Teacher's Pet

Author: Katerina St Clair

Edited by: Kira Marie

Cover Art: Katerina St Clair (Paperbacks)

Cover Art: Aliyah N Reed (Dust jacket)

Cover Art: Sofiya Ivanov (Hardcovers)

Interior Art: Anatolii M

Copyright © 2025 by Katerina St Clair

All rights reserved.  

Printed in: United States of America

Disclaimer: No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews.

A Message to my Readers:

Please refrain from proceeding with this story if you find themes of consensual-non consent uncomfortable. Additionally, I encourage you to step back if age-gap relationships are not to your taste. This narrative is entirely fictional and intended for entertainment. Kindly review the trigger warning list thoroughly. Thank you.

Trigger Warning List

Read this list of trigger warnings carefully before proceeding with the story:

Bloodplay

Bondage

Drugs/Alcohol abuse/Addiction

Murder

Stalking/Harassment

Graphic violence/Death on page

Dom/Sub play

Non-consensual sex

Consensual non-consent

Oral sex

Anal sex

Harassment

Age gap relationship

Masochist/Sadist characters

Mental illness

Abuse

Playlist

Teacher's Pet- Melanie Martinez

Cigarette- Shaya Zamora

Bittersuite- Billie Eilish

Daddy Issues- The Neighbourhood

Sinner- Shaya Zamora

Older- Isabel LaRosa

In My Veins- Andrew Belle

In your arms- Sombr

Can't pretend- Tom Odell

Detention- Melanie Martinez

Show & Tell- Melanie Martinez

Flesh X Blood- David Kushner

Heaven Sees- David Kushner

Poison- David Kushner

Pleasure- Two Feet

Dedication

For all the girls who were jealous of Aria Montgomery.

This one is for you.

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

12. Chapter 12

13. Chapter 13

14. Chapter 14

15. Chapter 15

16. Chapter 16

17. Chapter 17

18. Chapter 18

19. Chapter 19

20. Chapter 20

21. Chapter 21

22. Chapter 22

23. Chapter 23

24. Chapter 24

25. Chapter 25

26. Chapter 26

27. Chapter 27

28. Chapter 28

29. Chapter 29

30. Chapter 30

31. Chapter 31

32. Chapter 32

33. Chapter 33

34. Chapter 34

35. Chapter 35

36. Chapter 36

37. Chapter 37

38. Chapter 38

39. Chapter 39

40. Chapter 40

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Anastasia

Spokehaven University.

My one shot at doing something right in my life.

College is my last opportunity to reshape everything, to make something of myself.

To be better than the person I was just a few months ago.

For most people, Spokehaven is nothing more than an overpriced ticket away from home, a golden pass to escape the watchful eyes of parents with deep pockets, a path straight into endless parties and cheap thrills.

But there was once a time when college was a ticket for me too.

A chance at a full-ride scholarship in nursing, the dream of becoming someone I could be proud of, alongside Cole, my high school sweetheart. He had his athletic scholarship, and I had my academic one. Together, we were supposed to make our parents proud, to live the perfect college life.

The reality of how it all fell apart still haunts me. Finding an excuse to explain why Cole and I split up was torturous. My parents loved him, probably more than they cared to admit.

And for a while, I thought I loved him too.

If it weren’t for the shit he had on me and my dad’s cancer diagnosis, I would’ve gladly told them how on the night of prom Cole dumped a gallon of cum in my best friend, completely shattering any vision I had for that evening.

That night was never supposed to go the way it did.

But now Cole and Erica strut around this campus like royalty. You wouldn’t even guess I once confided in both of them, shared my deepest secrets. The way they look through me now, it’s like I don’t even exist to them.

"You're glaring," Elijah remarks, his voice light but knowing.

I tug my hoodie down, shifting to get a better look at him. It’s obvious he put more effort into getting dressed this morning than I did.
He’s rocking bright baby blue overalls and a Nirvana tee, though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t actually listen to them. His chest is covered in an array of pins, each one a little louder than the last. His wild, red curls are tamed under a bright blue beanie, and the whole look screams his carefree, eclectic style.

"It’s like fifty degrees out," I scoff, taking my time to really study his outfit.

He grins, not missing a beat. "I forgot that gives everyone the perfect excuse to dress like they raided Goodwill’s dumpster," he mocks, giving me a playful nudge.

"I have clothes on under the hoodie," I snap, the annoyance creeping in.

Elijah doesn’t seem to notice as he casually plops down next to me on the bench, closing the gap between us until there’s barely any room left.

"Do you know why I started talking to you, Ana?" he asks, his voice softer now, though he deliberately avoids using my full name.

God, I absolutely hate it when people call me Anastasia.
It feels like a name reserved for someone who’s got their shit together, someone who isn’t a complete screw-up.

I tug at my hair, irritated, and swat Elijah’s hand away.

"Gingers gotta stick together," he jokes, and finally, a smile cracks through.

Despite the drama and his over-the-top fashion choices, Elijah is one of the few people I can call a real friend, someone who never judges me, even when he probably should. I remember on my first day here, Elijah picked me out in the back of the classroom and launched into a lecture about who the hottest guys were in our classes. I played along, mostly because my mind was still tangled up in thoughts of Cole. But over the past few days, something shifted. I found myself seeking out Elijah more and more, eventually inviting him back to my dorm to meet Megan.

Other than Elijah, she’s really the only person I can tolerate here. Megan has dark olive skin, short black hair, and a quiet confidence. She moved here from Taiwan when she was three, meeting her stepdad soon after.

Calling her a genius feels like an understatement.

Sometimes, when I catch her glancing over my homework, I wonder if she questions why I’m even in college.

"Who are we glaring at?" Megan asks as she joins us, settling into our usual spot under the willow tree outside the creative wing of campus.

Spokehaven is a true architectural marvel.
Years older than most universities, the campus is one massive structure, split into wings, with large glass windows and a gothic aesthetic that gives it a haunting yet majestic charm. It’s the kind of place you can’t help but marvel at, even if you don’t want to.

With its small student population, Spokehaven is as exclusive as they come, reserved mostly for the rich and the future neurosurgeons, the ones with the kind of ambition that doesn’t bother with morals.

My dad used to work here before he got sick, teaching physics. He helped me get my foot in the door, but the deal was clear; I had to stay out of trouble.

If the administration at Spokehaven ever found out what Cole knows, I’d be out on my ass faster than I could blink.
Or worse, I'd end up behind bars.

That’s Cole’s only leverage over me.

And it's my only leverage over him.

What really happened the night I found out about him and Erica?

As much as I want to blame everything on a messy breakup, I know the truth.

It’s not just about that.

Deep down, I’m terrified of what will happen if Cole decides he’s done protecting my secret.

No one will believe me.

No one will believe he was there.

No one will believe he was the one behind the wheel.

It’s his word against mine.

And he knows how much power that gives him.

"No one," I shrug, trying to act casual as if I wasn’t staring at Cole from a distance.

Megan follows the path of my eyes, quickly piecing together who I was really looking for.

"I don’t know why you bother," she mutters, her voice tinged with annoyance. "He’s a cheating bastard."

Elijah, always the one to add his two cents, chimes in, "He’s not exactly someone I’d call fuckable."

If only I were so observant because of jealousy.

I know he saw the same headline I did in Spokehaven’s paper last week. He may act like it doesn’t bother him, but it’s only a matter of time before the cops start sniffing around this campus.

The question is, who will they come for first?
Cole? Or me?

"Trust me," I snap, sliding off the top of the table. "What Cole considers sex is far from fucking."

Cole has tan skin, bright brown eyes, and curly hair that rests on his shoulders. To some, he might look like a perfect candidate for a Nike ad.

But as gorgeous as he is on the outside, the way he treats women in bed is borderline criminal.

His idea of a good time? Head pushing and a hell of a lot of blowjobs.
The second he’s done with you, kiss your orgasm goodbye.

"Do you even know what fucking is?" Elijah asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Of course she does," Megan replies, swatting Elijah’s arm with a grin. "Not everyone is an encyclopedia on who has the best dick on campus."

I point at Megan, nodding in agreement. "What that lovely woman over there said."

Elijah laughs and grins, wrapping his arms around both of us as we make our way toward the art wing. "Don’t be mad because I get more than both of you."

We bump into each other as we laugh, a rare moment of lightness in the middle of all the chaos.

"Are we doing movies at your dorm tonight?" Elijah asks, grinning like a kid with a secret.

Every Friday night, without fail, Elijah shows up at mine and Megan's dorm with an armful of old movies, ready to "educate" us on what real cinema looks like. Last week, he made us sit through Mean Girls, insisting that Regina George was basically Erica, as if comparing the two would somehow make me feel better about her and Cole.

Unlike Regina, running Erica over with a bus would not be considered a socially acceptable solution to my problems.

I almost wonder if Erica somehow makes Regina look like a decent human being.

"It is Friday," I sigh, reluctantly conceding. "But I swear to God, if you try to make me sit through another one of those bitchy teen comedies-"

Suddenly, someone collides with my shoulder, cutting me off mid-sentence. The jolt makes Megan and Elijah stumble, and Elijah spins around, ready to snap at the person who just crashed into us.

"Hey, you dipshit-"

But then I see who it is.

Cole.

Elijah’s words die in his throat, his mouth snapping shut as Cole’s gaze sweeps over me. He smirks, clearly amused by how flustered I am. He looks down at me with that all-too-familiar air of authority. I rub my arm, instinctively keeping a safe distance from him.

"Anastasia," he says, his voice dripping with acknowledgment.

I tense up. Fuck, I hate when he calls me by my full name.

Maybe that’s why I’m so adamant about people calling me Ana.

"Cole," I mutter, avoiding his gaze as I look around for Erica. He catches my distraction and smirks knowingly.

"She’s already in class. I just walked her there," he says, his tone almost accusing. "I think you have a class with her this semester. But I’m sure you already knew that."

"Is there something you want, Cole?" Elijah asks, his voice laced with sass. "Or can you move on and learn how to walk without bumping into people?" He stands with his hand propped on his hip, exuding an air of challenge.

Cole smirks at the nasty glances Megan and Elijah throw his way, then leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. The proximity sends chills down my spine, and I can't stop myself from trembling as he lingers too close.

"You think they’d still be defending you if they knew your secrets like I do, Anastasia?" His voice is a low taunt, and my heart stutters in my chest.

Now I know he’s seen the article.

Fighting every urge to walk away, my body betrays me the second his lips touch my ear. I feel the burn of his presence, the weight of his words. I want to scream at him… maybe even push him away, but instead, I act on instinct.

With a sharp motion, I slap my hand across his face.

Cole stumbles back, clutching his reddened cheek, his eyes wide with a mix of surprise and anger.

"I told you to stay the hell away from me," I hiss, my voice cold. "Let that be a warning."

I grab Megan and Elijah, pulling them with me as we continue walking, leaving Cole to stew in his own self-pity.

"I’ll remember that, Anastasia," he calls after us, but I don’t turn around.

"What the hell was that about?" Elijah whispers, his concern evident.

"Nothing," I say with a smile, trying to reassure them both.

But that’s the farthest thing from the truth.

Anything involving Cole is never just "nothing." And deep down, I know he knows that.

If his focus wasn’t on me before, it sure as hell is now.

