Chapter 13: Lies and More Lies

Tears burned behind my eyelids before I even realized they’d started. The air between us was thick — too heavy, too intimate, too full of everything I was trying so damn hard to bury.

For a long, aching moment, neither of us said anything. Just the sound of our breathing, uneven and trembling, filled the balcony. The lights from the hall flickered faintly through the glass, casting shadows across Kevin’s face. His eyes looked darker, deeper — like they were holding something too powerful to contain.

“I totally agree with what you said earlier…” I finally managed, my voice cracking halfway through. My throat hurt from holding back sobs. I shook my head, biting my lower lip, trying to steady myself. “We really shouldn’t do this anymore,” I whispered, the words barely audible — more like a plea than a statement.

I blinked fast, but the tears came anyway, blurring my vision until Kevin was nothing but a silhouette — familiar, dangerous, heartbreakingly close.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched me with that quiet intensity that made me want to scream. Then, slowly, he moved closer, his voice low and rough. “I regret saying that,” he said, his words cutting through me like a blade.

I took a step back, shaking my head. “Kevin, don’t—”

But before I could finish, he reached out, his hand finding my arm. His touch was warm, too warm, and it spread through me like fire. I froze. My body betrayed me again, leaning into his touch when I should’ve pulled away.

“For God’s sake, Kevin,” I hissed under my breath, my voice trembling, more desperate than angry. “What we have… what we share… it’s forbidden.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. His eyes burned into mine, calm and certain in a way that made me hate him for how sure he always was — for how easy he made it look to defy everything.

“Then let it be,” he murmured.

I felt my chest tighten. “You don’t understand—”

“I want you.”

That was all he said. Just three words. Simple, but they hit me like a punch to the ribs — knocking every ounce of logic right out of me.

My breath caught. The world tilted a little.

It didn’t matter that we were standing on a balcony where anyone could’ve walked in. It didn’t matter that our parents were somewhere inside celebrating the start of a life together that would make ours impossible. It didn’t even matter that my heart was screaming for me to stop.

Because the moment he said it — I want you — every wall I’d built, every ounce of resistance I’d clung to, shattered.

I didn’t even remember closing the distance between us. One second I was standing there trembling, and the next I was in his arms, my mouth crushed against his. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even romantic. It was chaotic — a collision of everything we’d been trying to hide and everything we’d been dying to feel.

His hands tangled in my hair, mine clutched at his jacket like I was drowning and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. I could taste the salt of my own tears on his lips.

It was wrong. It was reckless. But God, it was real.

And in that dizzy, breathless moment, I realized how far gone I really was. I wasn’t just falling anymore — I had already fallen, hard and completely.

When we finally broke apart, both of us panting, our foreheads pressed together, I couldn’t find the words to say what I felt. There was too much — fear, guilt, desire, love — all tangled into one unbearable knot inside me.

“Abby…” he whispered my name like a prayer, and it made something inside me unravel.

I wanted to tell him to stop. I wanted to tell him I couldn’t do this, that I didn’t want to live in this endless cycle of hiding and pretending. But the truth was, I didn’t want him to stop. Not now. Not ever.

I hated myself for it.

As his thumb brushed a tear off my cheek, I looked at him — really looked at him — and all I saw was the man I wasn’t supposed to love.

And yet, I did.

Completely, hopelessly and fatally.

“Abby?”

The voice barely registered at first. My mind was too fogged, too drowned in the pulse of what had just happened — in the heat of Kevin’s mouth still lingering on mine, in the dizzying throb of guilt and want that felt like it was eating me alive.

But then it came again, clearer this time, closer.

“Abby? Where are you?”

My heart plummeted.

Sarah.

Oh, God.

I froze, every inch of my body turning to ice as the name crashed through my haze of emotion. I didn’t even have to look at Kevin to know the same terror had jolted through him too.

In a blind panic, I shoved him — too hard, too suddenly. His body hit the wall with a dull, sickening thud. The sound cracked through the quiet like a gunshot.

My breath caught.

He winced, his jaw tightening, one hand flying up to the back of his head. A low groan escaped his lips, and guilt clawed its way up my throat.

“Oh my God—Kevin,” I gasped, clapping a trembling hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it echoing in my ears.

But there wasn’t time. There wasn’t a second to breathe.

Sarah’s voice was coming closer. “Abby?”

Kevin straightened, pain flickering across his face, but his movements were quick, urgent. He didn’t say a word. He just glanced toward the other end of the balcony — the hallway beyond the curtains — and I understood.

He had to go. Now.

I mouthed sorry, my lips trembling. He gave a tight nod, eyes dark with something that looked halfway between worry and heartbreak, then turned and disappeared down the opposite hall, silent as a shadow.

I stood there, my whole body shaking, trying to pull air into my lungs, trying to stop the guilt from clawing its way out of my chest.

My palms were slick with sweat. My lips still burned from his kiss. And my heart — my traitorous, desperate heart — was still calling his name.

By the time Sarah appeared in the doorway, I was barely holding myself upright. My knees felt like paper. I could still hear Kevin’s footsteps echoing faintly in the distance, each one dragging me further into the pit I’d made for myself.

“Abby?” Sarah’s tone was sharp now — suspicious, curious. “Who was that?”

I froze again.

Her gaze flicked around, scanning the balcony like she expected someone to still be there. My throat went dry. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

I forced a shaky laugh — too high, too brittle. “No one,” I croaked, waving a hand like it was all ridiculous. “Just—uh—one of the waiters, I think. I thought I heard someone drop something out here.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I could’ve sworn I heard a man’s voice.”

The world tilted. The air felt thin.

My heartbeat roared in my ears as I tried to pull myself together, tried to breathe, tried to act normal. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear just to have something to do with my hands.

“Well, there are dozens of people here,” I said, forcing another hollow laugh. “Could’ve been anyone.”

Sarah stared at me for a moment too long, like she was reading between every word I didn’t say.