All Chapters of The Rogue Next Door: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Cole Something’s wrong. I know it the second Maya’s face changes. One minute she’s standing beside me on the back porch of Sigma Two, laughing about Jake interrupting our moment with a bag of chips and absolutely no survival instincts. The next? All the color drains from her face. Just gone. Like someone flipped a switch. The smile disappears. The warmth disappears. Even her posture changes. Her shoulders tense. Her eyes lock on her phone. And suddenly it feels like I’m watching a storm roll in. “Maya.” She doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps staring at the screen. Three missed calls. One text. Whatever she’s reading, I can practically see the anxiety crawling up her spine. I step closer automatically. “What happened?” Her throat moves as she swallows. “It’s my dad.” The fear in her voice hits me harder than I expect. Because Maya doesn’t scare easily. She overthinks. She worries. She stresses herself into exhaustion. But fear? That’s different. And rig

Cole I don’t want to take her home. That’s the problem. It’s nearly one in the morning, Maya has work in a few hours, and any reasonable person would have driven her back to the house twenty minutes ago. Unfortunately for both of us, I stopped being reasonable somewhere around the time she climbed into my lap and wrapped herself around me like I was the safest place she’d ever found. Now she’s curled against my chest, half asleep, while the lake outside reflects moonlight across the windshield. And honestly? I could stay here forever. The emotional storm from earlier hasn’t completely disappeared. I can still feel it lingering beneath the surface. The phone call. Her dad. The way she broke apart in my arms because she’d been carrying too much for too long. But it’s quieter now. Softer. Like she’s finally stopped waiting for the next disaster long enough to breathe. My chin rests on top of her head while my fingers drift lazily through her hair. A few strands catch between

Maya I wake up to screaming. Not normal screaming. Not someone is being murdered screaming. More like someone just declared war over something incredibly stupid screaming. Which, unfortunately, narrows the possibilities in this house down to about three people. I blink awake slowly, staring at my ceiling while another shout echoes from downstairs. “YOU ABSOLUTE FRAUD!” A second voice immediately fires back. “I WON FAIRLY!” Then comes loud cackling. Bree. Definitely Bree. I groan and bury my face in my pillow for approximately three seconds before another yell rattles the house. “Oh my God,” Bree shrieks. “You’re so bad at this!” That’s enough to get me moving. I drag myself out of bed, still tangled in sleep and wearing the same oversized university T-shirt I’d passed out in the night before. My hair is probably terrifying. My brain definitely is. The second I step into the hallway, I find Bree sitting on the top stair with a bowl of cereal in her lap like she’s watchi

Maya I should have known the ice cream trip wasn’t actually about ice cream. The first clue should’ve been Logan insisting on driving. Not asking. Insisting. Like the fate of the free world depended on him being behind the wheel. The second clue was Cole immediately calling shotgun. The third clue? The fact that those two spent the entire drive arguing like twelve-year-olds trapped in grown men’s bodies. “I called it first.” “You were still in the kitchen.” “I was heading toward the truck.” “You were emotionally heading toward the truck.” “What the fuck does that even mean?” “It means you weren’t outside.” I was sitting in the backseat beside Bree trying—and failing—not to laugh. Bree wasn’t even pretending. She was actively making it worse. “Fight,” she encouraged. “Don’t encourage them.” “Why?” she asked innocently. “This is free entertainment.” Honestly? Fair. Then Logan glanced into the rearview mirror. “Tell your boyfriend he’s being dramatic.” The truck i

Maya I should be studying. Seriously. I have a philosophy paper due in four days. A statistics exam next week. An unfinished discussion post. Two chapters to read. And approximately a thousand other responsibilities demanding my attention. Instead? I’m staring at my phone like a complete idiot. Again. My laptop sits open on my bed. Research articles are scattered around me. Highlighters. Note cards. Coffee cups. The entire scene screams responsible college student. The problem is that responsible college students probably aren’t smiling at text messages every thirty seconds. My phone buzzes again. I already know who it is before I look. Cole: How’s the paper going? I roll onto my back with a groan. Me: Poorly. The response comes instantly. Cole: Because it’s hard? Me: Because you keep texting me. Three dots appear. Then: Cole: Sounds like a you problem. I laugh despite myself. God. This is embarrassing. A month ago I was worried about surviving clas