All Chapters of My Enemy [BL]: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

I cleared my throat, the scratchy sound too loud in the stillness of his room, but no words came out. "Okay," I barely whispered, turning toward the door while my hand instinctively reached for the handle. I had to get out—get away before the tension between us pulled me under again, before my body’s desires convinced my mind to betray itself. Because, oh God, I wanted him to stop me. I wanted him to close the distance between us, spin me around, and kiss me like he had before...wild and carefree, as if nothing else mattered beyond those walls. I wanted to forget Frank’s gentle smile, my mom’s trusting eyes, and every single rule that told me this was wrong. The longing felt sinful, heavy, and intoxicating, curling low in my stomach and making my fingers shake against the cold doorknob. But I couldn’t give in. Not with so much at stake...Frank’s heart, our parents’ happiness, the fragile peace we’d all been pretending to uphold. I walked away without looking back, forcing myself n

The words hung between us like smoke from a fire I’d just started, thick and suffocating, impossible to blow away. Frank paused, his hand halfway to his mouth, the pepperoni pizza slice drooping slightly, cheese stretching in a thin, reluctant strand. His beautiful blue eyes, usually so warm and easy to read, widened for just a moment before something clicked shut behind them, like a light going off in a room where I’d always felt welcome."A break?" he echoed, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it, almost cautious, as if saying it too loudly could cause it to shatter. He lowered the pizza back onto the paper plate, wiping his fingers slowly on a napkin, even though there was hardly any grease on them. "Atlas... what do you mean by that?"My throat felt raw, like I’d swallowed sand. I focused on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, tracing its pattern with my eyes because meeting his gaze felt impossible. The pizza place buzzed with warmth and laughter from nearby families, the

He stared at me for what felt like forever, the engine’s soft hum and the distant chirping of crickets being the only sounds breaking the silence surrounding us. The dashboard lights gave a subtle blue glow to his face, accentuating the sharpness of his jaw and the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he blinked. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can I... can I kiss you?" he asked, the words hesitant, tinged with such vulnerability it made my heart ache. "Just one last time. Who knows how long it’ll be until we get another chance." The simplicity and raw honesty of his question brought tears to my eyes. I managed a sad, watery smile and nodded before my voice had a chance to catch up. "Of course," I whispered. "Always." Frank shifted closer in his seat, narrowing the small gap between us in the confined space of the car. One hand cupped my cheek, his thumb gently brushing across my skin as if he wanted to memorize the feel of it, whil

I woke up to the soft gray light of a winter morning streaming through my curtains, casting a muted glow that made my room look like it was still half-asleep. For a brief moment, as I slowly emerged from sleep, I forgot about the mess I’d created the night before. But then, it all came rushing back. Frank’s quiet "I’ll wait," the way his voice cracked on that word, and the warm memory of that last kiss. My chest tightened as if someone had squeezed my heart in a fist. Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I saw it light up with notifications that frankly didn’t matter. No new messages. None from him, anyway. I found myself staring at the empty lock screen longer than I should have, waiting for that familiar buzz, the little "good morning, handsome" text that had become as routine as sunrise over the past few months. Part of me knew I shouldn’t hope for it—not after I chose to freeze things, not after I had looked him in the eye and admitted I needed space because my feelings h

I turned another page in Carla’s journal, the leather cover soft and worn from years of use, the ink a bit faded but still enough to pull me into her world. The entry I landed on was dated just after Rowan’s eighth birthday, some joyful ramble about how he insisted on wearing a cape to school for a week because "superheroes don’t take days off," and how she let him, since watching him strut into the classroom like he owned the place was the highlight of her day. I couldn’t help but smile a little. "I wish I’d met her," I murmured, mostly to myself, tracing the looping letters with my fingertip. "The way she writes about you here... it’s clear you were the light of her life. From the moment you were born, apparently. You could’ve been the biggest little terror and she’d still have written sonnets about your sticky fingerprints all over the walls. I’m sure she loved you, no matter how dumb you were." Rowan glanced over from the driver’s seat, one hand casually on the wheel, the o