"THIS is seriously the best thing ever," my roommate Annabelle practically moans as she licks the cake batter off the large spoon.

"Thank my nanny cause it was the only thing she knew how to bake, and I went through a phase where all I wanted was crumb cake. So we made it every single week for almost a year," I tell her as I finish crumbling the cinnamon mixture on top of the cake before sliding the pan into the oven.

It's late. Like really late. But neither of us could sleep so we stayed up and binged half a season of Grey's Anatomy. Annabelle has rewatched the show many times, but this is my first time. We just finished season five and I'm beyond hooked. Especially after that finale.

I've decided my goal in life is to be Christina Yang. But as a lawyer. She's truly my idol.

"You have to tell me if Izzie and George are alive," I insist as I wash my hands of all the sugar and butter.

My roommate shakes her head while scraping another scoop of batter from the large bowl. "You have to wait and watch," she sings with a full mouth.

I narrow my eyes playfully. "I'll just look it up," I counter sassily.

"Jameson! Don't!" she yells but it somehow still comes off nice. She's the purest soul and not even me looking up spoilers for her all time favorite show could bring out the rage in her. This is why I love her.

She loves more fiercely than she could ever hate. It takes a strong person to be open to so much love, because being that open for the good means you are wide open for the bad that inevitably follows.

I quickly set the timer on the oven before I forget. "Fine, fine," I relent with ease. She's been waiting so long for me to watch this show. I can't look up spoilers now. "Just for you."

"Thank you! The next season is one of my favorites, you're going to love it," she tells me as she continues to eat the delicious batter from the bowl.

"You say that every season Anna," I point out.

She waves her spoon in the air before pointing it directly at me. "Well I really mean it this time."

"Yeah, yeah," I tease lightheartedly. I lean over to see almost all the cake batter is gone. "Hey! Don't eat it all," I yell at her. Everyone knows the batter or the dough is the best part about baking.

"You snooze, you lose," she taunts with a bright smile as she jerks the bowl out of my reach.

My arms cross over my chest as I shoot her a playful glare. "You mean I do all the work and don't get any of the benefits?"

Annabelle pauses the scraping of her spoon at my words. "I think you just described being a woman," she remarks.

My lips purse at her realization. "That's depressing. Now I really deserve a bite," I tell her.

"True. Here," she gives in, handing me the bowl and another large spoon.

I take a couple bites reveling in the sweet taste of the vanilla and the sugar. My phone starts to buzz on the counter drawing my attention from the batter in front of me, and the sound makes me freeze on the spot. Who would be contacting me this late? Nerves strike me as I think back to the note I received three days ago. I haven't spoken to anyone about it, but it simmers in the back of my mind at all times just waiting to become a full blown boil and burn me to the bone.

I slowly pass my roommate back the bowl and I tentatively walk over to the far side of the kitchen counter where my phone is vibrating continuously.

Who is trying to get a hold of me at this hour?

I lean over to see a rush of texts roll in that shock me to my core.

Comme ovur

Pleasseee

Need u

Jjjjjjjjameson

Come

Hey

Oooverr

"Who is it?" My roommate's sweet voice brings me back and I shake off the surprise of the mass of texts that are still coming through on my phone.

My cheeks are now flushing for a completely different reason than fear. "No one," I lie as I ignore my phone.

As I ignore Preston.

He's drunk, obviously, and tonight isn't any normal night. It's wrath night. The night where they set up a legitimate boxing ring in the house of one of the heir's many properties, and anyone can fight. They even place bets on who they think will win.

It's bloody and messy and someone once had to be rushed to the ER because of their spleen rupturing.

A night full of drunk, wannabe macho, idiots fighting isn't my idea of a good time.

But the buzzing does distract me. Because he's never drunk texted me before. I actually don't think I've ever even seen Preston intoxicated before. He's always so in control, even at parties. He always has his head on straight and is careful to keep his emotions in check. It's rare to see him begin to fall apart. It's rare to see anything other than confidence shine in his dark brown eyes. But the few times I've seen the pain or the stress crack through the surface has been heartbreaking.

