Nate knew Maddy’s schedule by heart years of dating and habit made sure of that. He didn’t need to think twice about it. But your schedule? He’d learned that, too, though not from affection or routine. No, Nate Jacobs didn’t waste his time on accidents. Knowing your every move wasn’t just a strategy it was power.

So here he was, standing at the door of the house you and Maddy shared. He already knew Maddy wouldn’t be home—cheerleading practice bled seamlessly into her usual plans with Cassie. She wouldn’t be back for hours.

And you? You’d be here. Alone.

But Nate didn’t need you to know that he knew. That wasn’t the game. Not yet.

He rapped on the door three deliberate knocks, then stepped back, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the driveway like he wasn’t sure if anyone was even home. He played the part well. The boy-next-door politeness masking something colder, something sharper.

The door opened slowly. You stood there, caught off guard. Exactly what he’d planned for.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, almost too casual. Like he’d just happened to stop by. Like none of this had been rehearsed in his mind a hundred times over.