Willowridge High was not built for secrets; it was built for autopsies.
By Monday morning, the air in the hallways felt sharp, like breathing in broken glass.
Every muffled laugh behind a locker felt like a finger pointing at Talia's chest. The digital world was even worse—TikToks with blurred silhouettes and captions like
"Step-sibling roulette: Who wins? đź‘€" were racking up views before first period even started.
Talia moved through the halls like a ghost in combat boots, her skin crawling with the sensation of a thousand eyes. Across the quad, she saw Jace.
He was leaning against a brick wall, jaw tight, looking like he wanted to punch the world or disappear into it. He wasn't smirking today. The "cool guy" armor was cracked, revealing something jagged underneath.
The worst part wasn't the strangers, though. It was Maya.
Talia found her at their usual table, but the space felt different—hostile.
Maya was flanked by two seniors from the GSA who looked at Talia like she was something caught on the bottom of their shoes.
"We need to talk," Talia said, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears.
"About what? Your new 'hobby'?" Maya's voice didn't shake; it cut. "Or how you used me as a placeholder while you figured out which house rule to break first?"
"Maya, it's not like that—"
"Then what is it?!" Maya stood up, her chair screeching against the linoleum like a phantom scream. "You told me you were confused. I held your hand in the art room when you cried because you didn't have the words for who you were. I was your safety net, Talia. And you just... you traded me for a taboo thrill."
Talia's face burned with a heat that felt permanent. "You were never an experiment. I just... I didn't know how to handle what I felt for him. It's messy and it's loud and I'm drowning in it."
"Figure it out fast," Maya snapped, grabbing her bag. "Because you don't get to break hearts just because you're having an identity crisis. Some of us actually meant it."
She walked away, and the silence she left behind was more agonizing than the whispers. Talia felt exposed—stripped naked in front of the entire cafeteria.
Jace watched the exchange from the shadows of the gym entrance. Felix slid up next to him, smelling of cinnamon gum and expensive eyeliner.
"You're the lead story on every feed, Morgan. Quite the debut."
"I didn't ask for this," Jace growled.
"Liar," Felix smiled, though it wasn't unkind. "You like the chaos. But Talia? She looks like she's about to shatter. Is it real, Jace? Or are you just bored?"
Jace didn't answer immediately. He thought about the way Talia's hand felt in his—the frantic, desperate heat of it.
"It's the only real thing I've felt since we moved to this graveyard of a town."
That night, the roof was the only place that felt like it didn't have ears. The stars were cold and indifferent, a relief from the burning stares of the day.
Jace climbed through his window and sat beside her, the scent of the night air clinging to his hoodie.
"Everyone hates us," she whispered, resting her head on her knees.
"Not everyone. Felix thinks we're 'chaotic but hot.' Small victories, right?"
Talia let out a wet, jagged laugh that quickly turned into a sob. Jace didn't hesitate. He pulled her against him, his arm heavy and protective over her shoulders. He could feel her shaking, the tremors moving through both of them.
"I ruined everything," she choked out. "Maya, school... my dad looks at me like I'm a stranger."
"You didn't ruin it," Jace murmured, his lips grazing her temple. "You just stopped pretending. The truth is usually ugly before it's anything else."
She looked up at him, the silver moonlight catching the tears on her cheeks. His face was inches away, his eyes dark with a hunger that made her pulse skip a beat.
"Tell me something real," she whispered.
Jace hesitated, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.
"I spent my whole life trying to fade into the background," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate vibration. "But when I'm with you... I actually want to be seen. I want to exist. Even if the whole world is watching us burn."
He kissed her then—not with the frantic energy of the kitchen, but with a slow, deep intensity that felt like a vow. It was the taste of salt and cold air and absolute defiance. For a few seconds, the scandal didn't matter. The "House Rules" didn't exist. There was only the heat of his mouth and the safety of his arms.
Then, the window behind them slid open with a violent crack.
Daniel stood there, his face illuminated by the harsh yellow light of the hallway. He looked older, grimmer, and absolutely finished with silence.
"Inside. Now."
The world didn't just shift; it locked into place. The fallout had officially arrived.