(Trish's POV)
I was in the kitchen, leaning against the cold marble of the island, trying to wash the lingering taste of the school day, and the memory of Christian Vane's peppermint breath with a glass of water. The house was finally quiet. Miss Britney was at her late-shift volunteer gala, and for the first time since the "Pair Up Project" had been announced, I thought I could finally breathe.
Then I heard a heavy thud of the front door groaning open, followed by the clicking of heels that sounded far too sharp and far too confident to be Miss Britney's soft step.
"Joey? You in here? The door was unlocked, as usual."
The voice hit me like a bucket of ice water. High, melodic, and laced with an entitlement that made me pissed.
Anaya Sterling barged into the foyer.
I barely had time to set my glass down before she rounded the corner, sweeping through the living room and into the kitchen. She looked like she'd stepped off a runway, her cream-colored trench coat perfectly tailored, her eyes scanning the room with the practiced gaze of someone looking for something to criticize.
When her eyes landed on me, the casual boredom vanished, replaced by a cold, jagged suspicion.
"You! What the hell are you doing in Joseph's kitchen?" Her eyes narrowed until they were just slits of dark malice.
Panic flared in my chest, hot and suffocating. The Silent Pact. The secret. The sanctuary. It was all balanced on a knife's edge.
"I—"
"Trish? You still here?" Joseph's voice cut through the tension as he appeared behind her, jacket slung over his shoulder.
He stopped when he saw us standing a careful three feet apart, the truth clicking into place in a heartbeat. Then the Hard Man mask slid on, smooth, effortless. He stepped in like this was normal, like nothing had happened, all easy smiles and practiced calm, shutting the moment down before it could turn into something ugly.
"Anaya! I thought I told you not to come unless I invited you!" He barked.
Anaya didn't flinch. She didn't even look back at him. She was too busy staring at my feet.
"She's wearing slippers, Joseph. Why is the new girl wearing fuzzy slippers in your house while your mother isn't home?"
Joseph stepped into the kitchen, his presence effectively cutting the room in half. He stood between us, a wall of pure tension.
"It's none of your business, Anaya," Joseph said. "She just got here. She's a guest my mom invited. Our moms are good friends."
Anaya's lip curled into a sneer. "A guest? Your mom isn't even home, since when?"
I forced my leaden legs to move, nodding quickly. "Yeah. Miss Britney told me to stop by. I didn't realize Joseph was... bringing people over."
Anaya stepped around him, invading my personal space until I could smell her cloying rose perfume.
She pushed me aside, angling her body to block Joseph's ears.
"You've got a lot of nerve, Carpenter. First Christian Vane, and now Joseph's front door. You really don't know your place, do you?"
"I was just leaving," I said, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Joseph grabbed Anaya's arm, his grip firm enough to make her gasp. "The files for the project are in the drawer over there. Grab them and let's go. Now. I'll walk Trish to the gate."
Anaya hesitated, her gaze darting between us one last time, looking for the crack in the lie. Finally, she turned on her heel and strutted toward the back of the house, her heels clicking like a countdown timer.
The moment she was out of earshot, the air left the room. Joseph turned to me, his eyes dark with a mix of terror and white-hot rage.
"Go to your room," he hissed, his voice a frantic whisper. "Lock the door. Don't make a sound until I get her out of this house."
"Joseph, she saw me. She's going to talk," I whispered back.
"I don't care! Just go!"
I didn't argue. I bolted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it hurt. I made it to my room and threw myself against the door, turning the lock with a trembling hand.
I stood there in the dark, listening to the muffled, sharp sound of Anaya's voice downstairs and Joseph's low, monosyllabic growls.
Then, finally, the sound of the front door slamming shut.
Ten minutes of agonizing silence passed before there was a sharp, rhythmic knock on my door. I unlocked it, and Joseph shoved his way inside, slamming the door shut and leaning his weight against it. He looked like he'd been in a physical fight, his hair a mess where he'd been clawing at it.
"She's gone," he snapped.
"Did she believe the guest story?"
"With Anaya? Who knows." He began to pace the small space of my room, looking like a caged predator.
"This is exactly what I warned you about. One slip. One person seeing you here, and the whole school starts calling me a 'perv' who's taking advantage of a grieving girl under his own roof. My football career, your reputation, everything we've built would be incinerated in a day."
"She was the one who broke in, Joseph! I was just getting a drink!"
"It doesn't matter who started it!" he shouted, then immediately checked himself, lowering his voice to a jagged whisper. "You have to be a ghost, Trish. Especially with Christian breathing down your neck at school. If they connect the dots... we're dead."
He stopped pacing and looked at me, his expression softening just enough to make my chest ache.
"I can't lose this, Trish. I can't lose the one place where I actually feel like a human being instead of a project."
I walked over and put my hands on his chest, feeling the frantic, uneven thud of his heart.
"She's gone for tonight. We just have to survive until Friday's presentation."
Joseph reached up, his hand covering mine and squeezing so hard his knuckles turned white. "Friday feels like a goddamn eternity."
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine, his breath warm and shaky against my skin. The fear was still there, a cold current between us, but for a moment, the "Home Invasion" was over. We were back in our fragile bubble, tucked away in the shadows.
"I hate the lying," he murmured.
"I know," I whispered. "Me too."
As I listened to myself telling Joseph that everything was going to be all right, I knew Anaya hadn't left for good. She'd only left a mark.
If the truth ever came out, that we were living together, it wouldn't be seen as circumstance or necessity.
It would be twisted, reshaped to suit the pervy demands of Mthland High, until the lie became louder than the truth.