Chapter 2

Anastasia

After walking Elijah and Megan to their class, I veer off toward the English wing, leaving the creative space behind me. As much as I’d love to fill my schedule with more creative classes, being a freshman means my options are limited. Aside from my photography class, the rest of my schedule is filled with Literature and general education courses.

I guess that's my own fault for choosing English as my major.

At first, nursing seemed like my only option. After my dad got sick, and the chemotherapy slowly drained his quality of life, the idea of watching someone go from healthy to bedridden felt unimaginable. Walking away from someone in pain, after I’ve exhausted every possible option to help them, seemed like something I could handle in a nursing position.

That ideology faltered when I was forced to face it in real life.

The brisk winter draft dances across my skin, urging me to tug on the strings of my hoodie, pulling the hood tight to shield myself from the cold. Like Elijah said, lately my wardrobe’s been nothing but oversized hoodies and warm joggers. Before college, I used to meticulously plan my outfits, always picking the best pieces to accentuate my features. Now though, hiding every inch of myself from prying eyes feels a lot more comforting.

I cross my arms, rubbing them as I count room numbers, trying to track down this damned Classic Literature class. Unlike Megan and Elijah, who had their schedules and routes memorized on day one, I’ve been taking my time learning the layout of the school. Today is the second day of the semester, and my first day in this class, thanks to the school’s alternating schedule.

Three classes a day, switching every other day.

The periods are long, but the class sizes are small, designed to make the teacher's lives a bit easier.

"408," I whisper, finally locking eyes with the bold numbers on the door.

Rubbing my hands together to ward off the cold, I look around, confused as to why I'm the only one waiting outside the classroom.

Odd. Most freshmen are eager to get a head start on class. Glancing at my watch, I click my tongue in frustration.

"Elijah and Megan's class has already started," I mutter under my breath, yanking my schedule free from my bag.

Dragging my finger down the paper, I stop at room 408’s first period start time.

"First period," I whisper. "7:30?"

"So where the hell is everyone?" I exclaim, my voice rising slightly as I glance around the empty hallway.

Running a hand through my hair, I tug my hood lower, making the executive decision to wait it out in the silent classroom. I nudge the door with my shoulder, half-expecting a room full of students to look up at me, silently judging me for being late.

But when I step inside, there’s no sign of life, just a cup of coffee sitting on the professor’s desk. I tilt my head, confused.

You’d think someone as old as Mr. Matthews would be punctual, especially when it comes to letting students know about a delayed start.

Elijah shared a few things about Mr. Matthews, mainly that he’s old, jaded, and hates his job.

Sounds like the perfect candidate for teaching, right?

I wander around the room, hands shoved in my pockets, admiring the vintage book posters on the walls. Most of them are dedicated to Midsummer Night’s Dream and other works by Shakespeare. But one poster catches my eye.

Tucked in the corner of the wall is a vintage Star Wars poster, somehow fitting in perfectly with the rest of the decor. I can’t help but laugh, amused by the unexpected pop culture clash.

"Elijah failed to mention Matthews is a nerd," I scoff, my voice tinged with annoyance.

I shouldn't be surprised. I mean, it’s not like an old man can’t still enjoy a little geeky charm, right?

But then a deep voice breaks through my thoughts, sending a jolt through me.

"Shit, am I late for a meeting?"

I snap around, my heart skipping a beat as I lock eyes with a man far younger than what Elijah described. Instantly, heat floods my cheeks, and my nosiness retreats, replaced by an overwhelming urge to just disappear.

The man stands tall, wearing a gray sweater and black slacks cinched with a brown belt, so perfectly styled, he looks like he stepped out of a Pinterest board labeled 'Dark Academia Outfits.' With golden-brown eyes, dark, short, curly hair, and slight stubble, he towers over me at a solid 6'4", his larger build hidden beneath the neat attire.

I try to focus on anything but how attractive he is, my mind scrambling for something intelligent to say. I open my mouth, but then quickly decide to shut it before I make an even bigger fool of myself.

"Oh, you're not a teacher," he says, his tone flat, completely uninterested in my presence. It's as if I’m the last person he expected, or wanted, to see.

I can feel my frustration building, and I retort without thinking.

"And you're not Mr. Matthews," I snap, pointing at him with an accusatory finger.

He raises an eyebrow and glances at his desk. Without a word, he grabs the nameplate and tosses it between his hands before holding it up for me to see.

"Mr. Ackerman, actually," he says, clearly vocalizing the name as if I should’ve known it. "I’m taking over for Mr. Matthews this school year."

Confusion rushes over me as I glance around the empty classroom.

"Taking over?" I repeat, frowning. "Where did he go?"

"Matthews got into some issues with his wife," Mr. Ackerman says, his voice flat and disinterested. "Seems a nasty divorce was enough to make him take a temporary leave of absence."

He leans back against the edge of his desk, grabbing his cup of coffee, and slowly takes a sip. His eyes linger on me, studying me like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to solve.

"Where are all the other students?" I ask, trying to ignore the heat creeping up my neck and cheeks every time my gaze lands on him.

Fuck, when the hell has a teacher ever looked like that?

"You like to talk, don’t you?" he asks with a hint of annoyance, flipping his wrist up to check his watch.

Scratch that.

Sexy face aside, he’s a total asshole.

"Well, given every other class started at 7:30-"

"Joy," he interrupts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "On top of dense questions and intrusion, you also clearly don't read your email."

I’m sure my jaw is about to hit the floor from the shock of his crudeness, but I manage to gather some courage to speak up.

"Last time I checked, your job is to educate, not to be a condescending asshole," I snap, my words biting. "Maybe next time you should lock the door if you don't want people walking in here. No, I didn’t check my email. I figured your class would be the same as all the rest-"

"I will ask you once to check your tone," he snaps back, his voice suddenly cold and sharp, like ice. "Today is purely an introduction. Admin decided a whole class period wasn’t necessary for that. Today, and only today, class starts at 8:00 am. But given you’re already here, I suppose I need to start getting ready now," he says this like I’ve interrupted some private moment.

"Right, because thirty minutes without students would have made you more pleasant," I mutter under my breath as he turns toward the board.

Instantly, I feel the air shift. He freezes and the chalk slips from his fingers. Slowly, he turns around, his expression darkening, and takes a step closer to me.

He's no longer the somewhat distant, if slightly annoying, teacher. Now, he’s standing just a few feet away, looking considerably less welcoming.

I take an involuntary step back, my lower back hitting the desk behind me, leaving me with no room to move.

"I told you to check your tone," he warns, his voice low and dangerous. "Given our brief introduction, I worry you and I aren’t going to see eye to eye in this classroom."

Brooding and intimidating, I pull back my shoulders, refusing to let this authoritative asshole see me back down.

The last thing I’m going to do is give him any ground.

"What a shame," I hiss, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge. I take a step closer, my gaze sweeping over him with cool disdain. The corner of my mouth curls up into a smirk. "I'm sure you would have loved for me to cling to your every word," I taunt, the sarcasm dripping from my voice. "But I’m sure you'll find plenty of eager students ready to become your teacher's pet," I grin. "Sadly, it won’t be me. So, if you’ll excuse me-"

I move my hand, intending to nudge him out of my way, but his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with a vise-like grip, stopping me dead in my tracks. My breath catches in my throat, frozen in shock at his harsh response.

"You'd benefit from learning some respect," he whispers, tightening his hold on my wrist, his voice low and dangerous. "I suppose it’s a good thing I’m your teacher now."

I tug my wrist, desperate to break free, but my mouth is quicker than my mind.

"The only way anyone gets me to listen to them is when my wrists are bound to a headboard," I sneer, throwing the sexual imagery at him, hoping to rattle him. "So unless you're willing to lose your job, I guess you're out of luck."

I nudge him with my shoulder, my anger simmering just beneath the surface, and storm toward the back of the room to grab my stuff. But his voice halts me once again, sharp and commanding.

"Anastasia Burns," he says clearly, each syllable of my name punctuated as if he’s marking territory.

"Just Ana," I snap, irritation bubbling up. "No one calls me Anastasia here."

"Alright, Ana," he beams, the sudden shift in his tone mocking me. Tapping his finger on one of the desks at the front of the room, he raises his eyebrows, daring me to argue. "You'll be sitting up here."

I scoff, looking around the classroom.

"I didn’t realize we had a seating chart," I mutter, irritation creeping into my voice.

"You do now," Mr. Ackerman smirks, clearly enjoying this moment of power.

As the classroom door opens and students begin to file in, he taps the desk once more, drawing my attention back to him.

"Better hurry, Anastasia," he says, his tone almost smug.

The moment I hear my full name leave his mouth, my stomach tightens. Flustered, I scramble to grab my things and take a seat, hoping no one notices the tension unfolding in front of them. As Mr. Ackerman walks away, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, the urge to kick him in the ankles is almost too tempting to ignore.

So flustered that I’m starting to overheat, I quickly tug off my hoodie. Looking down at my choice of clothing beneath it, it’s clear that comfort was my only goal this morning.

I’m wearing a tight, soft, light gray compression shirt, and it doesn’t take long to realize just how badly I should have worn a bra, given the chilly weather. With my larger breasts, the material clings to my skin, and my nipples are clearly visible through it. Paired with dark sweatpants that hug my curves and my larger ass, the outfit feels more suited for bed than for being out in public around my peers.

Note to self: never wake up fifteen minutes before you have to get to class.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover up, especially from Mr. Ackerman’s view. Leaning back into my chair, I glance around at my classmates, already pissed off when I realize that no one else seems to be following any kind of seating arrangement. They take seats wherever they please, and my gaze snaps back to Mr. Ackerman’s desk in frustration.

From behind his desk, he leans in, watching me with a satisfied expression, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to get under my skin.

"God, look at him," a girl behind me whispers to her friend, clearly drooling over the sight of our power-hungry professor.

"I wouldn’t mind staying after class with him," her friend purrs, the words making me legitimately want to vomit.

I can’t help but think how much he’d probably love hearing that, his ego no doubt swelling at the attention.

"Is anyone sitting here?" a voice interrupts my hateful stare at Mr. Ackerman, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Slowly craning my head, I lower my arms and look up at the bright-eyed man standing above me. He's wearing a Spokehaven University hoodie, and his wide grin somehow makes his blond hair and bright blue eyes shine even more in this light. He points to the desk beside me, and I do my best to gather my words.

"N-no," I stammer, forcing a smile as I wave for him to take the seat.

He sits down with that same grin, nudging his bag aside and settling into the desk with his broad build. Even so, he's not as tall as our professor.

I wonder if Professor Ackerman would even fit comfortably into one of these desks, given his size.

"Have you taken this class before?" the man asks, trying to make small talk.

"No, but it pertains to my major," I grin, the conversation starting to feel less awkward. "I’m a freshman."

"This was one of my general classes," he gripes, rolling his eyes. "Sophomore," he adds, clarifying as he extends his hand toward me. "Walker," he says, finally giving me a name.

"Ana," I beam, shaking his hand. "Are you from Spokehaven-"

"Alright, guys, I think that’s enough talking," Mr. Ackerman interrupts, his voice cutting through the classroom.

He grabs a piece of chalk and writes his name on the board, brushing off his hands afterward. He scans the room with a calculated look, and for some reason, it feels like his gaze is fixed on Walker and me despite the dozens of other students around us.

