The mansion looked different at night.
Colder. Quieter. Like the walls held their breath until everyone was asleep. Noah stood on the balcony outside her bedroom, the night air sharp against her skin. From here, she could see the faint glow of the garage, one sliver of light under the door like a secret trying to escape.
She wasn't supposed to care where Nick was.
And yet, her eyes kept finding that light.
---
Earlier that evening, the dinner table had been a circus of tension. William — Nick's father and her mother's new husband — sat at the head like a king in exile, sipping whiskey with forced politeness. Rafaella played hostess, smiling too much, pretending too hard.
Nick showed up late, as always. Bruised knuckles. Hair damp from a shower. He didn't speak, didn't sit properly, just leaned on the counter and shoved a piece of chicken in his mouth like he was starving and pissed about it.
Noah couldn't stop looking at him.
Neither could the maid.
Or her mother.
Everyone noticed Nick. That was the problem.
> "You were out again," William said, barely masking the accusation.
> "You say that like I'm ever in," Nick muttered, not looking up.
> "You come home bloody, reeking of gasoline, and think it's normal?"
Nick finally met his father's eyes.
> "You married a woman half your age, uprooted her teenage daughter, and moved her into a mansion with a kid you can't control. Don't lecture me about normal."
The silence that followed was thick.
Rafaella's fork trembled. William's jaw locked. And Noah?
Noah bit her lip — not to hide a smile, but to swallow the heat crawling under her skin.
She should've hated him.
But she was beginning to understand that hate was just lust in a leather jacket.
---
Now, back in her room, Noah couldn't sleep. The walls were too white. The bed too cold. Her thoughts too loud.
She padded quietly down the hall in her oversized hoodie and nothing else. The marble floor sent chills up her legs. She wasn't sure what she was doing — only that she wanted to see him.
The garage door creaked when she opened it.
Nick didn't look up. He was under the hood of his car, shirtless again, sweat slicking his skin as he worked by the dim light of a hanging bulb. Rock music played low from a speaker in the corner.
> "You're supposed to be asleep," he said without turning.
> "You're supposed to follow rules," she countered.
> "I'm allergic."
> "Me too."
She stepped closer. He looked up, wiped his hands on a rag, and finally gave her that look — the one that said I know exactly what you're doing. And I want it too.
> "You walk around at night wearing nothing but temptation?" he asked, eyes scanning the long stretch of bare leg below her hoodie.
> "I could say the same about you," she said.
He tossed the rag aside and leaned against the car.
> "Why are you here, Noah?"
> "To see what's under the hood," she teased, stepping closer.
But he didn't smile.
> "Don't play games with me. You'll lose."
She swallowed hard. "Then stop making everything feel like a challenge."
He was inches away now. Close enough to smell the sweat and motor oil on his skin. Close enough that if she tilted forward, their lips would brush.
> "I can't stop," he whispered. "That's the problem."
And then — without warning — he kissed her.
Not soft. Not slow. It was heat and hunger and fury. Like he'd been holding it back for too long and it was finally snapping loose.
She gasped into his mouth, hands fisting his shoulders. His palms slid down her back, gripping the curve of her hips. Her legs tangled with his, and her back pressed against the hood of the car.
His lips traced the line of her jaw. Down her neck.
> "Tell me to stop," he murmured, voice raw against her skin.
> "I can't," she breathed.
> "Then this is your fault too."
---
The door to the house slammed.
Voices.
They broke apart like lightning had struck.
Nick swore under his breath. Noah scrambled away, heart pounding.
> "Go," he whispered. "Now."
She ran, hoodie clinging to her damp skin, blood boiling.
She didn't look back — but she could still feel his kiss like a bruise under her lips.
---
Back in bed, she stared at the ceiling.
> This is wrong, she told herself.
> But it never felt so right.