Because it shows me that he shoves it all down like I do. The real emotions that threaten to break through. He feels the weight of it all every day. I think he's just better at hiding it from the world.

He hasn't contacted me since the day at the library, and I've been thankful for the space, but that doesn't mean my heart hasn't been craving his warmth and his electric touch. At the sight of his name on my phone screen my body is suddenly aching for him.

I would never tell him, but I've been reliving the kiss every night as soon as the moon rises and the sky goes dark. It plays and replays in my mind on a constant loop. The tension between us has us both wound so tight that one more move and I know the rope will snap and have us both free falling without anyone to catch us.

I glance at my roommate to see her finishing off the bowl. I go to grab it from her when my phone starts to ring and I fall to a stop.

"Are you going to answer that?" Her words are mumbled because of the spoon that is still in her mouth.

My teeth press into my bottom lip as little bursts of nerves explode all throughout my body. "Um...yeah," I answer quietly.

I grab my phone and swipe my finger against the screen before I lift the phone to my ear.

It's quiet on the other end. Just the sound of heavy breathing coming through the speaker. My mind flashes back to that night at my parents home when I received a similar call, and I start to worry that something is really wrong with Preston.

Then suddenly I hear his voice. "Jameson." It's just my name, and it's slurred, but it still makes my stupid heart skip a beat.

And then instead of his voice soothing the anxiety riddling my body it just pisses me off.

I told him to leave me alone unless he tells me everything. But he doesn't tell me anything and he still bothers me.

"What do you want?" I ask roughly. He won't let me in, but he won't let me escape him either. It's a confusing and frustrating place to be stuck.

"Come over," he demands, his words bleeding into one another.

My answer is immediate. "No."

"Please...James," he begs and I hate the way it begins to tug at my heart.

My roommate eyes me curiously and I find myself turning away from her questioning gaze. "Why?" I ask under my breath. The single word is huffed out between clenched teeth.

"I...I need you. I'm not okay. Ow, shit," he curses as I hear a loud crash. He continues to curse quietly and I roll my eyes. " Please. Please. Please. Jameson."

He sounds unbelievably drunk but also desperate, which is not how Preston ever sounds. It piques an interest I know I should ignore, but can't help but lean further into.

My throat bobbles under the idea of actually going over. I know I shouldn't. I know I should stay at home with my roommate. It's the middle of the night. It's stupid and I'm only going to end up hurting me at the end of the day if I see him.

But instead of being smart I let myself be incredibly dumb for once.

"Fine. I'm coming," I tell him in a heavy sigh. It doesn't make any logical sense why I'm doing it. Because this isn't my brain calling the shots for once. They are being called by my foolish heart.

"Are you lying to me?" he asks, his words all mushed together.

"Unlike you Preston, I don't lie," I state sharply before hitting the end button and hanging up on him.

With my phone gripped roughly in my hand I turn on my heels to face Annabelle. She has a single eyebrow lifted and a smirk stretched across her lips, and it's moments like this that she looks exactly like her cousin.

"So I am going to head out..." I trail as I slowly take a few steps backwards to grab my purse and car keys from the counter.

"Oh, don't you dare Jameson!" she shouts as she runs towards me with determination flaring to life in her warm brown eyes. "You are going to go see who at two in the morning?" It's a question but I know she heard me say his name and just wants answers. But I don't have any for her.

I tuck a piece of dark hair behind my ear. "It's nothing," I attempt to casually play off.

But as my best friend she sees right through me. "No, no, no! You are not going to brush this one off. This is huge!"

"It is not huge Anna," I press. "But I am going to go now." I swiftly make my way to the door before she stops me.

"Fine. Go. But if you don't tell me all the details tomorrow I will eat every piece of cake tonight and leave none for you," she threatens with narrowed eyes. It might be the scariest I've ever seen her look.

She means business I realize as I slip my purse over my shoulder. "Wow, that's really mean. You are serious."

"I am," she tells me with a stern glare.

