutters.

“She lives on the other side of town—”

“I said I got her.”

Someone mutters about calling an ambulance for Brayden, but Liam’s already walking away, carrying Lara like she’s weightless, like she’s the only thing that matters.

I wake to sunlight slicing across the ceiling—unfamiliar, too white, too clean.

My head pounds. A slow, aching throb behind my eyes.

Everything feels wrong.

Too warm.
Too still.
Too… not mine.

I blink hard and sit up slowly—then freeze.

Liam’s room.
Liam’s bed.
Liam’s hoodie hanging off the chair like it belongs there. Like I don’t.

Panic floods me.

The blanket slips from my shoulders, and I look down.
One of Liam’s t-shirts hangs off my body—soft, oversized, smelling like him. My legs are bare.
My mouth tastes like tequila and guilt.

Oh no. No. No. No.

Flashes hit me like a storm:
Liam’s voice, low and dangerous.
My hands on his chest.
That kiss—raw, consuming, wrong.
Bryden’s voice shouting.
Liam’s fists flying.
And then—blackness. Warm arms. His scent. Sleep.

I clutch the blanket tighter like it can rewind time.

“What did I do…” I whisper to myself.

This isn’t who I’m supposed to be. He’s not who I’m supposed to want.
He’s Liam.
My rival. My irritation. The line I never cross.

Not the boy who carries me.
Not the mouth I still feel on mine.
Not the arms I miss when I wake up.

“I kissed him.”
I say it aloud, like it’ll make it less real. Less dangerous.

A floorboard creaks.

I look up.
Liam’s standing there, hair damp, towel around his neck, glass of water in his hand.

I freeze. My chest caves in.

“Morning butterfly,” he says gently.

His voice shouldn’t sound like that. Soft. Careful. Kind.

I stare at him, numb.
And shake my head. “No.”

He steps closer. “Headache? I brought—”

“No.”
It comes out sharp. Too sharp.
“I mean... I shouldn’t be here.”

His brow furrows, confused. “Lara, nothing happened. You passed out. I changed you—safely. You’ve been out all night.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

I slide out of bed, wrapping the blanket around me like armor. My voice is brittle. “You’re my enemy, Liam.”

I don’t look at him. I can’t.
But I hear the shift in his breathing. That split-second crack in fury.

“Yes and it doesn't change the fact that you are mine...” he mutters.

“I was drunk. I wasn’t thinking. That kiss—none of it should’ve happened.”

There’s a long pause, like he’s trying to swallow something sharp.

“You were drunk, yeah,” he says, bitter now. “But What about the kiss baby ..you weren't drunk then baby hmmm, you dined all you want but it was your mouth that begged princess and you wanted it too”

I shake my head and brush past him, heart pounding, shame crawling up my throat.
“No. It was a mistake. All of it. I need to go.”

“Lara—”

“I’m late,” I cut in. “For class. For my life. Whatever.”

And I walk out.
I don’t let myself look back.
Not at him.
Not at the warmth.
Not at what we almost were.

Later the day Liam's pov -

I'm fuming.

The kind of rage that hums in your bones. That makes your jaw hurt from clenching. That turns every sound into a trigger.

And she—
She’s walking around like nothing happened.

Like she didn’t pull me in with those wide, desperate eyes.
Didn’t kiss me like I was the last thing keeping her from falling apart.
Didn’t melt under my touch and whisper my name like a secret she shouldn’t say out loud.

Now she won’t even look at me.

She’s laughing with her friends. Smiling that perfect, bullshit smile.
But I can see it in her eyes—it's fake. All of it.

And it’s driving me insane.

I slam my locker shut, the metal cracking so loud the kid next to me jumps. Good.

“Dude,” ronan says, stepping back like I might actually throw hands. “Locker didn’t insult your mom, man. Chill.”

I don’t respond. Just shove my books into my bag, the zipper nearly breaking under my grip.

“Okay, he’s in a mood,” josh mutters. “You skip breakfast or just punch a mirror for fun this morning?”

“Neither,” I snap, voice low and dangerous. “You done asking stupid questions?”

ronan holds up his hands. “Touché.”

We walk toward class, and I can feel it.
Everyone’s watching me. Whispering. Probably wondering who pissed me off.
They don’t know the half of it.

josh tries again. “Yo, you hitting practice later?”

“If Coach doesn’t start lecturing the second I walk in.”

josh smirks. “You’ve been late all week. Man’s gonna have a heart attack.”

“Let him.”

ronan whistles low. “Okay. Death wish confirmed.”

We make it to class, and I drop into my seat like the chair offended me. My knee bounces. My grip on the pen is white-knuckled.

And even though I’m staring ahead, I feel her.

Across the room. Somewhere nearby. Like a magnet that won’t stop tugging at me even though it’s supposed to be broken.

She hasn’t looked at me once today.

But my eyes?
They’ve found her a dozen times already.

I’m pissed.
Not because she stopped it last night.
Not because someone interrupted.

I’m pissed because she disappeared.
Because she didn’t give me a chance to say anything. Because she left me there like none of it mattered.

And now she wants to pretend I don’t exist?

Fine.
She can pretend all she wants.

But she’s still mine.