"I am Professor Ackerman," he announces, his voice firm. "I’m taking over for Mr. Matthews this year. Clearly, I am not the oldest professor on this campus, but don’t let that deter you from what kind of work I expect from you this semester. This semester you will all grow tremendously as writers and readers," he pauses, letting the words hang in the air before his eyes settle on me. "And you will do so with no lip."

My stomach tightens, and I raise my hand, already bracing myself.

"Yes, Ms. Burns?" he asks, his tone smug.

Fuck this guy.

"Mr. Matthews has years of experience under his belt," I start, my voice cool. "That’s why most of us did all we could to get into this class-"

It’s not a lie.

"How do you plan on competing with his knowledge?" I ask, throwing his age right back in his face.

A small scoff escapes him, and he walks over to my desk, tapping his knuckles on its surface as if to punctuate the moment.

"I assure you, Ms. Burns, my age does not hinder my experience whatsoever," he says, his voice dripping with self-assurance. "I’m sure you’ll see that."

My stomach drops, and an unwelcome heat flares up in a place I’d rather not admit to.

Satisfied by my silence, he grabs a book from his desk and waves it in the air.

"For the rest of class," he says, shifting back into his authoritative mode, "determine who your scene partner will be this semester."

He pauses, and I can see the weight of his words landing in the room.

"We have a long road ahead of us."

Chapter 3

Noah

Ican't remember the last time I had to shift my pants to hide an erection in the presence of a woman, let alone a student.

Over the past three years of teaching, not a single student has ever triggered such a reaction from my body, even the ones who were easy on the eyes.

Working in colleges, I always know my age and the age of my students will clash. At only thirty, my face is deceiving, often catching the attention of students and staff alike. At first, I was flattered, thinking I must be doing something right. Now, it bothers me how often the girls in my classroom gawk, looking at me as if I’m about to bend them over my desk and take them.

It’s the last thing I’d ever let myself entertain.

So tell me, why the hell did Anastasia Burns have me readjusting my cock after she threw me that shitty attitude when we were alone this morning? When I looked at her, I could see in her eyes that the last thing on her mind was my looks. No, she wanted to push me. She wanted to see if she could make me snap with annoyance.

In most scenarios, a student like that would go straight to admin. I’ve done it plenty of times before. So why am I so eager to hear her pretty mouth open and try to deliver me a new one?

When I grabbed her wrist and watched her defenseless eyes peer up at me, something twisted entered my mind, only adding to the blood flow building between my legs.

I like seeing her so vulnerable because of my authority.

I regretfully loved it even more when she took off that hoodie.

She doesn’t notice, too busy throwing me nasty looks, but many of the boys in the classroom stare at her, eyes devouring her enticing curves and fiery red hair. Her cheeks flush pink, her eyes a bright green-blue. She traps her bottom lip between her teeth as she writes, and I struggle to hold back the urge to explore her chest with my eyes, focusing instead on how her nipples poke through that tight shirt.

Why am I looking at her so closely? I’ve been with enough women to keep thoughts like this stowed away. It’s not like I’ve never seen a woman like her before. There are hundreds of beautiful women on this campus, plenty in teaching positions, yet I can’t stop myself from watching her devour Walker’s half-assed attempt at flirting. The moment she takes off her hoodie, he makes a beeline for her desk, doing what so many boys in the class are too nervous to do... flirt with her.

Now sitting inches apart, they scoot their desks closer together, flipping through Shakespeare's plays, trying to decide on a scene.

His knee brushes against hers, and his hand hovers near her thigh, but he quickly decides to keep it to himself, despite how desperately he wishes he could feel her.

I tap my pen against my desk, forcing myself to look away from the pair and focus on the other students huddled together in their groups. It’s not like he and Ana are doing anything out of the ordinary, so why the hell am I so agitated by the sight?

Trying to concentrate on finalizing my lesson plans for the week, the quiet room is suddenly rattled by an addictive laugh, quickly stifled by her hands as she glances up at my desk.

Red in the cheeks from embarrassment, Ana hides her laugh. Moving his head away from her ear, it’s clear Walker whispered something to her, causing her to burst out in laughter. Laughter I wouldn’t mind hearing again.

The problem is, I hate that he’s the one making her laugh.

"I didn’t realize Shakespeare was such a comedic topic, Ms. Burns," I say with annoyance, making sure to enunciate her name.

"Sorry, Mr. Ackerman," she replies with an icy gaze. "Won’t happen again, sir," she adds, throwing me an innocent expression.

The flood of heat begins again at the sound of "sir" from her mouth, and I thank God for this desk. It’s the only thing hiding the burden I’m forced to carry right now.

Keeping her cold gaze fixed on me, I challenge her with one of my own.

She only looks away when Walker whispers something else to her, and I watch as she nods, her face lighting up with a smile at the sight of him.

As the bell chimes, signaling the end of class, the students begin gathering their things, eager to rush off to their next class. My eyes follow Walker as he trails beside her, and before I can stop myself, my mouth starts moving faster than my mind.

"Ms. Burns, you mind staying back for a few moments?" I ask, watching the confused expressions flash across both her and Walker's faces.

"Why?" she asks, already bracing for a fight.

"Your attitude this morning hasn’t been addressed," I warn, surprised by the authority in my voice. "We can talk in front of your friend or you and I can have a private discussion."

Her eyes narrow with anger, making it clear I've pissed her off once again.

"I’ll catch you around campus," she says to Walker. "I’ll text you about the movie if my friends are okay with you coming," she adds, flashing him a bright smile, earning a smirk from him.

"I hope to hear from you."

She gives me a brief, nasty look, and I can tell Walker is far from amused by me.

Pity.

She moves closer to my desk, watching Walker leave before crossing her arms when we’re finally alone.

"Yes?" she asks, her voice dripping with disdain, allowing herself to look down on me.

I clench my jaw, waiting until I know I’m safe to stand, then rise slowly, allowing my body to move around the desk. I take my stand, looking down at her, feeling her confident facade begin to falter the longer I hold her gaze.

What is she thinking right now?

Is her heart racing at the idea of being in trouble?

Or is it racing because of me?

"I won't have you speak to me like that again in my classroom," I say, my voice low and sharp as I give her a stern look.

"Then don't give me a reason to speak to you that way," she snaps back. "The last thing I need right now is to suffer through a semester with a teacher who has it out for me-"

"Maybe a good start would be less talking during class," I fire back, my words coming faster than my thoughts.

"With Walker?" she questions, her eyes narrowing. "He's my scene partner. What else were we supposed to do-"

"That's all you and Walker were talking about? Just class work?" I ask, the curiosity slipping out before I can stop it.

I don’t know where this nosiness is coming from.

"I don't see how that's any of your business-" she starts, but I cut her off.

"You're in my classroom, Anastasia," I seethe, watching her tense at the use of her full name. "What happens here is entirely under my control." I take another step closer, feeling the air between us shift. "So when I tell you to speak to me with more respect, I expect that to happen."

She slowly nods her head, a smirk tugging at her lips.

God, the things I could do to that mouth to wipe that smirk clean off her face.

Why isn't she backing down? Why does she stand here with such defiance?

"Fine, Ackerman," she says, dropping the honorific. "I'll give you all the gratification and respect you want," she sneers, something bitter underlying her tone. "So long as you refrain from staring at my breasts next time my nipples decide to show on a cold day. When you want to have a look, maybe just ask me directly instead of hiding behind a book."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, too frazzled to find my response. She pats my chest with an almost careless gesture, completely unfazed by my anger.

"I have a lot bigger things to worry about than a power-hungry, self-absorbed teacher," she hisses. "Maybe you should have singled out one of the dozen other students who would have loved some one-on-one time with you. Have a good rest of your day-" She pauses, grabs my badge, and takes her sweet time looking over the name. "Noah."

She walks away, grabbing her bag, leaving me utterly frozen, caught in a wave of confusion and some dangerous, unhealthy emotions.

My nails dig into my palms so hard that my knuckles turn white, and I have to fight the instinct to coil my hand into her long red hair, to force her to shut up and focus on something else.

A flare of heat rushes to my cheeks, and I can feel the blood flow between my legs rise as I try to process what the hell just happened.

"When you want to have a look, maybe just ask me directly…."

So this is a game for you, Anastasia? One that you think you have the upper hand in?

Tapping my foot, I glance at her empty desk, the memory of her smirk lingering in my mind.

"I'm just disciplining her," I whisper to myself, trying to convince myself. "That's all this is."

The next set of students begin filing into class, but I look past every single one of them, not once pausing or watching the way I had with her.

Game or not-

Something deep inside tells me that today is not the last time Anastasia Burns will take residence in my mind.

Chapter 4

Anastasia

"Meg, I’m telling you, this asshole finds every single opportunity to single me out. It’s almost like he’s pissed off that I’m not ready to kneel at his feet and kiss his ass just because of his looks," I scoff, taking a large bite from the sandwich I grabbed from the dining hall.

Seated at the back of the dining hall, we all stick to ourselves. Thankfully, Meg and Elijah value their privacy just as much as I do.

"I had a friend in your English class tell me he was glaring at your desk the whole time you were there," Elijah grins. "Whatever you said to him, it definitely pissed him off." His grin widens as he adds, "She also told me Mr. Ackerman wasn’t the only yummy man in the classroom giving you googly eyes. Who’s this boy you're scene partners with?"

I freeze mid-bite, scanning the dining hall until I spot him.

Seated with a group of other guys wearing baseball hoodies, Walker is laughing it up, grinning like he owns the place.

"Blondie over there with the baseball boys." I point. "Walker."

Both Meg and Elijah turn their heads to give him a good, long look.

"Rich boy?" Meg jokes, nudging my shoulder lightly.

"Right, because this college isn’t full of privilege?" I gripe, rolling my eyes.

Elijah’s smile grows mischievously.

"What are you-"

"Hey, Walker!" Elijah suddenly exclaims, his voice ringing loudly across the dining hall.

I watch as Walker’s head snaps in our direction, and I quickly cover my face with my hands.

"Elijah, what the hell?" I whisper angrily.

"If he wants to come to one of our movie nights, I think it’s only fair we meet him first and evaluate," Elijah says with a wicked grin.

"Elijah-"

"You called me?" Walker says, his voice filled with surprise and amusement as he approaches our table.

Sensing him right behind me, I pull my head up from the table, my cheeks instantly flushed with embarrassment, the heat creeping up my neck.

"My friends wanted to say hi," I manage to grin, kicking Elijah under the table to snap him out of whatever judgmental thoughts he’s having.

Walker gives me a warm smile, settling down next to me without hesitation.

"Well, here I am."

I watch as my friends give him a once-over, their silent assessment making the air feel heavier.

"So, Walker," Megan begins, locking eyes with him, "what are your intentions with our dear Ana?"

My stomach tightens as she shoots him a searing gaze, her tone all business.

Elijah leans forward, adding his own bite to the conversation.

"Follow-up question: what about her made you want to single her out in English?"

I could die right now.

Walker meets their challenge with ease, his voice steady.

"Honestly, I thought she was extremely beautiful, and it was clear that if I didn’t say something to her, someone else would." He glances at me, his honesty making my heart flutter. "So I took a chance on talking to her, and she invited me to your little movie night."

Elijah taps his chin, nodding slowly, clearly sizing him up.

"And if you were to come to said movie night, could we count on you to bring snacks?" he asks, mimicking the act of drinking with a hand gesture.

