A Love That Burns

EVE

I padded down the stairs barefoot, the silk of my shorts pulling softly against my skin, my oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.

It was late afternoon, the kind of quiet where the house felt like it was holding its breath. All I wanted was a glass of water. That was it. Peace. Hydration. Maybe some leftover cake if the fridge gods loved me.

But then I froze.

There was a stranger sitting in our living room.

Not just any stranger. A man. A very, very unfairly attractive man.

He was lounging like he owned the place, one ankle resting casually over his knee, scrolling on his phone like he wasn't breaking every rule of reality by existing on my couch. A tailored black suit jacket hugged his shoulders perfectly, the sleeves pushed up just enough to show ink curling along his wrist. Tattoos. Of course. And his jawline? Criminal.

Who the hell was this?

And why was a Greek god casually sitting in my house at 3 p.m.?

I blinked, wondering if I'd stumbled into a parallel universe. My grip on the railing tightened. I wasn't breathing. My heart... yeah, my heart had forgotten its entire job description.

He looked up.

Oh, God. Big mistake.

Dark, unreadable eyes locked on mine, pinning me in place. Everything about him screamed calm danger, like he was the kind of man who didn't need to say a word to own a room — he just existed.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, like the air had gained weight. My throat went dry. I should've said something, anything... demanded who he was, why he was here, but my brain? Offline. Absolutely useless.

Then came the click of heels against marble.

"Eve," Courtney's voice floated from behind me, sharp and sweet at the same time. "I see you've met Roman."

Roman.

The Greek god had a name.

I turned sharply, still reeling. "Excuse me?"

Courtney stepped into view, flawless as always. Tight cream dress, perfect curls, perfect lipstick, perfect everything. The picture of effortless superiority. She had that smug smile that made me want to accidentally spill something on her... and maybe her entire existence.

She tilted her head, resting one hand lightly on his shoulder like she was marking her territory. "Yeah," she said breezily. "My fiancé. Roman."

Fiancé.

The word hit like a sucker punch. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I wasn't even sure my brain processed it fully. Since when did Courtney have a fiancé? And why the hell was he... this? Gorgeous. Intimidating. Built like sin wrapped in a suit.

I forced my face blank, like I wasn't screaming internally.

"Fiancé?" I repeated slowly, mostly to buy myself time.

"Mm-hm." She gave me this look like she expected me to faint from excitement. "Roman just flew in from New York. I wanted him to finally meet my sweet little sister."

Sweet little sister. Translation: I'm the charity case, the background character in her main character's life.

Roman stood slowly, unfolding his tall frame like he had all the time in the world. He didn't rush. Didn't hesitate. He just moved with this quiet, infuriating confidence, like he owned the air he breathed.

His presence filled the room in a way I hated. It was subtle, unforced... but it got under my skin. Every inch of him screamed composed, controlled, untouchable. And I wanted to scratch at that control until I broke it.

He stretched out a hand toward me, polite, effortless, and completely unreadable.

"Eve, right?" His voice was smooth, too smooth. Deep, low, the kind of voice that had weight. The kind that made people lean in without meaning to.

I glanced at his hand. Then at his annoyingly perfect face. Sharp jawline, dark eyes, that faint scar slicing across his brow... dangerous in the kind of way that made girls stupid.

I wasn't stupid.

So, I didn't take his hand. Didn't say a word. Just walked right past him like he was furniture.

I didn't look back. I didn't have to.

Behind me, Courtney gasped like I'd just slapped the Pope. "Wow. Seriously, Eve? That's beyond rude."

I didn't answer her. I didn't need to. My silence was deliberate.

But Roman? He didn't look offended. Oh no, he chuckled, a low, quiet sound, like he was amused.

And God, that made me furious.

I hated that laugh. I hated how it made heat crawl up my neck. I hated that it felt... intimate, somehow.

I headed straight for the kitchen, jaw locked, pulse racing, desperate to breathe before I said something that would burn the entire house down.

And then I heard it.

Courtney's voice, soft and sugary, aimed just for him. "Ignore her, baby," she whispered.

Baby.

I grabbed the counter like it might keep me upright.

And then... his laugh again.

A short, quiet chuckle. Like she'd said something clever. Like they had some inside joke I wasn't invited to.

That sound burned more than I wanted to admit.

I yanked a glass from the cupboard, filled it to the brim with water, and swallowed it down in one long, greedy gulp, like maybe drowning myself would kill the irritation clawing its way up my throat.

