Chapter 65 Dunes and Deceptions
The bonfire on the dunes was meant to be a "casual" reprieve, but in this world, even a fire pit was a stage. I had left Eliza in the suite; she was buried under the covers, the ruined plum silk draped over a chair like a ghost. I felt a pang of guilt for leaving her, but the walls of the estate were closing in on me. I needed the air, even if it was shared with people who wanted to see me fail.
The Alverstone group was gathered in a circle of low-slung teak chairs around a roaring pit of driftwood. The flames cast long, dancing shadows against the white sand, making the elite socialites look like flickering specters. As I approached, the laughter died down just enough for me to hear the sharp, rhythmic click of ice against glass.
"Ah, the tutor joins us," Vivian Thorne drawled, patting the sand next to her with a mock-welcoming gesture. "We were just starting a game. Truth or Dare. You’re just in time to play, Mila. Don't tell me you're too studious for a little fun."
I sat down on the edge of the circle, my skin prickling. Nate was sitting directly across from me, his face half-hidden in the shadows. He was nursing a drink, his eyes fixed on the fire, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
"Mila, truth or dare?" Savannah asked, a predatory glint in her eyes as she leaned forward, the firelight catching the cruel curve of her smile.
"Truth," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.
"Is it true," Savannah began, "that your parents had to take out a second mortgage just so you could afford the 'appropriate' luggage for this trip? Or did you just steal the leftovers from the Alverstone lost and found? We were all taking bets on whether that dress was a hand-me-down from a charity drive."
A chorus of stifled giggles erupted. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, a fire far hotter than the one in front of us. They weren't looking for an answer; they were looking for the exact moment my spirit would break.
"I think the silence is our answer," Bianca interrupted, not waiting for me to respond. "My turn. Mila, dare. I dare you to admit—right now, in front of everyone—exactly how much Nate is paying you to be his 'intellectual' companion. We all know you’re not here for the conversation. Is there a bonus for staying the night, or is the room and board enough to buy your dignity?"
"That's enough," I whispered, but my voice was drowned out by Vivian’s laugh.
"Oh, come on, Mila. Give us a number," Vivian prodded. "We’re all business majors here. We appreciate a good ROI. What’s the hourly rate for a girl from Queens to pretend she belongs in the Bahamas?"
The humiliation was a physical weight, pressing the air from my lungs. I looked at Nate, desperate for him to say something, but he remained motionless, his jaw set in a hard line. Just as I was about to stand up and run, his glass hit the side table with a sharp, resonant thud that silenced the circle.
"The game is over," Nate said. His voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a lethal edge that cut through the laughter like a blade.
"Oh, don't be a bore, Nate," Bianca pouted, swirling her drink. "We were just getting to the good part. It's just a game."
"I said it’s over," he repeated, standing up. The firelight turned his eyes into dark, molten gold. He didn't look at the Triad; he didn't give them the satisfaction of his anger. Instead, he walked straight to me, reached down, and wrapped his fingers firmly around my wrist. His grip was unyielding. "We’re leaving."
He didn't lead me back to the car or the house. He dragged me away from the light, our feet sinking into the soft, cool sand as we headed toward the dark expanse of the dunes where the ocean hummed in the distance. The sounds of the party—the clinking glass, the manufactured laughter—faded until there was nothing but the sound of our breathing and the wind.
Once the glow of the fire was nothing but a flickering orange dot in the distance, he finally let go. We stood in the blue-black darkness, the only sound the rhythmic, heavy crash of the tide against the shore. The air was colder here, smelling of deep water and ancient salt.
"You shouldn't have let them get to you," he said, his back to me. He sounded frustrated, his voice tight with an emotion I couldn't quite name.
"Easy for you to say," I snapped, the adrenaline finally boiling over into anger. "They’re your friends, Nate. That’s your world. You stand there and watch them peel me apart like an orange, and you expect me to just... what? I don't have the luxury of being unaffected."
He turned around then, stepping into my personal space until the scent of sea salt and expensive bourbon clouded my senses. He was so close I could feel the radiation of his body heat against the chill of the night.
"They aren't my friends, Mila. They’re my sentence," he whispered, his voice cracking just enough to show the friction underneath. He reached out, his hand hovering near my face for a heartbeat of pure hesitation before his thumb settled against the line of my jaw. His skin was searingly warm. "And you aren't a 'resource.' You’re the only thing on this island that doesn't feel like a choreographed lie."
I looked up at him, my breath hitching in my throat. The way he was looking at me—like I was a puzzle he was terrified to solve—made my heart hammer against my ribs. "Nate..."
"Hush," he murmured. He stepped closer, his chest almost brushing mine, forcing me to tilt my head back. His hand slid from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling slowly into the hair at the nape of my neck. He pulled me just an inch closer, a deliberate, agonizingly slow movement that made the world around us vanish.
I could see the pulse jumping in his neck. I could feel the slight tremor in his fingers. For a heartbeat, I thought he would lean down and end the torture. I wanted him to. I wanted to forget the Triad, the ruined dress, and the shadow of his mother in the hallway.
Instead, he leaned down until his forehead rested against mine, his eyes closing as he drew in a shaky breath. It was a moment of raw, quiet vulnerability that felt more intimate than any kiss could have been.
"Don't let them erase you," he whispered against my skin, his breath ghosting over my lips. "Because I don't think I can find my way back if you do."
He didn't pull away, and neither did I. We remained in the shadows, the silence between us heavy with everything we weren't allowed to say, the salt air stinging our eyes as the tide crept closer to our feet.