I guess his potential wealth doesn’t matter too much anymore.

"I can most definitely bring the best snack." Walker laughs.

Just as I start to breathe easier, I feel his hand gently settle on my thigh. The touch startles me, a rush of nerves sweeping through my body.

I glance down at his hand, my heart racing as the sensation sinks in.

Resting my hand over his, I give his fingers a soft squeeze, silently reassuring him that the touch is more than welcome.

Once Megan and Elijah have gone back to their own conversation, Walker leans in, his lips brushing my ear as he whispers, "Sorry, that was nerve-wracking as hell, and I didn’t know what to do with my hand."

I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. I let myself relax into the feeling of his hand still resting on me.

"It’s okay," I whisper back, allowing the connection between us to settle comfortably.

"So, Walker," Elijah starts up again, his voice smooth with curiosity. "How well do you know those players on the baseball team?"

Objective #2 for Elijah: find more bi-curious men.

I roll my eyes inwardly, excusing myself from the conversation. I grab my tray and make my way toward the bins by the back exit of the dining hall. Tossing away my empty items, the chill of the outside air washes over me as it creeps into the dining hall, calling me to step outside for a moment of relief.

I glance back at the table. The three of them are deep in conversation, so lost in their exchange that they won’t notice if I take a few minutes to breathe.

Stepping outside, I’m met with the quiet stillness of the courtyard. Most students are in class or back in the dining hall, leaving me with the peaceful solitude of the open space.

The golden leaves have begun to turn a murky brown, a subtle sign that winter is on its way. I take in the sight of the gothic architecture that defines the campus, leaning against the wall between two grand pillars, feeling the cool stone against my back, hidden from the world.

I close my eyes, letting the calm of the courtyard seep into my bones.

These moments of stillness bring clarity.

Maybe life doesn’t have to feel like a fine line I’m constantly walking. Maybe I can indulge in the warmth of Walker’s presence and find some solace in my chaotic life.

“Anastasia?”

The voice that cuts through the quiet is grating, sending a cold shiver down my spine.

My eyes snap open, and my heart pounds faster with each beat. Standing in front of me with that cocky, infuriating expression, Cole blocks my view of the peaceful courtyard. He’s standing uncomfortably close, his body radiating heat that makes my skin prickle.

Where the hell is his little sleaze?

“What do you want?” I snap, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

The last thing I want is to entertain a conversation with this man.

"You always were so mouthy," Cole scoffs, taking another step closer. I feel the cool concrete of the wall behind me press into my back, the pillars shielding my friends from seeing how dangerously close he is.

"Which is why I'm here," he continues, his voice low. "I heard whispers the cops might extend their suspect list to this university. If they come sniffing around, the last thing I need is your big mouth saying the wrong thing."

I try to block out the memories of that night, but they claw at the edges of my mind. I shake my head, trying to push them away.

"You know what happened wasn’t my fault. You are the one-"

"You are the one who walked away, Ana," he hisses, his voice venomous. He shoves me back into the wall, the impact stealing my breath for a moment. His hand presses possessively against my hip, while the other closes around my throat, pinning me in place.

I freeze, petrified, unable to move.

"You are the one who got out and tried to help. You compromised both of us," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. He squeezes my neck, and I feel my head spin, dizziness creeping in. "I’m finally getting my life together," he whispers, tightening his grip. "The last thing I need is my slutty little ex running her mouth and ruining it all."

His words cut through me, and I gasp, struggling for air.

"Consider this a reminder of how easily I can overpower you," he sneers. "I figured after the first time you wouldn’t need a reminder."

I try to pry his hand off my throat, but it’s like he doesn’t even see me.

"C-Cole, I can’t breathe-"

He laughs darkly.

"Funny. You always loved it when I did this while fucking you-"

"What the fuck is going on?" a voice hisses, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Instantly, Cole drops his hand from my throat, and before I can gather myself, he slams his lips onto mine. The kiss is fierce and suffocating, barely giving me a chance to breathe as he forces it upon me. My mind races as I shove him away, rubbing my sore throat, shaking with fear from the weight of what just happened.

I wish I could scrub my face clean, but all I can do is wipe my lips with my hand, trying to erase the feeling.

"Just saying goodbye to an old flame," Cole scoffs, shrugging nonchalantly. "She was struggling to take a hint," he mutters, glaring at me like I’m the problem.

Noah stands there, watching the exchange with a disapproving look, his eyes barely flicking in Cole’s direction.

"Get to class before I write you up," Noah snaps, his voice sharp. "Ms. Burns, stay back for a moment."

Cole shrugs his shoulders, walking away but not before giving me one last warning look, a silent threat hanging between us. He heads back inside, and only once he’s gone do I let out a shaky sob, running my hand through my hair in frustration. Finally, I release the cough that’s been stuck in my throat, but it turns into a dry gag as I rub at my tender skin, trying to soothe the burn.

"Here to gloat about this morning?" I snap, my voice rough with emotion.

The last thing I need right now is Mr. Ackerman’s presence.

"What did he do to you?" Noah asks, his tone suddenly serious, much more than it was this morning.

"He told you, didn’t he?" I spit, my voice bitter. "Satiating the needs of his whore ex who can’t take no for an answer-"

"That’s what he said?" Noah snaps back, stepping closer to me. His eyes narrow. "I want you to tell me what really happened."

My hand instinctively presses to my throat, the memory of Cole’s words still fresh in my mind.

"Consider this a reminder of how easily I can overpower you."

"A lapse in judgment on my end," I lie, my voice shaky. "It really isn’t important-"

"Then show me your neck," Noah demands, his voice firm. "You’ve been hiding it since I got here."

Shaking my head, I try to push past him, desperate to avoid this conversation.

"I’m not doing this with you-"

Without warning, he grabs my wrist, pulling my hand away from my throat. His grip tightens as he takes the side of my face, using my hair to tug my head back, exposing the evidence of Cole’s brash touch. I freeze, stunned by his force, unable to move.

Noah’s gaze fixes on my neck, and I watch him take a step closer, his fingers tightening on my hair, pulling me into his control.

"I told you to show me your neck," he whispers, his voice dangerously soft.

His long fingers slide down my throat, and I feel a shiver run through me, my heart racing. His smirk deepens as he watches my reaction.

"Your heart is racing right now, Anastasia."

Regretfully, warmth floods between my legs the moment he says my full name in that tone. I glance around, my heart pounding, checking to see if anyone is witnessing this.

"No one is here. Just me," he warns, as if he’s reading my mind. "Next time I tell you to do something-" He pauses, leaning in so close that his lips graze my ear. "Listen."

He lets go of my face and hair, stepping back as if nothing happened, brushing off his front as if he hadn’t just had his hands all over me.

This is something I can report.

This is something I should report.

That is wrong.

So why the hell am I slick with my own desires right now?

I fight the urge to ignore everything that just happened and find my voice, taking a step toward Noah.

"I am not your problem, Noah," I hiss, throwing his first name at him like a challenge. "Do that again, and I’ll report your ass to administration," I snap, my tone sharp, my anger flaring.

He watches me, lips curling into a smirk, and then takes a step back, hands raised in mock surrender.

"See you in class, Ms. Burns."

He is the farthest thing from afraid.

Saying nothing more, I turn and walk away, the tightness in my chest shifting, now confused.

How did I go from fearful to lustful in the span of mere seconds?

Chapter 5

Noah

Watching her walk away, something dark and primal stirs within me, a twisted flame igniting as I replay the image of her reddened neck in my mind.

By chance, I stepped outside, and that’s when I saw it. The boy’s hands were all over her, shoving her against the wall, trapping her in a vulnerable, defenseless position. My body was locked in place, tense with the urge to tear him away from her. But then I saw it, the kiss.

It’s almost too much to bear.

I could’ve grabbed the back of his head and ripped him away from her by his hair right then and there.

His hand wrapped around her throat, tightening with possessive intent. His lips devouring hers, those plump pink ones, like he owns her. His other hand moving to her hip, pushing her shirt up, his fingers grazing her skin in a way I can't stand.

I see this kind of shit all over campus, students tangled up in each other, oblivious to the world around them. But why the hell does it feel so different when it’s Ana? Why does it feel like I’m ready to rip him apart?

And then, when I see the flash of fear in her eyes as he pulls away, something shifts inside me. The urge to beat the hell out of him morphs into something darker, something more violent, an instinct I never knew I had.

What the hell is happening to me?

Why the hell am I even considering the idea of touching a student like that? It doesn’t make sense.

This isn’t who I am.

But somehow, I take a sick, twisted satisfaction in seeing her so nervous around me. It churns something deep inside, something dark I can’t quite control. The worst part? I don’t even know why it excites me.

The darkest corners of my mind twist further, spiraling downward.

What would I find if I slipped my hand down her front, past those black sweatpants? What would it feel like to touch her there, to feel her pussy slick from my fingers?

Would she be soaked with anticipation from that bastard ex of hers or from someone else?

The thought makes my stomach tighten, something sharp and possessive lurching inside me. And that… that’s the real problem.

The fact that I already know which answer I’d prefer, that’s a problem in itself. It shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t even be considering it.

But I am.

I don’t want to acknowledge it. I can’t. Not for a single second.

It’s just one encounter. Outside of the classroom. Nothing more.

She’s a defiant woman, tangled in her own mess of issues, and I am her teacher. There are lines.

I can’t cross them.

The last thing I need is to get pulled into her world, to get tangled up in something I can’t undo. She has to stay at arm’s length. She has to.

I force myself to push these thoughts away, but they linger, like shadows creeping closer, threatening to consume me if I let them.

I flip my wrist, glancing at my watch, desperately trying to focus on something else—anything else.

"Maybe some coffee will help clear my mind," I mutter to myself, the words hollow, the storm in my head still raging, waiting to swallow me whole.

The staff room mirrors the extravagance of the rest of the school. In terms of finances, the school seems to have no limit, as if its only concern is creating an image of wealth and prestige. The brand-new couches, sleek kitchenware, and high-end coffee makers make the space feel less like a simple break room and more like a small, upscale apartment.

I pour myself a large mug of coffee, the rich scent filling the air. Pressing the hot ceramic against my skin, the warmth seeps through, grounding me, forcing my thoughts to steady and focus.

“She does that when she’s hungry, baby,” a female voice purrs softly, almost teasing. “Echo warned you what days off would look like when I’m not home.”

I turn, meeting the gaze of a pretty brunette holding her phone, her lips curling into a playful smile as she notices me. She gives a soft wave, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“No, Roman. You can’t give her sweets. She’s trying to trick you. She knows her daddy will do anything for her, and you’re falling for it,” she laughs, a light, easy sound as she rummages through the counter.

Using a quick glance, I grab another mug, lifting it toward her, raising my brows in a silent question.

She nods eagerly, mouthing a quiet "thank you" in return.

“New teacher?” she asks with a smile, her tone warm and inviting.

“One of the new English teachers,” I answer, extending my hand toward her in a polite, professional gesture.

She scrunches her nose, rolling her eyes playfully as she takes my hand. “Roman, hush. I’ll see you both when I get home-"

She stops mid-sentence, her cheeks flushing a deep red. The sudden shift in her demeanor catches me off guard.

"You can’t just say something like that-" she stammers, clearly rattled by whatever was said on the other end of the phone.

