Chapter 8: A Game We Can't Win

That night, I couldn't sleep.

I kept replaying his words in my head, hating that he could get under my skin so easily.

But more than that, I hated that I missed him.

I wasn't supposed to feel this way. It wasn't fair.

After tossing and turning for hours, I finally gave up. I grabbed my hoodie and slipped downstairs, needing some fresh air. The house was silent, everyone asleep. Or so I thought.

As soon as I stepped onto the balcony, I froze.

Ethan was there, leaning against the railing, a cigarette between his fingers.

He turned at the sound of my footsteps, his gaze locking onto mine. "Couldn't sleep?"

I hesitated before stepping closer. "What are you doing out here?"

He exhaled a slow breath of smoke. "Thinking."

I bit my lip. "About what?"

A shadow of a smile crossed his face. "You."

My breath caught, but I forced myself to play it cool. "Ethan—"

He cut me off. "Do you want me to stop?"

I stared at him, my heart pounding. "What?"

"Do you want me to stop looking at you like this?" He took a step closer. "To stop wanting you?"

I should have said yes.

I should have walked away.

But I just stood there, completely frozen, as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, his touch sending warmth through my skin.

And when he whispered, "Because I can't," I knew I was already losing this fight.