Claire woke with Nina's scent on her skin.
Not perfume. Not soap.
Just… her.
That warm, earthy musk that lingered in sheets and thoughts alike. They hadn't slept much. The hours had passed in slow kisses, whispered apologies, and a kind of closeness Claire hadn't known she needed.
Now, sunlight crept through the sheer curtains, illuminating Nina's bare back as she sat at the edge of the bed, tying her hair.
Claire stirred. "You're leaving already?"
Nina turned, a soft smile on her lips. "You say that like we're not going to see each other tonight."
Claire exhaled. "It still feels like it could disappear. Like this isn't real."
Nina stood and walked back to the bed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "It's real. But only if you stop waiting for it to break."
Claire nodded, but her thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.
Daniel paced in front of his mother's house, eyes bloodshot, hands shaking slightly from too much coffee and too little clarity.
He hadn't slept. The footage was burned into his memory.
Claire in Veronica's arms.
Claire moaning into Nina's mouth.
Claire—who had once invited him in for coffee and let her robe slip just enough to stir something dangerous in him.
He told himself he needed to warn her. About Veronica. About Nina.
About herself.
He walked up the path, rang the bell.
Claire answered in a long T-shirt and no makeup, her hair still messy from sleep. For a moment, Daniel's breath caught.
"Daniel?" she said, surprised. "It's early."
"I just… I wanted to check on you."
She blinked. "Check on me?"
"You've seemed… different."
Claire stepped aside slowly. "Come in."
Inside, he perched on the arm of her couch, pretending not to scan the house for signs of someone else. Claire caught the glance.
"Nina left an hour ago," she said plainly.
He looked at her, guilt twitching in his jaw. "So it's serious then?"
Claire didn't respond immediately.
"I don't know what it is. But it feels real. And that's more than I've had in years."
Daniel leaned forward. "You think she's not just using you?"
She narrowed her eyes. "What is this really about?"
"I just… I care about you," he said, standing now, his voice gaining intensity. "You're not like them. You're not like my mother or Veronica. You're not—"
Claire stepped back. "Like who, Daniel?"
He paused. "Predators."
Silence fell between them.
Then Claire said slowly, "You've been watching me, haven't you?"
Daniel froze.
"Security cameras, maybe? Or are you just really good at showing up when I'm vulnerable?"
He didn't answer.
Claire's voice dropped, sharp and trembling. "Don't confuse your obsession with concern."
He moved toward her instinctively. "I—Claire, I think about you. I've dreamt about you. And then you go and let her touch you—"
Her hand cracked across his face before she could stop herself.
Daniel staggered back, his cheek flaming red.
Claire's voice broke: "Get out."
He opened his mouth but said nothing. The heat in his eyes had nothing to do with lust now—it was betrayal.
He left without another word.
Veronica poured Gloria a glass of elderflower gin.
They sat on the back patio of Veronica's house, the summer wind soft around them.
"She hit him," Veronica said simply.
Gloria smiled into her glass. "Good."
"He's unraveling."
"He always was," Gloria replied. "He thought Claire would fix him. She only saw him as a shadow."
Veronica turned to her, one brow raised. "And you? You planning to fix anyone?"
Gloria laughed dryly. "No, dear. I break things slowly."
They toasted.
The neighborhood beyond their fences was waking up. Birds chirping. Lawnmowers humming. Dogs barking at nothing.
Maple Lane was such a pleasant place.
You'd never know the kind of things buried just beneath the hydrangeas.
That night, Nina came back.
She brought wine and strawberries and the scent of jasmine on her skin.
Claire let her in without a word. The house was darker now, lit only by candles and the hush of music in the background.
They didn't talk.
Claire kissed her before the door shut fully, her fingers threading through Nina's hair.
There was no hesitation this time.
No shame. No fear. No Daniel in the back of her mind. No Veronica in her veins.
Only Nina. Only now.
Nina lifted Claire slowly, carrying her to the couch, their bodies pressed in warmth and heat, breath and need. Claire moaned into her shoulder, soft, aching, real.
They didn't make love like strangers. They remembered each other.
Touch by touch.
Whimper by whisper.
The couch creaked beneath them like it knew every secret.
And outside—behind his curtains—Daniel watched again.
This time, not with lust.
But with rage.