Even from where I’m standing, I hear the loud, "Love you, Angel," spill from the speaker. It’s unmistakable that what he just said is far from school appropriate.

Her eyes flicker to the black phone screen in her hand, and she lets out a frustrated huff, as if this is a familiar pattern.

"Eden Briar," she says with a grin, a playful edge to her voice. "That lovely man on the other line is my husband, and he still hasn’t quite adjusted to the idea of me having male co-workers." She laughs, flashing a large, dazzling sparkler on her ring finger.

Any man who can afford a ring that big in Spokehaven isn’t someone to underestimate.

I stay silent, letting her words hang in the air. But she catches the amusement in my eyes and lets out a soft laugh, clearly entertained by her husband’s possessiveness.

"Damn it, Roman," she mutters under her breath. Pulling her phone out again, she quickly shoots off a text, her fingers moving with practiced speed. "I swear, he’s the reason the whole male staff avoids me like the plague."

With a hand resting on her hip, she flashes a grin that’s both confident and teasing.

"Don’t worry," she adds, her voice light, "he’s all bark, no bite."

I doubt that.

Something about the way she says it feels too practiced, too guarded.

"You’re new this year, right?" she asks, her curiosity piqued as she gives me a quick once-over.

"Yeah," I reply, offering a relaxed smile as the conversation shifts into safer territory.

"How are you liking Spokehaven so far?" she asks, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt as she leans slightly closer.

Startled, my eyes flick to her wrists, where a maze of old white scars runs up and down her skin.

Silent remnants of a past I can't ignore.

I can't help but stare, the reality of her vulnerability hanging between us.

She notices my gaze, and a subtle shift happens in her posture. She glances down at her arms, then meets my eyes. Her voice softens, her walls momentarily lowering.

"Don’t worry," she says quietly, "the stares are sort of the trade-off for having... extreme solutions to the pain of my childhood."

I feel a knot tighten in my chest.

The rawness in her words hits too close to home.

Trust me, I get it.

Rubbing my eyes, I shake my head, trying to dislodge the overwhelming thoughts swirling in my mind. It’s like a storm that won’t let up.

"I didn’t mean to stare," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My voice is full of honesty, almost too much. "So far, it’s.…"

I trail off, my throat tight as I try to find the right words. But there’s no clear answer, not when my thoughts keep drifting in all the wrong directions.

Hell.

I can’t even finish the thought without realizing where my mind is headed.

I’m having sexual urges toward one of my students. One I can’t seem to shake.

"New," I manage, my voice quieter than I’d like. It’s like I’m barely holding it together. "It’s all very new to me."

She laughs, a sound that’s easy and free, but it only sends a wave of panic through my chest.

"Well, I’m sure you’re a huge hit with the female students," she says, her grin mischievous.

My heart stutters.

"Why would you say that?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I instinctively tug at the collar of my shirt, as if the simple gesture could shield me from the awkwardness I can’t escape.

"You’re a young teacher," she says, raising an eyebrow, her gaze knowing in a way that makes my skin itch. "Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of being attracted to people I shouldn’t," she adds with a laugh, like it’s no big deal.

She reaches for one of the complimentary muffins by the coffee pot, taking the cup I had poured for her with a gracious smile. The casualness of her actions only amplifies the tension building between us.

"My husband was my priest, after all," she adds, her smile widening.

I can’t help but grin, a light, incredulous laugh escaping me. "You’re joking."

"Not in the slightest," she says, her grin widening even more, mischief dancing in her eyes. "I totally get it if you want to give me a high five for that one," she adds with a playful wink.

Maybe I’ll have a friend here after all.

"I think I’d rather not find out what happens to me if your husband finds out I high fived you," I say, my hesitation clear in my voice, the words laced with an edge of unease.

"Now you’re learning," she grins, biting into the muffin with a satisfied crunch. "If you ever need to talk, I teach photography in the creative wing of the school."

I step back, my heart racing, but something shifts inside me, giving me the courage to ask the question that’s been gnawing at me.

"I did have one question."

She pauses mid-bite, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth as she looks at me, curious.

"Do you know anything about a student named Anastasia Burns?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I’m sure it shakes just a little.

"Ana?" she repeats, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. "She sits in the back of one of my classes. Not much of a talker. From what I’ve heard, she used to be exclusive with one of the top performers in athletics here-"

"Cole," I clarify, my voice barely above a whisper, a knot tightening in my chest.

"Right," Eden nods slowly, her gaze distant for a moment. "Cole. However, I don’t know much beyond that. Why do you ask?"

I scramble, my thoughts racing as I search for something that sounds believable. My palms sweat, and I push the words out before I lose the chance.

"She’s a bit mouthy in my class," I say, the lie tasting bitter as it leaves my lips. "I just wanted some context as to why that might be."

Eden shrugs nonchalantly, giving me a slight nod, as if it’s not an unusual question to ask. But then her expression softens, and she looks at me with a knowing smile.

"You remind me of myself," she says, her voice carrying a hint of something distant and reflective. "Back in college."

"How so?" I ask, unable to hide my curiosity, even as a strange unease coils in my stomach.

She looks at me for a moment, her smile lingering, before her gaze drifts to the floor. "I’m not sure why, but I have a feeling you would’ve understood Roman and I a lot more than others did at the time."

She doesn’t elaborate, the silence stretching between us, leaving a chill in the air. Her words hang there, unspoken but heavy, like a secret I wasn’t meant to hear.

And I stand there, consumed by a wave of guilt, my mind drifting to darker places, where the silence around me only amplifies the chaos inside.

Chapter 6

Anastasia

I've determined the library is the only place where my mind can finally settle.

Between classes and the whirlwind of whatever wild social activities Elijah drags Megan and me into, this place is my refuge.

A small sliver of peace in the chaos.

As stunning as the gothic architecture is, it’s a shame so few people seem to truly appreciate the space.

The library holds every book you could imagine, its classic literature section stacked with beautiful editions of some of the most iconic works.

I give myself a moment to unwind, knowing I’ll need it if I’m going to survive Elijah’s movie night later. That’s the only way I can make it through his endless movie marathons.

I’m still learning to balance the pull of my friendships with my natural need for solitude.

Curled up on the top level of the library with Animal Farm, I find a quiet nook near the window, nestled behind towering bookshelves in the farthest corner.

Outside, the sky churns with dark, heavy clouds, wrapping the campus in a dreary overcast.

The sound of rain tapping against the window feels like it’s washing away the weight in my chest, the tranquility of the setting sinking deep into my bones.

I close my eyes, letting the rhythm of the rain calm my racing thoughts.

Cole can’t hurt me.

Nothing from that night will ever come back.

I am okay.

I am.…

The sound of a book thudding to the floor breaks the silence and I jump, eyes locked on the old literature that tumbles from the shelf nearest to me. My breath catches as the culprit, Noah, rounds the corner, a few old, bound copies of George Orwell’s works in his hands.

Instantly, I feel the fragile peace I’d carefully built here shatter. His eyes meet mine, and for a split second, we’re both frozen, just as surprised to see each other as the other is to be found.

Great.

Now, this once safe space isn’t the retreat it used to be.

Slamming my book shut, I make a deliberate show of how irritated I am by his presence, the action sharp and pointed. My gaze flicks to the window, pretending the outside world has some kind of solace to offer, as I watch his reflection bend down to pick up the fallen book.

Please, just go away.

"Go away," I quietly plead.

But of course, he doesn’t listen.

"We don’t start Orwell until the end of the semester," Noah says, his voice attempting to bridge the silence, offering some kind of weak small talk.

Peering at the copy of Animal Farm resting in my lap, I barely register the sudden shift beside me. He grabs the book, and the action makes my pulse spike, a quick shot of irritation flaring in my chest.

"What-"

"Listen before you bite my head off," he cuts me off, his voice too calm, too smooth, as he nudges my legs aside to make room for himself on the window seat.

I don’t pull away as he sits down next to me, but the air between us crackles. Without asking, he sets my book on top of his growing stack at his feet, the soft thud of it adding an odd weight to the silence.

The dim, gray light filters through the blinds, and I can’t help but take in his profile. Sharp, defined, closer than I ever wanted him to be. His slightly curled, brown hair falls messily across his forehead. The clean, barely-there stubble that lines his jaw only makes it look sharper, more angular. And damn him, the way his clothes fit his frame, tight enough to hint at muscles hidden beneath that stiff teacher attire, makes my breath catch for a second longer than it should.

"Ana?"

His voice slices through my thoughts like a cold knife. I snap my gaze up, my heart fluttering in my chest, barely hiding the annoyance that has now completely washed over me.

"What did you say?" I force the words out, the edge to my tone sharper than I mean it to be.

"I said," he repeats, leaning in just enough for me to catch the glint of something unreadable in his eyes, "I think we started off on the wrong foot."

The words hang between us, suspended, and I feel the tension coil tighter in my chest. What does he want from me now? His attempt at civility feels too calculated, too practiced.

Genuinely curious, yet unwilling to let my guard down, I cross my arms, a defiant gesture meant to keep some distance.

"Is Mr. Ackerman trying to create a truce with me?" I ask, my voice thick with disbelief.

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk, and something, an unfamiliar, uneasy sensation, stirs deep in my stomach.

"I don’t know how many students would go out of their way to spend their free time reading, let alone reading classic literature," he says, his voice smooth and calculated. "Perhaps I jumped the gun on seeing you as a problem student."

I feel a smirk of my own tugging at the corners of my lips, and without thinking, I lean in just a fraction closer, closing the distance between us.

"You see me reading an old book and suddenly think I’m a good girl, Mr. Ackerman?" I hiss, the words coming out sharper than I intend, but it doesn’t matter.

His gaze hardens for a split second, and I catch a flicker of something, danger maybe, before he closes the space between us further, the heat of his body pressing against mine. His jaw tightens, and his curls brush my forehead as he leans in, so close I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.

"Are you not a good girl, Anastasia?" His voice drops lower, and the question lingers, heavy with something I can’t name. A ripple of heat rushes through my body, pooling between my legs, and I immediately regret the way it makes my pulse quicken.

What the hell is he doing?

I force myself to focus, using the irritation rising in me as a shield.

"Does that line work on your other students?" I taunt, pressing my hand flat against his chest, pushing him back just enough that his back hits the windowsill with a soft thud.

"I'm sure you're used to women being on their knees for you by now, hanging on your every word." I reach for my book, the movement deliberate as I try to regain some control. "But I’m sorry to tell you, I am not-"

"Look at me while you say it," he snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air.

I freeze, mid-motion, my hand hovering over the pages of the book.

"What?" I stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone.

"Look at me while you tell me how you're not a woman willing to be on your knees for me."

I swallow, every part of me wanting to deflect, to push him away, but something in his gaze pulls me in. My eyes lock with his, and I see it then…the power, the control he exerts so effortlessly.

My breath catches in my throat as his gaze holds mine, and I can’t look away.

Alright, Mr. Ackerman.

Two can play this game.

"You say that as if you want me to be on my knees for you, Noah," I purr, the words slipping from my mouth like poison as I shift my weight, using my knee to steady myself. I lean in closer, the air between us thick with tension, my hands landing on the window behind him. I peer down at him, my gaze sharp, the malice evident in every inch of my posture. "Tell me-"

Before I can finish, he grabs the front of my shirt with a swift, unforgiving motion, yanking me down toward him. I lose my balance, but I catch myself by grabbing his shoulder, my nose barely grazing his as his free hand moves, gripping my thigh with brutal intensity.

