EPISODE 15 — Hidden Desires
Author POV
The campus was quieter than usual that evening, the golden hour sunlight filtering through the large windows of the student center, casting long, distorted shadows across empty hallways. A figure lingered near the back staircase, leaning casually against the wall, eyes sharp and calculating. Every phone notification, every student glance, every laugh in the distance seemed to register, noted, catalogued.
She—or perhaps he, it wasn't yet clear—moved with a practiced subtlety, a predator among the oblivious. Fingers danced over the phone screen, eyes flicking rapidly between feeds, posts, and videos. Two clips in particular were of interest: a stolen moment between Ethan and Layla, one kiss captured too perfectly, another angle that made the intimacy undeniable.
The figure smiled faintly, a chilling satisfaction in the corners of their lips. To the outside world, they were just another student at Avalon University, another face in the crowd. But behind that casual mask was an obsession, a carefully nurtured fixation. Every plan, every move, was aimed at one thing: disruption. Chaos. A wedge.
And while the identity remained a mystery, the intent was crystal clear.
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Ethan POV
The moment I stepped into my dorm room, a heavy tension settled over me, though the hallway buzz had been deceptively calm. I wasn't expecting company—but there she was. Layla, seated on the edge of my bed, sketchbook in hand, eyes flicking up with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
"Hey," I said softly, closing the door behind me.
She offered a faint smile, the kind that made my chest tighten even in the midst of residual anxiety from the day's events. "Hey," she replied, voice low. "I… thought I'd check on you. Make sure the world didn't swallow you whole after the chaos."
I stepped closer, feeling the weight of her gaze anchor me, steady me. "Handled it," I murmured, though my tone betrayed only half the truth. Marcus had done his work, yes, but the storm wasn't fully quiet. There were always remnants, whispers, curious eyes that wouldn't let go.
Her sketchbook fell forgotten to the side as she shifted on the bed, letting her posture relax, and suddenly I was acutely aware of her presence—the curve of her shoulder, the soft slope of her neck, the faint scent that had been haunting me for days.
"I'm glad," she said quietly. "But I… I wanted to be here. Just us."
The words were simple, but the heat they carried was anything but. My pulse quickened as I reached for her hand, brushing fingers against skin, noting the faint tremor beneath my touch. "Us," I echoed, voice low, almost reverent.
And in that word, in that moment, the rest of the world—the videos, the campus whispers, the Marshall legacy—faded.
Her lips parted slightly as I drew closer, and instinct, raw and consuming, took over. Our kiss was slow at first, tentative, exploring boundaries we hadn't defined yet. But hesitation dissolved quickly, replaced by urgency, desire, the electricity of proximity that neither of us had been able to deny in the quiet moments between chaos.
Hands roamed carefully at first, brushing against shoulders, fingers tangling in hair, tracing the line of her back as she leaned into me. Each touch sent currents through my body, and I could feel her responding in kind—the subtle arch, the soft sighs, the press of her body closer.
We paused for a moment, foreheads resting together, breathing mingling. I wanted to memorize this, every detail. Every heartbeat, every flutter of nerves, every stolen second where it was just us.
"Ethan…" she whispered, voice trembling with desire and uncertainty. "Are we…?"
"Yes," I said firmly, my hands resting lightly on her waist, anchoring both of us. "We are."
The kiss deepened, more urgent now, a conversation in itself. It wasn't just lips meeting; it was confessions in motion, a dance of craving, restraint, and surrender. Her hands slid up to my neck, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer as if our bodies knew the words our mouths hadn't yet spoken.
Time became meaningless. There was only the warmth, the heat, the tremor of wanting that neither of us could—or wanted to—deny.
Finally, we broke apart, both of us breathing heavily, foreheads still pressed together. My eyes searched hers, finding the same chaotic calm I felt reflected back.
"We shouldn't," she murmured, though the words were hollow against the pull of our bodies.
"Maybe not," I admitted, voice rough. "But some things… are unstoppable."
Her lips curved into a faint smile, dangerous and teasing. "Unstoppable, huh? That sounds very you."
I chuckled softly, brushing a thumb along her cheek. "And very us."
We sat in silence for a moment, letting the quiet hum of the dorm, the fading sunlight, and the latent tension envelop us. But even in that peace, my mind remained alert. The videos. The mysterious figure. Someone was still watching, still scheming, and the calm could not last forever.
I tightened my hold on her hand, a silent promise: whatever storm came next, we'd face it together. Carefully, yes—but with our own rules, our own timing.
Her eyes glimmered with understanding. "Together," she echoed.
And in that simple word, I felt the weight of the world shift slightly.
Because no matter who was watching, no matter the chaos, no matter the obsession lurking in the shadows, this—Layla, this connection, this fire—was untouchable. For now, at least.
The dorm lights flickered on as night fully descended. Outside, the campus was slowly quieting, unaware of the charged atmosphere in this small, contained space. Yet inside, our bodies pressed together, our breaths mingling, the first real assertion of 'us' carved its mark into the night.
I knew, with a sinking thrill, that the storm was only beginning.
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