The glass hit the counter harder than I intended, the sharp crack echoing off the marble.

"Careful, my princess."

I turned, startled. Miss Marta stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes warm and knowing.

Marta wasn't just the housemaid. She was everything my mother failed to be. The one who stayed when everyone else didn't. My anchor. My second mother.

I forced a smile, but even I could feel how fake it was. "Hey. I'm fine."

Her brow arched in that way only she could manage. "You're a terrible liar, Eve. Your face screams the opposite."

I sighed, leaning against the counter. "It's nothing. Just... people being annoying."

"People?" Her gaze sharpened, soft but sharp enough to cut through my nonsense. "Or... a certain someone?" She hesitated just long enough before adding, "Your sister's guest?"

My lips pressed into a thin line. "He's arrogant. That's all."

Marta's mouth curved into this tiny, knowing smile, but she let me off the hook — for now. "Mhm." She smoothed her apron. "At least you've moved on from that boy, hmm?"

I froze. I didn't need to ask which boy she meant.

"Jayden?" I scoffed, laughing without humor. "He can rot in hell."

But my chest ached anyway, because the truth? It wasn't that simple.

And like clockwork, the memories came, uninvited and sharp as glass.

Last summer. That party. The night everything fell apart.

I could still see Jayden's messy smile as he leaned in, sliding a small bag into my palm. "Trust me, babe. Everyone's doing it."

The lights, the music, the chaos. Hours later, stumbling out together into the night, drunk on bad choices and terrible decisions.

The flashing cameras. The headlines screamed my name the next morning. My father's rage. My mother's disappointment was sharp and silent.

Rehab. God, rehab.

Cold. Sterile. Lonely. A place where time didn't pass. Where the walls were too white, the air too clean, and the shame too loud. A place where I stopped existing, at least for a little while.

And just when I thought I couldn't feel lower, I went to Jayden last month — demanding answers. Why hadn't he visited? Why hadn't he called?

And he said it. Flat. Careless. Like it didn't mean anything.

"I slept with Courtney."

He didn't even flinch when he said it.

And Courtney? She hadn't denied it.

I blinked hard, swallowing down the lump in my throat before it could choke me.

Marta's warm, calloused hand covered mine gently. "Good. That boy never deserved you, Eve."

I nodded, but I didn't trust my voice.

Because the truth? I wasn't angry about Jayden anymore.

I was angry at her.

Courtney.

She'd taken from me simply because she could. Because that's who she was. Always perfect. Always adored. Always untouchable. And now... now she had Roman, too.

I left the kitchen before Marta could read the rest on my face.

As I passed through the living room again, I slowed. Roman sat beside Courtney and my mother now, the three of them deep in some quiet, polite conversation.

My mother spotted me instantly. "Eve, darling," she said, setting down her tea. "Make sure you're ready for dinner tonight."

I blinked. "Dinner?"

"Yes." Her gaze flicked to Courtney, sharp and accusing. "We're going out. The four of us — The Bistro, eight o'clock sharp." She turned to my sister. "You didn't tell her?"

Courtney's sweet smile made my skin crawl. "Oh, it must have slipped my mind."

I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt. Slipped your mind, my ass.

Roman's gaze slid to mine then, slow and deliberate. Sharp. Lingering. He wasn't smiling, but there was something in his expression... something knowing.

My stomach flipped so hard it made me dizzy.

I tore my eyes away, muttering, "Whatever," under my breath before heading upstairs.

I could feel him watching me.

All the way up.

In my room, I shut the door and leaned back against it, my heart pounding so loud it felt like it echoed in my ears.

The mirror across the room caught me, and I hated what I saw. Flushed cheeks. Wild eyes. My hair was falling loose, messy, and tangled.

I hated her.

Not Courtney. Not Roman. Not even myself for wanting him.

I hated what Courtney turned me into.

The jealous one. The bitter one. The screw-up.

She'd always been the perfect daughter. Straight A's. Magazine spreads. My mother's endless praise. Courtney was the light, which automatically made me the shadow.

And now... now she had Roman.

Roman, with his sharp jawline and tattoos peeking from under his cuff. Roman, who looked at me like he knew I hated him, and enjoyed it. Roman, who didn't belong to me, but felt like a problem I'd already started craving.

I collapsed onto my bed, burying my face into the pillow, groaning into the fabric.

Because the thing I couldn't admit.... not to Marta, not to myself, and definitely not to Courtney, was simple.

The second I saw him...

I wanted him.

And that?

That was the actual hell.