Elena tears through the living room, flipping cushions and shoving magazines aside, her heart pounding as she hunts for her damn phone. Sweat beads on her forehead—where the hell is it? Then Nate strolls in, that smug grin cracking his face, dangling the phone like a trophy. 'Left it in the kitchen, kiddo.' She snatches it with a breathless thanks, thumbs flying across the screen. Nothing. Zilch. Her face crumples. 'He's ghosted me for two whole days, and it's Valentine's. What did I screw up?' Tears well up, hot and furious. Nate slides closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders—firm, too firm. 'Chin up, Buttercup.' His voice drips like warm syrup, but his eyes? They're hungry. He mutters about his wife ditching him for work, then pitches it: 'Why don't we make our own Valentine's? Just you and me.' Elena blinks, wipes her eyes. 'Yeah... that could be fun.' Nate's promise hangs heavy: 'I'll make it special, sweetheart. Real special.' They sink into the couch, the romantic flick flickering on the TV—Elena's big plan with her boyfriend, now just a cruel joke. She planned candlelight and whispers, but the screen's sappy kisses twist the knife, flooding her with memories of what she lost. Sobs hitch in her throat. Nate seizes the moment, his hand grazing her thigh under the guise of comfort, fingers lingering like shadows in the dark. Then he pulls out the chocolates, a velvet box that screams seduction. She pops one in, chocolate melting slow on her tongue. Nate watches, transfixed, as she licks her lips—pink and glossy, a forbidden invitation he devours with his gaze. 'What else was on the agenda with that boy?' Nate probes, voice low and probing. Elena squirms, cheeks burning. 'It's... private. Can't do it with just anyone.' He leans in, breath hot against her ear. 'Tell me.' She whispers it finally, voice breaking: virginity, her gift to him. Shock slams her—Nate's eyes light up like a predator's. 'I can do that for you, Elena. Right here.' She freezes, pulse racing. 'Your boyfriend bailed—why waste it on a ghost? Give it to someone who won't run. Me. You trust me more than anyone, don't you?' His words coil around her, tempting, twisted, pulling her into the abyss.
Elena tears through the living room, flipping cushions and shoving magazines aside, her heart pounding as she hunts for her damn phone. Sweat beads on her forehead—where the hell is it? Then Nate strolls in, that smug grin cracking his face, dangling the phone like a trophy. 'Left it in the kitchen, kiddo.' She snatches it with a breathless thanks, thumbs flying across the screen. Nothing. Zilch. Her face crumples. 'He's ghosted me for two whole days, and it's Valentine's. What did I screw up?' Tears well up, hot and furious. Nate slides closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders—firm, too firm. 'Chin up, Buttercup.' His voice drips like warm syrup, but his eyes? They're hungry. He mutters about his wife ditching him for work, then pitches it: 'Why don't we make our own Valentine's? Just you and me.' Elena blinks, wipes her eyes. 'Yeah... that could be fun.' Nate's promise hangs heavy: 'I'll make it special, sweetheart. Real special.' They sink into the couch, the romantic flick flickering on the TV—Elena's big plan with her boyfriend, now just a cruel joke. She planned candlelight and whispers, but the screen's sappy kisses twist the knife, flooding her with memories of what she lost. Sobs hitch in her throat. Nate seizes the moment, his hand grazing her thigh under the guise of comfort, fingers lingering like shadows in the dark. Then he pulls out the chocolates, a velvet box that screams seduction. She pops one in, chocolate melting slow on her tongue. Nate watches, transfixed, as she licks her lips—pink and glossy, a forbidden invitation he devours with his gaze. 'What else was on the agenda with that boy?' Nate probes, voice low and probing. Elena squirms, cheeks burning. 'It's... private. Can't do it with just anyone.' He leans in, breath hot against her ear. 'Tell me.' She whispers it finally, voice breaking: virginity, her gift to him. Shock slams her—Nate's eyes light up like a predator's. 'I can do that for you, Elena. Right here.' She freezes, pulse racing. 'Your boyfriend bailed—why waste it on a ghost? Give it to someone who won't run. Me. You trust me more than anyone, don't you?' His words coil around her, tempting, twisted, pulling her into the abyss.
