Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 125

Daniel caught me in the parking lot before I could make a clean escape. His hand on my elbow, steering me toward his Audi like we were still a team instead of two people actively avoiding the truth.

"We need to talk."

I pulled my arm free, skin still warm where his fingers had been. "About what?"

"About him." Daniel's jaw was tight, that vein in his temple doing its stress-pulse thing. "That guy from the party. Chase."

My stomach dropped. "What about him?"

"Who is he to you?" His eyes searched my face for cracks, for proof of whatever suspicion was eating at him. "Because there was definitely something happening on that terrace. Tension. History. Whatever you want to call it."

I kept my voice neutral. Bored, even. "Just someone from high school. We dated briefly. It ended badly."

Not technically a lie. Just an edited version that left out the parts where Chase had seen me at my worst and best, where we'd burned through each other like wildfire, where I'd loved him in a way that made everything since feel like a pale imitation.

Daniel's shoulders relaxed slightly. "How briefly?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if he's going to be around." His hand found my waist, possessive. Territorial. The grip was firmer than necessary. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

"He doesn't look at me any way."

"Yes, he does." Daniel pulled me closer, voice dropping. "Like he knows something I don't. And I need to know you're still committed to us. To this. To what we're building."

I thought about the terrace. About Chase's words cutting through every excuse I'd built. About standing there gripping the railing because if I let go, I might fall apart completely.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

It wasn't an answer. But Daniel took it as one, kissed my forehead like he'd won something, and walked back inside to network with people who still thought we were goals.

The next morning's campaign meeting smelled like burnt coffee and desperation. Someone had brought store-brand donuts that nobody was touching, the kind with waxy frosting that probably violated several food safety laws. I headed straight for the coffee station, hoping caffeine could somehow make this day less excruciating.

That's when I heard heels clicking across the linoleum. Purposeful. Predatory.

Amber appeared beside me, all fake sweetness and calculated timing. She reached for a stirrer, smiled like we were friends catching up instead of enemies maintaining appearances.

"Interesting seeing you and Chase so cozy lately." Her voice was light, conversational. Poisonous. "Some patterns never change, do they?"

My hand froze on the coffee pot. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just making an observation." She tilted her head, pearl earrings catching the fluorescent light. "You and complicated men. Always ending the same way."

Before I could form a response that wouldn't get me kicked off the committee, Chase materialized behind us. Silent as a ghost. Lethal as a shark.

"Amber." His voice was flat. Cold. "Still working overtime to make other people's business yours?"

Amber's smile went brittle at the edges. "Just making conversation."

"Find a new hobby."

He didn't raise his voice. Didn't move closer. But something in his tone made Amber take a step back like she'd been physically pushed.

"Whatever." She grabbed her coffee and retreated to the other side of the room, whispering urgently to Miles like she needed backup for a battle she'd already lost.

Chase poured himself a cup, added nothing, and walked toward the conference table like nothing had happened. I stood there holding the pot, heart doing something complicated in my chest.

After the meeting ended, Chase found me in the parking lot. "Need a ride?"

My car was in the shop. Mom had dropped me off this morning, making pointed comments about responsibility and follow-through. I should've called an Uber.

"Sure."

His car was different now. Nicer. Newer. Some sleek black thing that probably cost more than my annual salary. But it still smelled like him, and when he started the engine, muscle memory kicked in so hard I forgot how to breathe properly.

We drove in silence for three blocks. Then his fingers started drumming on the steering wheel. That old rhythm. The one he used to tap out when he was thinking too loud to speak.

I remembered that habit. Remembered watching those fingers drum against my thigh in the dark. Remembered everything I'd tried to forget.

"You didn't have to do that," I said finally.

"Do what?"

"Defend me."

He glanced over, expression unreadable. "Wasn't defending. Was correcting."

"Correcting what?"

"Her assumption that she gets to comment on your life."

My throat tightened. "She's always done that."

"Yeah, well. She shouldn't."

We turned onto my mother's street. The houses looked exactly the same as they had ten years ago. Same lawns. Same trees. Same suffocating sense of nothing ever really changing. Like this town was stuck in amber, preserved but lifeless.

I looked at him. "Is this going to be weird? Us working together?"

He didn't answer right away. Just kept driving, jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn't quite swallow.

"Depends," he said finally.

"On what?"

His eyes met mine for half a second before returning to the road. "On whether you're still running from everything that scares you."

The words landed like a punch to the sternum. Accurate and painful and impossible to deflect.

I wanted to argue. To tell him he was wrong. That I wasn't running. That I'd built a whole life that proved I was fine.

But the words stuck in my throat. Because maybe he was right. Maybe I'd been running for five years and calling it moving forward. Maybe every choice I'd made was just another way to avoid standing still long enough to feel anything real.

He pulled up in front of my mother's house. Engine idling. Waiting.

I reached for the door handle, then stopped. Turned back.

"I'm not sorry we're doing this," I said. Quiet but certain.

Something shifted in his expression. Not quite a smile. But close. Like maybe he'd been waiting for me to say that out loud.

"Good," he said. "Because I'm not either."

I climbed out of the car and watched him drive away, hands shaking slightly, wondering how five years could disappear in a single conversation. Wondering if I was ready for what came next.

Wondering if I'd ever really stopped wanting this.