Page 13 of With This Mask
"Breaking the ice," I answer, stepping closer. "Look, I know you never meant for me to see… what I saw. I wasn’t really meaning to snoop. I know we’ve been at each other’s throats for years, but Alec, I'm not going to tell anyone about Vice, okay? That's your... thing."
"Is it?" He leans back against the table, arms crossed, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Why should I trust you?"
"Because I need to pass this class more than I enjoy blackmailing people." My gaze doesn't waver, meeting his icy blue stare head-on. "And because we're both adults who can keep secrets.”
He stares at me, and I can see a vulnerability in his eyes that’s never been there before. It’s guarded behind a foot of ice. But he’s scared. I can see it.
Vice means something to him. Something significant.
And he’s scared that I’m going to rip that away from him.
“I promise, Alec,” I say softly, allowing myself the first bit of vulnerability in his presence. “I’m not going to tell anyone. But I do want to know why. Why do you do it?"
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He takes a shaky breath in and out. For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to break down, or kick me out. But then, something shifts in his posture, a subtle loosening of tension.
"Freedom," he finally says, his voice low. "When I'm Vice, nobody knows me. No preconceived notions, no legacy bullshit. They don't see the Vanderholt name—they see... they see a guy. Just a guy. Nobody wants anything from me."
The vulnerability in his admission catches me off guard. I've never seen him anything but poised, untouchable. But here, now, I catch a glimpse of something raw beneath the surface.
"I started the account... Honestly, I was pissed at my father. We’d just had a huge fight about expectations and keeping up appearances. I… I didn't think it'd blow up like this."
"I’ll say,” I laugh in a huff. “You have half the internet panting over you.”
He glares at me at that. He turns away, lacing his fingers through that blond hair. And I get a damn nice view of him silhouetted against the sunset out the window.
"Shit, Salem." Alec's voice cuts through the silence, raw and shaky. Not the cool, collected tone I'm used to. "It wasn't for money or fame. It was just..." He trails off, searching for words that seem to stick in his throat.
"Must be fucking liberating,” I muse, unable to help myself. "I…"
Alec looks back over his shoulder at me, curiosity arching a brow.
I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming in my throat. My own confession feels as heavy as lead on my tongue, but if Alec can peel back a layer, maybe I owe it to this strange truce to do the same.
"Fuck, I..." I start, tripping over the admission. "I've always wanted to... you know, explore. Figure out what all the fuss is about." My cheeks burn with the truth of it. "But I'm too damn… controlled. I’d never say I’m exceptionally shy, but when it comes to… that…"
"Salem Winters has desires?" Alec's lips twitch, a hint of a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Color me shocked."
"Asshole," I retort automatically, but the tension between us shifts, becomes something charged yet fragile. Like we're both walking a tightrope between enmity and something else—something neither of us ever would have expected.
"Exploration's not a crime," he says, his voice softer than I've ever heard it. "You're allowed to want things, Salem."
"Sure," I scoff, pushing back the sudden warmth his words spark in my chest. "As long as it's quiet, proper, and doesn't make waves, right?"
"Fuck 'proper,'" he says, surprising me again. I look back at him, and I can’t believe the sincerity burning in those blue eyes. His jaw is hard, his shoulders squared. "Do what you want. Be who you want to be. Nobody else gets a say."
"Easy said, harder to do," I mutter, but the seed is planted, growing wild and untamed in the pit of my stomach. What would it be like to shed the expectations, the good girl persona, and just... be?
Alec watches me, and I can feel the unspoken challenge hanging in the air. He's unknowingly thrown down another gauntlet, one that tempts with the forbidden fruit of freedom—a taste of what it could mean to truly discover myself, outside of whispers and judgments.
His eyes study me. Really study me. From top to bottom, in a way that leaves me blushing from head to toe.
“I’ll trust you to keep your word, Winters,” he says, his business demeanor suddenly back in place. He puts his things back in his bag. “We’ll finish the project. I’ll see you tomorrow to work on it.”
And he just walks out of the room like nothing serious, deep, and intimate just happened, leaving me with my mouth hanging open like a fucking idiot.
chapter seven
The clock ticks relentlessly, its soft sound echoing through the small back room of the library. I'm hunched over my textbooks, scribbling notes with a fervor that borders on manic. The pressure of mid-terms is enough to make anyone crack, and I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread.