Chapter 155
Caleb's POV
The car fell silent. I let it sit, let Samantha process, let her come to her own conclusions. This was the key to manipulation—make them think it was their idea.
"I live near here," Samantha said suddenly, quietly. "Lucas helped me rent a place. Off-campus. He said it would be good for my studies, away from dorm noise."
"That was thoughtful of him."
"It was." Another pause. "But he hasn't been there in weeks. He used to... he used to stay over all the time. Now he's always 'too busy' or 'too tired' or—" Her voice cracked slightly. "I feel like I'm living in an apartment he's paying for while he lives his real life somewhere else."
Oh, this is too perfect.
I pulled into the Maple Street parking lot. "Samantha, can I be honest with you?"
"Please."
"From an outside perspective? Lucas sounds like he's going through something. Maybe family pressure, maybe personal issues. But the way he's handling it—shutting you out, leaving you wondering—that's not fair to you." I met her eyes. "You're not paranoid. You're not needy. You're someone who deserves to be treated like a priority."
Samantha's eyes glistened. "Thank you. I just—" She laughed shakily. "I don't know why I'm dumping all this on you. You barely know me."
"Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's not in the middle of it," I said gently. Then, as if the thought just occurred to me: "Look, I know this might be forward, but... did you still want to go shopping? Or would you rather just... I don't know. Get coffee and decompress? No pressure either way."
Samantha studied me for a long moment. I could practically see the wheels turning—weighing options, measuring risks, calculating outcomes.
Finally: "Actually, would you... would you want to come up? To my place? I could make dinner. As a thank you for the ride. And the advice."
There it was. The invitation I'd been angling for since she'd "accidentally" been waiting by my car.
Jackson's territory. Lucas's money. And now me in the middle of it.
I let a slow smile spread across my face. "I'd like that. As long as you're sure I'm not intruding."
"You're not." Samantha's voice was firmer now, more certain. "Turn left at the light."
The apartment was exactly what I'd expected—tastefully furnished in that generic "young professional" style that screamed rental catalog, with just enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. Photos on the mantle. A throw blanket draped artfully over the couch. A small bookshelf with more decorative items than books.
And everywhere—everywhere—signs of Lucas Miller's money.
The TV was top-of-the-line. The kitchen appliances were brand new, barely used. The furniture was expensive without being ostentatious. Even the goddamn dish soap by the sink was some fancy organic brand.
"Make yourself comfortable," Samantha said, gesturing toward the living room. "I'm going to start dinner. Do you like pasta?"
"Love it." I settled onto the couch, my gaze cataloging details. The basketball team mascot plushie on the side table—clearly Lucas's touch. The wilting flowers in a vase—bought weeks ago, judging by the brown edges. The thin layer of dust on the picture frames.
No one had been here recently. Or rather, no one male had been here recently.
Lucas was paying for a showcase apartment his girlfriend lived in alone.
Idiot.
"Wine?" Samantha called from the kitchen.
"Sure. Red if you have it."
She emerged with two glasses and a bottle of Merlot—another expensive touch. As she poured, I noticed the slight tremor in her hands. Nerves. Or anticipation.
"This is a nice place," I said, accepting the glass. "Good light. Quiet neighborhood."
"Lucas has good taste." Her tone was neutral, but there was an edge underneath. "When he's actually here to appreciate it."
We clinked glasses. Samantha sat on the opposite end of the couch, close enough to be intimate, far enough to maintain plausible deniability.
"Can I ask you something?" she said after a sip. "And you can tell me if I'm overstepping."
"Go ahead."
"You seem like you understand... complicated family situations. The way you talked about family business earlier. Is that—" She hesitated. "Is that something you deal with too?"
Smart girl. Fishing for common ground.
"My family has expectations," I said carefully. "About who I should be, what I should do, who I should... associate with. Sometimes that creates tension."
"Do they approve of you being here? In Cedar View?"
"They sent me here." I smiled thinly. "To handle some family business. Check on some... investments."
Samantha leaned forward slightly. "That sounds stressful."
"It can be. But it also has its perks." I held her gaze. "Like meeting interesting people."
The air between us shifted. Samantha's breath caught slightly. Outside, the sun had fully set, leaving the apartment lit only by the soft glow of the kitchen light and the lamp in the corner.
"I should check on dinner," Samantha said, but she didn't move.
"Should you?" I set my wine glass down on the coffee table, slow and deliberate.
"I..." She swallowed. "Caleb, I'm technically still with Lucas. I mean, we haven't officially broken up. I shouldn't—"
"Then don't." I leaned back, giving her space. "I'm not here to pressure you into anything, Samantha. If you want me to leave, I'll leave. No hard feelings."
But I didn't stand up. Didn't reach for my keys. Just sat there, watching her, letting her make the choice.
Samantha stared at me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "You make me feel seen. Lucas makes me feel like... like I'm always waiting. Always second. But you—you see me."
Jackpot.
I reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away. My hand found hers, warm and slightly damp with nerves. "You deserve to be seen."
Samantha moved first. Or maybe I did. Later, I wouldn't be able to say who initiated the kiss. But suddenly we were pressed together, her hands fisting in my shirt, my fingers tangling in her blonde hair, and the taste of wine and desperation on both our tongues.
This was power. This was victory. Not just over Lucas—though that was delicious—but over Jackson's entire pathetic little circle. They were all so busy "training" and "preparing" and taking themselves so damn seriously.
And here I was, in the apartment Lucas was paying for, kissing Lucas's girlfriend, collecting intelligence on Jackson's weaknesses, and enjoying every single second of it.