"I promise to tell you everything even though nothing is going to happen," I assure her.

She laughs in disbelief as she shakes her head. "Can't wait to hear all about nothing tomorrow."

I ignore her words and turn to leave the apartment. I lock the front door behind myself and head out of my building. I slide into my car, a black Mercedes-Benz I received on my sixteenth birthday, and head towards Preston's apartment. While I've never been to his place I do know where he lives because the one time he suggested I come over he texted me his address, but of course I didn't go.

No one willingly steps inside the lion's den.

He lives in a luxury apartment building about fifteen minutes from campus. Most people who aren't commuting to school live in the dorms, or off-campus houses and apartments that all surround the university's main campus.

But Preston lives further out in the building Everett's family owns. His mother owned a lot of property all over the world before she passed away, and now those properties are in his father's hands until Everett inherits them at the age of twenty-five.

I pull up to the tall building and my pulse begins to accelerate at the idea of what I'm about to walk into.

This could all be some twisted trap and my stomach flips as a wave of nausea hits me at the idea. Preston said he would never let anything happen to me. But what if it was all a lie? What if whatever I believe we have is all just an illusion to hurt me? Hurt my brother?

With sweaty palms I exit my car and walk into the dark and intimidating building.

The lobby is empty and eerily silent at this hour. The front desk manager stands up at my entrance. He's an elderly man and looks kind as he smiles at me. "May I ask who you are here for?"

I clear my throat. "It's Jameson Davenport for Preston Rothwell."

He nods and then lifts a phone to I assume call up to his apartment. He looks to be holding for a while, and I suddenly get the vision of Preston passed out somewhere in his apartment and want to strangle myself for thinking it was smart to drive out here after a drunken phone call.

After what feels like an eternity I hear him say my name before he holds once again, and then he hangs the phone up. "Go to elevator four. I've already hit the floor for you," he instructs pointing to the hallway around the corner.

I flash him a small smile. "Thanks."

I walk over to the elevator and step inside as the doors close in on me. I notice there are no buttons inside the elevator, besides the emergency stop one, and that the screen at the top above the doors only displays one floor number. Well not technically a number, it's the letter P.

As in, penthouse.

The elevator finally slows to a stop and the doors open up to reveal a small foyer with two large doors that lead into his apartment. My throat feels thick and my heart is beating so loud in my chest I can hear nothing but the thump, thump, thump in my ears.

Before I can chicken out I step forward and knock on the door. Like I told Preston, I'm not a liar. I said I would come, and I'm here.

A few seconds pass before the door swings open to reveal a shirtless Everett Kingston with a large bottle of whiskey glued to his lips. Everett without a substance in his hand is like me without a book in mine. It just doesn't make sense.

My eyes widen at the sight of him and his mass of visible tattoos. They are all in dark black ink that match the color of his hair, and look random as can be, but I don't stare for too long as I lift my gaze to his. A devilish smirk stretches across his lips as his amber eyes, the only bright thing about him, trail over me.

I'm dressed in black leggings with streaks of flour and batter on them, and an oversized sweatshirt. My hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and I know I look like a mess. I know I don't look like the girls who attended the last few nights of the deadly sins parties.

But I am the girl Preston wanted here right now. So I don't hide under the intense gaze of Everett Kingston.

"Took you long enough," he says as he presses the door all the way open for me to walk through. He doesn't move out of the way though so I have to duck under his long arm to enter the apartment. A tinge of annoyance cuts through me at the action. But I don't focus on it because I'm in Preston's space for the very first time and I want to soak it all in.

"What?" I ask as I take in the open space in front of me. The apartment is massive. It's the penthouse so that isn't shocking but it's all so open as if he has nothing to hide.

It's nice. More than nice actually. It's all newly upgraded and shiny and modern. It's exactly what you'd expect from a luxury apartment. But it isn't cold like Everett's place in the city. It has this weird homeyness that I didn't expect from Preston.

There's small nick nacks and pictures and even throw pillows and blankets that are randomly placed across the living room. It's dark yet somehow infused with small fragments of light that have me even more intrigued about the man who refuses to let me in.

