Page 45 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
Through it all, his gaze never leaves mine.
In that moment, even before the bottle comes near us, I understand something with unsettling clarity.
Whatever happened in the car was impulse.
This?
This is calculated.
The way his eyes hold me tells me everything I need to know.
His games have just begun.
CHAPTER 8
Octavia
The bottle spins across the hardwood floor, the glass catching flashes of colored light from the kitchen and the pool outside. Each rotation feels louder than it should, the scraping sound against the floor stretching time thin. The room has grown tighter since the game started. Bodies press shoulder to shoulder around the circle, knees touching, cups sloshing cheap alcohol onto the rug.
Every second the bottle stays in motion feels like waiting for a fuse to burn down.
Kadin had shifted away earlier to make space for Cheyenne beside me. Now the circle has rearranged itself in a way that feels uncomfortably planned out. Chey sways slightly where she sits, her shoulder leaning into mine, while Kadin occupies the spot beside Silas across from us.
Both of them are watching.
Kadin’s attention carries warmth, curiosity, a quiet interest that feels almost grounding in comparison to the sharp edge sitting just beside him.
Silas’s gaze is different.
Where Kadin’s eyes move around the room occasionally, Silas’s remain locked on me as if the rest of the party barely exists. His posture is loose, one arm draped lazily across his bent knee, bottle dangling from his fingers like he’s only half participating.
But his eyes never move.
Maria grabs the bottle with an exaggerated flourish, her grin wide and bright under the dim lights. The alcohol has painted her cheeks pink and loosened the rhythm of her movements. Around the circle, a few couples who had already been paired earlier are still tangled together on the couch behind us, apparently having abandoned the game entirely in favor of continuing their own private entertainment.
“My turn,” Maria announces proudly.
She plants the bottle firmly on the floor, giving it a dramatic spin. The glass skitters and rotates, passing each face in the circle once, then twice, slowing just enough to make the tension thicken.
Cheyenne lets out a drunken laugh as the neck of the bottle finally drifts toward her.
“Me?” she says, blinking at it like she’s not entirely convinced.
Several of the guys around the circle start hooting immediately, someone clapping Kadin on the shoulder like he somehow won something. The energy lifts into excited chaos.
All but one person reacts.
Silas doesn’t join the laughter. He doesn’t lean forward or look toward the bottle.
He watches me.
The faintest curl of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, like he’s waiting to see how long I can sit here pretending the tension between us doesn’t exist. He’s waiting for me to crack first.
Maria crawls across the floor toward Cheyenne, her movements slightly clumsy but enthusiastic. Her hazy eyes focus on Chey like she’s just remembered what the game requires.
“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Maria says with a crooked smile. “Might as well give them a show.”
It’s not entirely a lie.
