The next morning came too fast.
Sleep had barely touched me. My pillow still carried the same weight from the night before—regret, confusion, and something dangerously close to longing. My body felt heavy, like I hadn't moved in hours. And maybe I hadn't.
But I couldn't sit in that guilt forever. I had to do something.
Not for Beatrice. Not for the others.
For her.
I wasn't ready to admit it out loud—not even to myself fully—but the moment Zara's hand slipped into mine yesterday, something shifted. Not just in her. In me. Something real.
By noon, I was at the small boutique on the edge of town—one of those places I'd normally pass without a second glance. Soft music played from inside. Warm lights. Velvet display cases. Way too delicate for the kind of guy I was.
But I walked in anyway.
"Can I help you?" the woman behind the counter asked.
I hesitated. My mouth opened before I could stop it.
"I'm looking for bracelets," I said. "Matching ones."
Her eyes twinkled. "For a girlfriend?"
"…Yeah."
She pulled out a tray of simple, elegant options. Most were leather or silver, and none of them were over-the-top. I didn't want flashy. I wanted something that meant something.
My eyes landed on a thin black cord bracelet with a silver charm. Just a single disc on each. Small, round. One I could have engraved.
"Those," I said, nodding to them.
"Good choice," she smiled. "What do you want engraved?"
My chest tightened. I already knew.
"Z + L," I murmured. "On both."
The woman nodded like she'd seen this kind of young, reckless affection before. Maybe she had.
Fifteen minutes later, I walked out with a small velvet pouch in my pocket and a storm in my chest.
The weight of the bracelet felt light in my hand but heavy in meaning. It wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't Beatrice-approved. This was me, crossing a line I told myself I wouldn't.
I sat in my car outside her house for a while that evening. I didn't even call or text her. I just… stared at the porch light, wondering if I'd gone too far or not far enough.
The old me wouldn't have done this. The version of me that laughed at her with my friends, who let Beatrice pull the strings like she always did, would've never walked into that store.
But that version of me was fading fast.
And it was all because of her.
I looked down at the second bracelet, the one with my own initials next to hers.
I slid it onto my wrist.
Simple. Clean. Barely noticeable unless someone looked close.
But it was there.
She was there.
Always.
**********
I didn't sleep much the night before.
Kept thinking about the pouch in my drawer—the bracelets. Our initials. The soft glint of silver that held a meaning I couldn't explain, not even to myself.
This wasn't part of the plan.
Beatrice's voice haunted me every time I tried to justify it. She's a pawn, Liam. You're supposed to make her fall, not fall for her.
But it was too late for that.
I met Zara just after school by the usual spot near the student parking lot—under that tree with the chipped paint bench and the carved initials that had been there way before our time. She was already waiting, arms crossed loosely over her chest, hair tumbling down her back in loose waves. Her eyes lit up the second they saw me, even if she tried to hide it.
God, she was terrible at hiding how she felt.
"Hey," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
She smiled. "Took you long enough."
"Got held up," I replied casually, then added, "but it was worth it."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out the small velvet pouch I'd been carrying around all day like some idiot who couldn't figure out the right moment. I held it out.
She looked at it, then at me. "What is that?"
"Just open it."
Her fingers brushed mine as she took it, and even that small touch sent a shiver down my spine. She pulled open the pouch and tipped the contents into her hand—her eyes widening just slightly when the bracelet slipped into view.
A black cord. A silver disc. Z + L.
She blinked.
I watched her.
"It's nothing big," I said quickly, almost stumbling over the words. "Just… I don't know. I saw it, and I thought of you. Of us."
Zara didn't say anything for a moment. She turned the disc over with her thumb, tracing the initials like they were something sacred.
"You don't like it?" I asked, suddenly unsure.
"No," she said softly, eyes still on the bracelet. "I love it."
I exhaled, only realizing then that I'd been holding my breath.
She looked up, smiling at me in that quiet way of hers—the way that always managed to land like a punch to the chest.
Then, slowly, she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and fastened it.
It looked right on her.
Balanced.
Real.
She took a step closer, standing so close I could smell the faint vanilla of her shampoo.
"I didn't think you were the sentimental type, Hunter," she said, teasing, but her voice was warm.
I smirked. "Don't tell anyone. I've got a reputation."
Her fingers reached for my wrist, brushing lightly. "You're not wearing yours?"
My chest tightened.
I pulled up my sleeve and showed her. The matching bracelet. Her initials next to mine.
She stared at it for a second before whispering, "You really got us matching ones."
"I guess I did."
Zara looked at me then—not like a girl who was falling, but like a girl who already had. Deep. And maybe I wasn't far behind.
"Thank you," she murmured.
And I knew she meant it.
Not just for the bracelet.
But for all the little things I didn't even realize I'd given her. Attention. Respect. Time. Affection. Safety.
Things I never gave anyone like this before.
"I'll walk you home," I said.
She nodded.
And as we walked side by side under the slowly setting sky, I knew this wasn't a game anymore.
No matter how much I told Beatrice otherwise.
Zara wasn't the plan.
She was the exception.
And I was falling.
Hard.