The sound of the front door clicking shut pulls my attention back to Everett. "He wouldn't shut up until you answered that fucking call," he tells me before he takes another pull of the whiskey straight.

I can feel the burn of the alcohol echo in my own throat from the way he chugs it with such indifference.

"Why are you here?" I ask as my eyes cast around the empty apartment. Or at least what appears to be empty.

"Making sure he didn't die," he says casually. Almost too casually that it has me narrowing my eyes. What is going on?

He then sets down his practically empty bottle and grabs his shirt and jacket from the concrete countertop in the kitchen.

"Did he really drink that much?" I ask as he slips on the clothing to cover his olive skin.

A lazy smile lifts his lips. "Yes...among other things," he trails as he heads towards the front door. "Have fun Jamie. Night."

I roll my eyes at the nickname he uses, but in seconds he's gone and the door is shut. I'm on my own then, left on pins and needles and completely unsure of what I'm about to walk into when I find Preston.

I turn around and past the dining room I see a short hallway and figure that's my best bet to find him. I walk slowly as my eyes scan as much of the apartment as I can. Trying to understand him as much as possible. Because Preston knows so much about me, but he's still such a mystery to me. So hidden. Always covered in the shadows of the night.

A loud thud sounds down the hallway and I follow the sound until I reach a door at the end.

My hand hesitantly wraps around the iron door knob and I turn it slowly unprepared for what I'm about to see when I open this door.

I swallow down the worry and push open the door to reveal a spacious room with a king sized bed in the center and a large body sprawled out across it.

He doesn't acknowledge me when the door opens and as my feet lead me forward he still doesn't move and that's when fear races through me cold as ice.

He's alive, right? My mind begins to think the absolute worst as I rush up to his side. I stand above him and I can't help the loud gasp that escapes me as my hands fly to my mouth in utter shock.

Preston is laying on his back with no shirt on, and I let out a thankful sigh as I see his chest rising and falling at the least. But since he's half naked it leaves his body bare for me to examine and to realize Everett was right. He's not just drunk. There are other things. Many other things that would keep a friend around to make sure he doesn't die.

There's dried blood smeared across his face and chest. The blood is obviously his from the wide gash near his already blackening eye and there's another large cut across his jaw.

My eyes flash down his body to see his ribs already turning purple with bruising. I wouldn't be shocked if he even broke a few.

Preston didn't just attend wrath night. He participated and got the shit beat out of him. He looks like he went up against a semi and lost.

My hand reaches out to brush the strands of dark hair that are laying across his forehead.

"What the hell did you do to yourself Preston?" I whisper to him, hating the way my heart flips at the sight of him hurt.

His hand shoots out to wrap around my wrist and my heart jumps up into my throat at the sudden movement. His eyes flutter open and come to a focus on me and even under the blood and bruising I can see the way they brighten as a smile graces his busted lips.

"You came," he whispers before letting out a harsh cough that has him groaning in pain.

I can't let myself feel bad for him, or I'll begin to spiral in the confusing emotions he brings out in me, so instead I let myself feel only one. And it's anger.

"What did you do?" I push as I continue to check over his injuries.

"I fought," he answers. His voice is rough and dry.

I can't stop my eyes from falling to every new bruise or cut on his body. They are everywhere. There's more skin touched by violence than not at the moment. He's messed up and it makes my stomach twist. Why would he do this to himself? "Why?" I ask, echoing my own burning thoughts.

He shifts to try and sit up and I move to help him without thinking. Touching his bare skin is like touching a flame. Hot to the touch and I'm hyper aware if I stay too close for too long I'll get burned. But I don't step away. If anything I get closer.

Once he is in a sitting position I begin to shift away, but he starts to sway and his eyelids begin to lower as if he's about to lose consciousness again. Nerves rise sharply within me so instead of keeping my distance I stay close with my hands remaining on his shoulders.

"Because I can," he finally replies to me.

He keeps swaying as if he's on a boat and I'm using all my strength to