She is moody

The dining room is a tomb of mahogany and silver, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and the unspoken expectations of the Doe legacy. Elena sits directly across from me, her posture so rigid she looks carved from ice. She hasn’t changed out of her riding gear; the dusty leather of her boots looks aggressively out of place against the expensive rug, a silent reminder that she hasn't let go of the fury from the stables. My cheek still burns—a dull, rhythmic heat that serves as a constant reminder of the crack of her palm against my skin.

I don’t hide my intent. I spend the entire first course leaning back in my chair, nursing a cold bottle of beer while she sips a glass of vintage red. The contrast is sharp; her movements are delicate and practiced, while I grip the glass neck like I’m waiting for a fight. I watch the way her jaw hitches when she takes a drink, and the way her fork scrapes against the plate with just a little too much ****. Every time she catches my gaze in the reflection of the silver, I let that same smug smile tug at the corner of my mouth.

I’m playing with fire, and we both know it.

Vanna, sitting at the head of the table, looks between us like she’s watching a championship tennis match where the ball is made of lead. She’s the family’s designated peacekeeper, the one who usually smooths over my "black sheep" outbursts, but even she’s out of her depth tonight.

“So!” Vanna chirps, her voice sounding unnervingly loud in the quiet room. “The ride must have been... eventful. Elena, did my brother show you the ridge, or did he just grumble about the weather?”

Elena’s eyes flick to Vanna, her professional mask slipping back into place, though it looks frayed at the edges. “It was informative,” Elena says, her voice clipped and dangerously low. “Your brother has a very... unique way of asserting himself.”

Vanna laughs, a nervous, fluttering sound. “That’s one way to put it. He’s always been stubborn. Mom says it’s a Doe trait, but I think he just likes being difficult for the sport of it.” She turns to me, her brow furrowing. “What’s with the face, Big B? You look like you just ate the canary.”

“Just enjoying the company, Vanna,” I say, my voice smooth. I take a slow pull from my beer, never breaking eye contact with Elena. “It’s not every day you meet someone who reacts so... passionately to a challenge.”

Elena’s wine glass hits the table with a sharp clack. The silence that follows is deafening. Vanna looks at us, her eyes wide with total confusion. She knows something happened at the stables, but the raw, volatile energy vibrating between Elena and me is something she can't put a name to.

As the maid clears the final plates, Elena stands abruptly. She doesn't look at Vanna. She looks straight at me, her eyes dark with a promise of retribution. She doesn't care that she's still in her riding boots or that she's breaking every rule of Doe etiquette.

“Thank you for the meal, Savannah,” Elena says, her voice cold enough to frost the windows. She turns to me, her gaze dropping to the faint red mark still visible on my cheek before locking onto mine.

“Your bedroom. Tonight.”

She doesn't wait for a response. She turns and disappears up the stairs, the heavy thud of her boots on the hardwood sounding like a countdown. Beside me, Vanna let out a long, slow breath.

“Okay,” Vanna whispers, looking at me in shock. “I don’t know what you did out there, but I’d start locking your door if I were you.”

I just smile, the copper taste of the slap still lingering on my tongue. I don’t plan on locking the door at all.