My breath hitches, my heart racing so wildly it feels like it might tear through my chest.

"You want me to do something," he whispers, his voice low, dark, and teasing. His lips graze my earlobe with a feather-light touch, sending an electric shiver down my spine. The hot breath of his words against my skin ignites a wave of heat that pools between my legs, burning like a wildfire.

"You want to tempt me, Anastasia," he continues, his voice dropping lower, his fingers digging harder into my thigh, possessive and firm. "You want to see how far I’m willing to let this banter play out."

I can't stop the way my body reacts, the pull of his dominance sinking deeper, making every part of me tense with anticipation.

I can’t hold my position over him any longer. Regretfully, I let my weight shift, sinking into his lap. His hand lands on my thigh, holding me there as I straddle him. He tugs at the hem of my shirt, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, the fabric pulling tight, almost exposing my breasts. My breath hitches, and I stare at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding in my chest.

"You could be screaming right now," he presses, his voice low and dark, like a challenge. His hand leaves my shirt, tracing a slow path to the back of my neck, forcing me closer, a breath away from him. "You could yell for help. Let them know how your teacher has you straddling his lap, watching your lips tremble from the rush of adrenaline my touch gives you."

His body presses against mine, unmistakably hard. The fabric between us feels like a suffocating barrier, every inch of it a reminder of what’s happening, what should never happen. But I don’t move. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, my eager warmth feeling the yearning need between his legs.

No shame in his touch, no hesitation.

He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t ask permission.

I feel the thick, undeniable need between us, the way it presses against my core, igniting a pull I can’t explain.

What the hell am I doing?

This is wrong. I know it is. But I can't move. Can't stop.

"Is this what you wanted?" Seduction drips from my voice, each word slow, deliberate. "You wanted to feel my body? Wanted to feel me rock my hips?" I roll them slowly, feeling the full length of him pressing against me through the thin fabric of his pants.

Fuck.

He stifles a sound I can only assume is pleasure, his breath hitching in his throat. Then he leans in closer, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my earlobe, teeth gently nipping, sending a shiver down my spine. His words are low and dangerous.

"Truthfully," he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear, "I want to know how wet you are right now, feeling my cock rub against that pretty pussy," he purrs. "You're just begging to be filled up and stretched out, aren't you, Anastasia?"

His hand moves slowly, tracing the bottom of my shirt, the touch almost too much to bear. I’m ready to implode, to let the moment consume us.

But then, a sudden thud from the bookshelf freezes us both. Our eyes go wide.

I quickly pull away, stumbling back, my feet tripping over the pile of books at my feet. A rush of shame floods me, my underwear slick with the evidence of my own desire. I cross my legs, trying to soothe the aching need, but it does nothing to ease the yearning pulsing through me. I fumble with my clothes, desperately adjusting them.

From the corner of my eye, I see him rise from the windowsill, his hands tugging at his pants, desperately trying to hide the strain of his cock beneath the fabric.

His hand runs through his hair, and for the first time, the weight of regret settles in both of our expressions.

I feel the conflict swirling between us, every possible outcome running through my mind. The want, the need, they still burn inside me, and yet the guilt keeps creeping in.

I can't let this happen again.

We’re in a public library, and we both let it go this far.

"I-I've got to go," I whisper, grabbing my bag from the floor, the words barely escaping my throat.

I glance around the shelves, searching. No one. Whoever made that noise is long gone, disappeared into the shadows.

"Ana-"

"Don't," I cut him off, my voice sharp as a whip. "I don’t know what kind of powerplay you get off on, but I’m done entertaining it." I throw him a cold, icy gaze, every word laced with finality. "Consider this a one-time slip-up."

He stays silent, his jaw tightening as he tucks his hands into his pockets. I watch his eyes fall, and the anger spreads across his face, darkening his features.

"I'll see you in class, Ms. Burns."

His words hang in the air, heavy and thick. I don't wait for more. I turn, moving swiftly toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest, eager to escape. The library feels suffocating now, like a place I never want to set foot in again.

I leave as quickly as I can, already thinking about the hot water of a shower, needing to cleanse myself. The last thing I need is the sharp reminder of how much my body ached for his touch, that deep, unsettling yearning still burning between my legs.

Chapter 7

Anastasia

"So she's a law student whose whole personality is the color pink?" My voice drips with disdain as I stare at the cover of the light-hearted comedy.

"And she kicks some ass in court. I figured you, of all people, would be thrilled to see a woman in power," Elijah snaps, throwing a pillow at me with an exaggerated sigh.

I flinch slightly, the motion sharp, and then curl up next to Walker on the bed, though it feels like my mind is elsewhere entirely. Megan pops a Milk Dud into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she eyes me with that signature knowing smile.

"I can appreciate a woman more than Ana can. Play it," she teases, her voice light but sharp with something I can't quite place.

Megan's voice rings in my ears, but it's hard to focus. My head is still spinning, the library, Noah, his touch, everything feels like it’s echoing in my body, refusing to settle. I should be present here, in this moment, but all I can think about is what happened earlier. The quiet tension, the pressure between us, and the way my skin still tingles where his hand brushed me.

Megan shifts, her ease in her own skin a stark contrast to the confusion spiraling in mine. Though rooted in her academics, the one thing Megan’s parents have failed to accept is her preference for women. At home, she hides her truth, but here, it’s obvious she leans toward the feminine side of her sexuality. It’s a guarded secret, but for some reason, today, it feels like the most obvious thing in the room.

"I guess I’m just not in the mood for movies," I mutter, my words barely a whisper, my voice distant even to myself.

Still shaken from my interaction with Noah, seeing Walker only an hour later feels like a slap to the face. I spent an extra twenty minutes in the shower, scrubbing at my skin like I could somehow wash away the guilt.

Guilt that feels almost ridiculous, considering how good Noah’s hands felt on me.

Now, sitting next to Walker on my bed, the guilt tightens in my chest, making it hard to breathe. How could I have let Noah touch me like that? How could I have so eagerly responded to him? The idea of crawling into Walker’s lap, of grinding against him the way I had Noah, feels absurd, almost shameful.

"Even though I’m here?" Walker’s voice breaks through the fog of my thoughts, his hand slipping into mine. He gently rolls his thumb over my knuckles, a gesture meant to reassure, but it only makes the storm inside me swirl faster.

I lean into him, trying to calm the chaos in my head, giving him the attention I know he came here for.

He’s safe.

He’s not my teacher.

This is good.

The words feel hollow as they echo in my mind.

"Fine," I hiss, the tension still hanging between us. I try to shake it off, to make it feel real, to convince myself this is okay. Giggling, I force the sound from my throat as Walker pokes my side, and I point to the projector, the distraction a welcome reprieve.

"Play the damn movie," I say, hoping the normalcy of it will somehow quiet the war waging inside me.

Waking to the sound of the movie's end credits rolling, for a moment, I forget where I am. Walker’s eyes are locked on the screen, his expression unreadable. Slowly, I pull my head up from his chest, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. I look around, searching for Elijah and Megan, but they’re nowhere to be found. The confusion twists in my stomach, and I look at Walker, hoping for some clarity.

"Elijah was falling asleep halfway through, so Megan walked him back to his dorm," he explains with a casual shrug. "Based on how long she’s been gone, I think she decided to give us some alone time."

The smile he gives me feels warm, but there's an edge I can’t quite place. I grab my phone, scrolling through Megan's texts. A few eggplant emojis catch my eye, and my cheeks flush with a sudden rush of embarrassment.

"I guess you're right," I mutter, biting my lip as I try to ignore the uncomfortable knot tightening in my chest. "I didn’t realize how tired I was. You didn’t have to stay here and watch the whole movie while I slept."

"I don’t mind," Walker replies with a smile, his voice low and easy. "Plus, you’re awake now." His gaze shifts toward me, sly and knowing. "And we’re alone."

The warmth of his hand slides along my lower stomach, a touch that sends a jolt of nerves through me. It’s familiar, but it’s also something more, something that feels like a dangerous echo of the past. The mix of nerves and the raw, almost desperate, desire to be touched rises in me.

This is good.

This is what I should be going after.

The thought doesn’t feel right, but I can’t shake it.

"We are alone," I whisper, my voice barely a breath. "And I’d hate for Megan’s sacrifice of staying in Elijah’s messy-ass dorm to go to waste-"

But before I can finish, his lips are on mine, cutting off my words with a slow, deliberate kiss. It’s tender, almost too gentle, but the heat behind it sends a wave crashing through me.

I should pull back.

I should stop this before it goes any further.

But the way his lips move against mine, the way my body responds without thinking, it all feels too damn good.

His hand slides from my lower stomach to the waistband of my soft bedtime shorts, his touch deliberate and slow. I catch my breath as his fingers dip lower, gliding over my sensitive folds, each movement making my pulse quicken. His touch teases, hovering just at the edge of my entrance.

My gaze locks on his lips, and, without thinking, I tug him closer, pulling him until he’s leaning over me, his weight pressing down, so close, I can feel his breath. Pulling away from the kiss, a soft groan escapes his throat, his hand slipping from my underwear, leaving a trail of my slickness up my stomach.

"Guess I should have started with some more foreplay-"

"Give me your hand," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

Without hesitation, his hand finds mine, and I guide it, his fingers trembling slightly as they land in my mouth. I slowly lick up the sides of his middle and ring finger, the heat of his skin against my tongue making my breath hitch. His eyes go wide, watching every movement as I savor the taste. Once I’m done, I urge his hand back down, my pulse quickening as he teases my entrance, the eagerness in his touch now undeniable.

"Tell me if it hurts-"

"Who said I don’t like a little pain?" I snap, my words laced with defiance. "Tick tock, Walker-"

His fingers slide inside of me, cutting off my taunt as a sharp gasp escapes my lips. The pleasure surges, and I throw my head back, eyes shutting to drown in the sensation of his slick fingers moving in and out of me. The stir of blood between his legs presses against my thigh, igniting a new heat within me.

"H-how does it feel?"

God, he’s so careful.

"Don't worry about me," I whisper, my voice barely steady. "It feels good."

Good is generous.

He struggles to find a rhythm, moving slowly, in and out of me, each motion deliberate as if he’s afraid I’ll break. But with each careful movement, the buzz of eagerness begins to fade, and my thoughts grow hazy, the need for more intensifying. It’s getting harder to keep my eyes on Walker as he focuses so intently on the action, his every breath mingling with the tension building between us.

I force my eyes shut, my mind slipping back to the memory of the interaction in the library. Reluctantly, that image becomes the only thing fueling the slickness between my legs. My gasps and moans escape freely, each breath shaky as Noah’s hungry eyes and painful touch flood me with heat. I rock my hips into Walker’s fingers, the friction sending warmth pooling in my lower stomach. His fingers falter for a moment, then he picks up the pace, urgency creeping into his movements as I drown in the sensations, unable to focus on anything but the raw intensity between us.

"Fuck, you're getting really wet," Walker whispers, his voice thick with desire.

Sadly, not because of you.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, every time Walker makes a noise, it pulls me further from the memory of Noah, making it harder to stay lost in the feeling of his fingers, which seem like a sad attempt at edging me. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to scream in frustration.

