Beauty and the Devil

chapter 22

Samantha’s POV

The house is too quiet.

Michael’s footsteps had barely faded before it hit me — the sharp silence that follows destruction. Glass on the floor, a framed photo cracked in half, blood drying on the tile, and me standing in the middle of all of it like I’d become part of the wreckage.

I was still breathing hard. My skin felt too hot. My head was spinning. Clyde’s mouth had been on mine minutes ago. Michael’s fists on Clyde’s face moments later. There was blood. There were words I hadn’t meant to say. And now there was nothing.

I grabbed my keys from the counter. I needed to find Michael, explain, stop him from disappearing again. I needed to tell him that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, that none of this was simple, that he didn’t understand.

I reached the door, fingers curled around the handle—

Clyde’s hand closed around my wrist.

He didn’t yank. He didn’t squeeze. But it stopped me cold.

“Let him go,” he said.

His voice wasn’t angry. It was low. Certain.

I turned to him, already shaking my head. “You don’t get it. He’s my brother. He’s all I have—”

His grip didn’t tighten, but his expression shifted. His jaw locked. His eyes darkened in that way I hated, the one that always made me feel like I was seconds from falling into something I couldn’t climb out of.

“You had him,” he said, quieter now, but sharper. “Until you kissed me.”

I stepped back like he’d slapped me. Not because he raised his hand, but because the truth in his voice cut cleaner than any bruise ever could.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he kept going.

“This thing between us,” he muttered, almost like he was talking to himself, “it doesn’t calm you. It doesn’t make you better. It eats you alive. And me? I look at you like a fucking punishment I can’t stop craving.”

“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head again. “Don’t do this now. Please.”

But he wasn’t done. Of course he wasn’t.

“I ruin everything I touch,” he said. “You included.”

I felt it before I realized I was saying it.

“Don’t leave me.”

It slipped out of my mouth like something stolen from my own lungs, not a plea, not a plan. Just truth.

For half a second, something in his face cracked. I saw it. Something flickered, regret, longing, fear, maybe all of it at once, but then it was gone.

He straightened. His face shifted back to that version of him I hated most, the one that felt nothing. Or pretended he didn’t.

“I already have,” he said.

Then he walked out the door without looking back.

I stood there in the doorway, keys in hand, staring at the spot where he’d just been, the scent of him still clinging to my skin. And in that quiet, with no one left to hurt and no one left to hold onto, I finally understood what it felt like to be alone.

***

I sat down on the couch slowly, fingers stiff. The cushion sank beneath me like it didn’t want to hold the weight. I pulled out my phone.

There were no messages, no missed calls. Nothing from Clyde.

Of course not. He hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t said anything.

I stared at the screen, thumb frozen above it, waiting for a name I didn’t want to need.

And then I scrolled. Just far enough to find the name I never thought I’d tap again.

Aaron.

I hesitated. Not because I didn’t know what it meant — but because I did.

I typed the words anyway.

Can we talk?

I stared at them for a long time. Then I hit send.

I knew Clyde would hate it. I knew it was dangerous.

But right now, I was out of choices, and Aaron was the only one who hadn’t walked away.