"Go harder if you want," I whisper, my hands trailing up the sides of my body where Noah’s touch still lingers. "As hard as you want."

As hard as I think Noah would have gone.

My mind drifts back to the feeling of his cock rubbing against me, the memory of it making the pressure inside me build. A climax is creeping closer, and I can feel it tightening in my core.

"Mmm," I groan, the pleasure coursing through me. "Just like that."

The way he grabbed my hips. The way he forced me to give in to his demands. The thought of his tongue slowly trailing up and down my clit…

"Fuck," I moan, unable to stop myself. "Just like that, Noah-"

The words slip out before I can stop them, and like a light switch flicking on, my eyes snap open, meeting Walker’s dazed expression.

"Noah?" He pauses, his voice sharp with confusion. Slowly, he slides his fingers out of me, creating a cold space between us, as all the sexual tension seems to evaporate into the air. "Who the hell is Noah?"

I bite my lip, scrambling for an excuse, but nothing feels right.

"An ex?" I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck. "A recent ex-"

"Wait, were you thinking about him while I was fingering you?" Walker’s voice is edged with annoyance.

Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"No," I stutter, panic creeping in. "I just haven’t been touched in so long, and the last person to touch me was him-"

It’s not entirely a lie.

"I’m sorry," I add quickly, trying to defuse the situation. "Feelings just… arose, and I must have spoken out of habit-"

"Is that why you were struggling to get aroused?" Walker asks, his voice tight with hurt. "Because I’m not him?"

His words land like a punch. Walker looks more crushed than angry, like I’ve kicked him, the hurt radiating off of him.

"Walker, I wasn’t struggling-"

"So then, why close your eyes to avoid looking at me?" His voice snaps, the pain sharper now. "That’s what you were doing, right? Imagining it was him touching you?"

I swallow hard, the heat rising in my chest.

"Listen, Walker, the breakup is recent, and he knew my body so well-"

Even in his prime, Cole’s touch never haunted me like this.
Noah has taken residence in my mind in ways I wish he hadn’t.

"Well, maybe you can text him and have him finish you off," Walker’s voice hides the hurt beneath the words. "I have homework to do."

He slides off the bed, grabbing his bag, but pauses. He pulls a bottle of wine from the bag, tossing it on the bed with a sharp motion. "Maybe I should’ve started with that. Might have made what you said feel a little better."

He heads for the door, and I scramble to find any excuse for my actions.

"Is this the last time I’m going to see you outside of class?"

His hand lingers on the door, and he pauses, resting his forehead against it.

"I really wanted to give you a chance, Ana-"

"Then let me try again," I blurt, my voice cracking. Grabbing the bottle, I approach him, the tension between us thickening with every step. I poke his back with the point of the bottle, and he turns just enough to meet my gaze.

"I can’t excuse my fuck up, but clearly, my ex isn’t here," I say, tugging his hand and pulling him back toward the bed. "Open this bottle with me and let me show you that I’m thinking about you, no one else."

He hesitates, his mind clearly torn, but there’s something in his expression that softens, even if only a little.

"Ana-"

I don’t have time to wait. Words won’t fix this. Maybe actions will.

"Let me prove to you that my focus is on you and only you," I plead, my voice low and desperate.

"Ana, you don’t have to-"

Tossing the wine onto the bed, I close the space between us, taking matters into my own hands.

"Walker," I hiss, my breath shaky. "Close your mouth and just enjoy this."

Lowering myself to my knees before he can protest, my fingers tremble as they fumble with his belt, quickly giving him a clear idea of where this is heading. His anger slips away, replaced by a deeper need, the desire to feel my lips on his cock outweighing everything else, my screw-up forgotten. I can already feel the blood rushing behind his pants, the pressure building, and I tease him with soft, lingering kisses up and down his length, just above the fabric of his pants.

"I'm sorry, Walker," I whisper, my voice almost childlike in its innocence. "I'm so sorry."

In most situations, I wouldn’t stoop this low, wouldn’t resort to giving a man head just to make things right. But this isn’t like most situations. My ex is prowling around campus, ready to drag my name through the mud. The last thing I need is for anyone to put together Mr. Ackerman’s association with Noah’s name. Thankfully, most professors here are so obsessed with formalities that they don’t give students the chance to dig into their full identities.

It’s the only shield I’ve got.

Tilting my chin up, I look at him through the most innocent doe eyes I can muster. As he bites his lip, it’s clear he’s made his decision.

"Well, don’t stop now."

I flash him a sly grin, my fingers already working to unlatch his belt. I slide the zipper down his pants, his cock confined behind his boxers. My eyes flick over him quickly, assessing his size.

It’s nothing extraordinary, just average.

No matter, it’ll be easy to give him the pleasure he’s craving.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I grip the hem of his boxers with my teeth, pulling them down, revealing his need. My breath catches as I take in the sight of him, but it’s his hand that surprises me. He grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it back to expose my face, his eyes dark with anticipation. He’s waiting, but not for words. He’s waiting for my apology.

Wrapping my lips around the head of his cock, the salty precum spreads across my tongue. Watching as his head falls back, a soft groan escapes his lips, and I take my time, dragging my tongue up and down his shaft, savoring every inch of him. When I reach his sensitive tip again, I pause, teasing him before slowly moving back up.

His hands tighten in my hair, urging me down, pulling me further as his breath hitches. As I reach the base, I feel him slam into the back of my throat, the sudden force taking me by surprise. I choke on him, my body reacting out of instinct, but I don't pull away.

I gag on him from the force of his thrust, the sound of it mixed with a low groan from him as he feels my clear discomfort. The spit drips down the sides of my mouth, the wetness pooling on my chin. His grip on my hair falters for just a moment before he switches, his hands gripping the sides of my face, holding me still.

With no warning, he takes full control, thrusting his hips forward, his length pounding into the back of my throat with unforgiving force. Losing any sense of control, the pressure builds.

This isn’t just for his pleasure anymore.

It’s not about me at all.

He wants me to be uncomfortable.

He wants me to feel every ounce of what I’ve done.

"Are you thinking about Noah now?" His voice is dark, taunting, even though I’ve been trying to reassure him.

But nothing’s enough.

He needs more.

His ego demands it.

Gagging repeatedly, what started as a blowjob has swiftly turned into Walker forcefully taking control, his actions aimed at proving a point. I struggle to pull away, but he shoves my head back down with relentless force. My hands grip his tightly, desperate for him to stop, but he ignores my pleas, the pressure on my throat growing unbearable. Each thrust leaves me sore, my throat raw and battered from his unyielding demand.

"W-Walker," my words barely register, slipping out incoherently, but he ignores them completely.

"Yeah, keep taking my cock, Ana," he urges, his grip tightening on the sides of my face, his hands forcing my head to move along his cock with cruel precision. "Keep choking on me. Hard to think about Noah when you’re gagging on me, huh?"

I can't stop this.

He won't let me stop.

What started as teasing shifts into something darker, fear crawling up my spine.

Trying to pull away with more force, he yanks my hair, the pain making me whimper.

"Did that hurt, Ana?" he murmurs, a twisted edge to his voice. "I wonder how hard I can pound into that throat before you're screaming in pain."

Jesus Christ.

Am I being assaulted?

I scream, struggling to take his length in my mouth, and with all the strength I can muster, I pull away forcefully. A sharp pain rips through my scalp, some strands of my hair still tangled around his fingers. My body crashes to the floor, my ass hitting hard as I scramble back. I cough, wiping the spit from my lips, my whole body trembling.

"J-Jesus, Walker, what the fuck?" I yell, my voice a mix of anger and desperation. "Did you not see me trying to get you to stop?"
"I thought-"

"You thought what?" I snap, my anger rising. "Look at your hand. My hair is still wrapped around your finger," I yell, my voice hoarse from the swelling already setting in.

"Fuck," he hisses, tugging up his pants. "I must’ve gotten carried away-"

"Really?" I scoff. "What in the hell made you think forcing me to be skull-fucked on the first date was a good idea?"

"Cole said-"

He shuts his mouth instantly as my eyes lock on him, filled with fury.

"Cole? Cole Marlins?" I hiss, the name like acid in my mouth. "As in my ex?"

He falls silent, the hardness in his pants disappearing within seconds."Did you talk to me because of Cole?" I snap, pushing him. "Did you do all of this because of Cole?"

Slowly, he backs away, fixing his pants.

"No, don’t get quiet now, Walker. Please, do enlighten me-"

"Cole said you liked being handled like that," Walker snaps back. "He said you like being scared. I tried being gentle, and it didn’t work, so I thought maybe-"

"Are you friends with him?" I demand. Standing across from Walker with my arms crossed, he shakes his head.

"We have mutual friends," Walker sighs. "He said so many awful things about you, but I saw you around campus and wanted to form my own opinion." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhales deeply. "But I let Cole get in my head about what you wanted. Clearly, he just wanted to screw you over for being his ex, and me for choosing to look past what he said and still pursue you-"

Unsure how to feel, I pull the strands of my hair from his fingers.

"Well, I hope it was worth it."

"Ana, I didn’t-"

"You could’ve asked me," I reply, my voice hoarse. "What you did, Walker… it scared the hell out of me."

"I wasn’t trying-"

"I need time to think about what just happened," I hiss, stepping back. "Just go."

He looks pained, regret clouding his expression.

Grabbing his bag, he rubs the back of his neck, clearly struggling.

"I’ll make this up to you, Ana," he whispers, his voice heavy with regret. "I promise I’ll-"

"Time, Walker," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I need time to think, and I can’t do that with you here."

He says nothing else, just nods before making his swift exit.

Finally, I let out a sob, my emotions pouring out all at once, my eyes drifting to the wine bottle.

I guess I’ve found my therapy for what just happened.

Chapter 8

Noah

Whoever said drinking on a work night is reckless clearly hasn’t savored the satisfaction of four cold beers after hours of relentless grading.

I swing the keys to my motorcycle casually on my finger, enjoying the slight buzz that lingers from the hoppy ales I just finished. The feeling is a welcome release, a brief respite after staring at papers for so long my eyes were starting to see red ink even when I blinked. I’ve done more than enough for the night.

My work here is finished.

Leaving my ride at Spokehaven feels like the smarter choice, especially when I think about how hard it would be to convince the bartender that I’m perfectly capable of riding a motorcycle after a few beers. No need to test my limits tonight.

Ready to end the night with a quick tug to myself and some much-needed sleep, the way my mind chooses to handle my daily frustrations always ends sexually in one way or another. It’s always the easiest way to shut off the noise, to clear the fog that lingers in my head. The need always bubbles up, inevitably.

At first, I thought there was something wrong with me. How could I be the only one who finds solace in the act of release, who turns every bit of irritation into a desperate need to feel some physical satisfaction? It’s not like I know anyone else whose immediate solution to the weight of their day is to fuck a woman so hard she looks as if she just survived a cage match, her body battered, but in some twisted way, satisfied.

During the work week, it’s harder to justify staying up late and doing all the things I want to do to a woman, knowing full well I’ll be exhausted for the next day’s grind. There’s no way to properly balance it all, to get the release without paying the price in the classroom the next morning. But tonight felt different. This was the first time I went to the bar, my frustration growing, knowing I couldn't have the one woman I craved.

A woman who just so happens to be my student.

I can’t even explain what came over me in the library with Ana. The tension between us, the way she looked at me, it made something dark and primal stir inside me. In that moment, I craved the way she feared my control more than I feared the consequences of my actions.

The thought of making her realize I held all the power, that I could dominate her every move, consumed me.

Even worse, I wanted her to yearn for the need to feel my touch. To ache for it as much as I did. The idea that she might crave me as much as I craved her was twisted, and I can’t deny it.

It’s fucked up. I know that.

Never in my career have I had an interaction like that with a student.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of students who catch your eye, make you take a second glance, but Ana... this is the first time I’ve found myself nearly turning around to get another look, unable to tear my gaze away. The encounter with Ana was a one-time thing. A slip, a lapse in judgment, something I can’t afford to repeat.

The last thing I need is to compromise my job, my career, just for the sake of getting my dick wet. Moving forward, I’ll keep my head down, focus on my work, and avoid her at all costs.

I’ll-

I stop dead in my tracks. My heart skips a beat as I freeze when I see her. The fiery red of her hair, the way it cascades down her back like a silken wave, and her cat-like green-blue eyes locked onto mine. She’s leaning casually against my classroom’s door, a bottle in her hand, dressed in what most would consider nighttime attire. Loose, barely-there clothes that leave little to the imagination.

In small plaid shorts that barely cover her thighs and a tight-fitting tank top that leaves little to the imagination, her curves are impossible to ignore. The way her breasts press against the fabric is hard to look away from, no matter how hard I try to focus. She looks disheveled, like she’s been through a storm, her hair tousled and her skin flushed. She grips a large, empty bottle of wine with a white-knuckled fist, her fingers trembling slightly, as though she’s barely holding herself together.

"Hey, Mr. Ackerman," she slurs, her voice rasping in a way that sends a chill down my spine. "Ready to give me some extra credit?"

It’s settled. There’s no denying it now.
God really must hate me.

Anastasia

Regretting my words well after they’ve already left my mouth, the alcohol coursing through my veins makes it impossible to find the usual restraint I’d have in a situation like this. The filter I’d normally rely on is completely gone.

I drop the wine bottle in my hand, watching it roll until it comes to a stop by his feet.

He looks a little less orderly than when I saw him earlier. His cheeks are flushed with color, his eyes hazy and distant, as though he’s been drinking too.

"Did you hear me?" I ask, my voice a little unsteady.

He blinks a few times, as if trying to shake off the fog in his head, and slowly closes his mouth, which had been hanging open. Then he steps toward me, his gaze intense but unsure.

"Ana, what are you doing?" His voice is low, a hint of concern creeping in as he grabs my arm, ready to yank me away from the door.

"I’m enjoying my night," I slur, the words tumbling out in a haze. Shoving him back with more force than I expect, I fight off a cough threatening to erupt from my swollen throat. "The alcohol dulls the pain," I add with a wicked smile, pointing to my throat with a malicious grin.

"What pain?" His expression turns into a deep frown, confusion and concern playing across his features.

"I’ll tell you all about it if you open that door and let me sit down for a few," I grin, pushing my luck with a wink.

Before I can stumble any further, he catches me, his strong hands gripping my arms to keep me upright. The warmth of his body against mine sends a wave of heat through me, awakening a desire I can’t suppress, one that feels entirely wrong.

Fuck, not now.

The smell of alcohol on his breath hits me before his eyes lock onto mine, the look in them dark and predatory.

"You've been drinking too, Mr. Ackerman," I beam, the words escaping before I can stop them. Grabbing his chin, I force him to meet my gaze, stopping him from looking away. "Naughty. What would your colleagues think..."

Watching something shift in his expression, his eyes narrow with intensity. My back slams against the door of his room before I even realize what’s happening. He holds me in place with a firm grip around my neck, his touch anything but gentle.

Already struggling to catch my breath after Walker’s outburst, Noah’s hand around my throat makes it harder to breathe, the pressure pushing the air from my lungs.

So why is it, despite the panic clawing at my chest, that I can feel my underwear dampening the longer his hands stay on me?

"What the hell are you doing?" Noah whispers, his voice dangerously close to my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "What the hell do you hope to accomplish, drunk off your ass, dressed like that outside my door? What if it hadn’t been me who found you like this? What do you think one of these college guys would have done to you-" 

"Did to me," the words slip out before I can stop them. The moment they leave my lips, Noah eases up on his grip around my neck, but his hands settle firmly on either side of my head. His gaze locks onto mine, filled with a quiet, commanding authority that sends a shiver through me. An authority that could drop me to my knees without a second thought.

"What did you say?" His voice is low, controlled, but there's a tension there, waiting to snap.

"Did to me. One of those college guys already found me. Why the hell do you think I’ve been drinking?" I question, unsure why I’m suddenly spilling my guts to him, why I’m letting myself unravel in front of him like this. "Initially, I could handle his half-assed attempt at making me cum all over his fingers," I smile, the bitterness in my words hanging thick in the air. Noah’s eye twitches, the tension between us palpable.

"But then, I closed my eyes while he was trying to bury his fingers in me and thought of one person."

I peer up at him innocently, biting my lip, my heart pounding in my chest. "And for some reason, when I thought about that person, I got so damn wet, Walker thought he was on top of the world-"

"Walker-"

"I’m not done," I cut him off, my voice sharp as I place my finger over Noah’s lips, silencing him. His eyes widen slightly, and I watch him carefully, wondering just how far I’m willing to push this.

"While Walker was fucking my pussy, burying his fingers inside of me, I slipped up and happily moaned the name of who I was thinking about." I frown. "He was so angry; I had to make it up to him." Lowering myself to my knees, Noah watches me with a look I can't decipher. "I kissed his cock up and down and had to bite back my screams as he throat-fucked me as hard as he possibly could." Leaning closer, the very large and hard presence of his cock presses against his pants. "All because of one name," I mutter. Just barely grazing my lips over the material of his pants, my lips tease his cock. Pulling away, I look up at him with lowered eyes. "Do you know what that name was, Mr. Ackerman?" I question.

Several seconds pass before I whisper a response.

"Noah-"

Letting out a startled yelp, his hand grabs my hair, yanking me to my feet. His grip on my hair forces my head back, and for a split second, his nose barely grazes mine, his breath hot against my skin. The sound of keys rattling behind my back catches my attention, as I feel the cool draft from the classroom door once it swings open.

"Want to daydream, Anastasia?" his voice snaps through the air, sharp and demanding, as he pushes me backward, guiding me into the classroom.

With a swift motion, he slams the door shut behind us, the sound of the lock twisting echoing in the tense silence.

"Fine, let's see if you can handle reality," he growls, his voice low, like a promise of something darker.

He releases my hair, but before I can react, his hand moves to the back of my neck, his fingers digging in as he forces me forward. Stumbling, my legs struggle to keep pace as he directs me toward his desk. The room is too dark for me to see clearly, and I gasp when my body collides with the hard edge of his desk, the shock of the impact reverberating through me.

Ready to turn around and snap at him, his hand forces my head down onto the desk. Keeping his body behind me, I feel his cock press against my already dripping warmth. Divided by nothing but our clothes, the reality of what is happening begins to settle in.

"Noah, what are you-"

"Shut your fucking mouth."

Viciously striking my ass, I let out a yelp, regretting it immensely once his free hand comes over my mouth. Leaning over my body from behind, he has me fully bent over and plastered to the desk.

"That will be the last time your pretty mouth gets anywhere near another man's cock, understand?" he questions. Dropping his hand from my mouth, I speak up.

"Fuck you. You can't tell me-"

Striking my ass again, he squeezes the back of my neck tighter, stifling my yelp.

"I wasn't asking, Ana."

Shocked, I try and find a single coherent thought.

"W-what the hell are you doing?" my voice trembles with a mix of adrenaline and thrill.

"What? Scared? You looked so confident when you were on your knees for me, teasing me as your lips touched my cock," he snaps. Pressing his lips to my ear, my legs shake from eagerness. Biting my lip, the pleasure I feel each time his cock rubs against me is undeniably addicting. "Now, I have you bent over my desk," he says as seduction drips from his tone. "Feeling my hard cock rub against that pretty pussy trapped by those slutty shorts. Walker could barely get you anywhere with his fingers." Pausing, Noah releases his grip on my neck. With a swift motion, he flips me over, positioning me so that I'm facing him now. His hands settle firmly on my hips, his body pressing into mine, heat radiating between us. The edge of the desk digs into my back, a sharp contrast to the pleasure building inside me. The tension thickens as his voice drops to a low growl.

"I wonder just how wet my pretty girl is from my words."

My pretty girl.

Fuck.

Watching his hand slide toward the front of my shorts, his long slender fingers toy with the tie holding them on my hips.

"But Walker-"

"You don't say his name," he snaps. Feeling the sharp, painful strike, my cheek feels as if it is on fire. "Not while I am touching you."

D-did he just slap me?

Did I like it?

"If you're a good girl for me, Ana," he whispers as he undoes the tie. Feeling the material pool around my ankles, my embarrassing hot pink underwear is on full display for him. "Then you can earn my touch." Slipping his hand below my waistband, his fingers creep close to my needy center. Just barely grazing my clit, the taunt I was willing to play into quickly turns into a yearning need.

"Beg for it," he snaps.

Looking down at his hand in my shorts, there's no getting out of the position I have found myself in.

I don't want to find a way out.

"No," I hiss, still willing to test his authority. "I won't beg-"

"Pity." He smirks. "I guess you'll have to scream."

Sliding his hand down past my clit, he allows two fingers to slide into my dripping entrance. Moaning louder than I expected, his hand strikes my face once more. Grabbing my chin to get me to look at him, he slowly drags his fingers in and out of me, curling his fingers every so often.

"You gotta be quiet, baby girl," he whispers.

He is degrading me and praising me all in the same sentence.

Feeling a deep burn in my cheek and ass from his slaps, the pleasure from his hand outweighs the pain.

"Your legs are going to give out, Anastasia. Lay back and feel my fingers filling up your tight pussy. If you stay quiet, I will gladly make you cum."

Listening to him, I let my weight shift forward, pressing deeper into the desk. I lean back, my hands bracing against the surface to support my body as I move, giving myself just enough room to watch him. The sight of his fingers moving inside me is almost too much to bear. The wet sounds of my pleasure, slick and hungry, coat his fingers, each noise an addictive reminder of what’s happening. I gasp, my breath shaky as I fight back the moans rising in my throat, biting down hard on my bottom lip to keep them at bay.

"Do you like watching, Ana?" he questions, once more taking his time dragging his fingers in and out of me. Feeling warmth flood my core, I let my arms give out, laying down entirely on his desk.

"I love it," I say through a gasp. "I fucking love this-"

Hearing my words trail off into a moan, he forces my feet up onto the desk, spreading my legs wide open as his thumb swirls around my clit. His fingers mercilessly pound into me. Arching my back, the pleasing relief of my climax forces a vicious moan to rip free from my throat.

"Fuck, Noah," I moan. "God," I pant as my cum coats his fingers.

Adjusting myself to sit back up, he shoves me back down.

"Oh, no, baby," he growls. "You're going until I hear you scream."

Driving his fingers into me with intense force, a gasp escapes my lips, sharp and breathless. He leans over me, his eyes locking onto mine with an unwavering intensity as his fingers shift from two to three. The change causes a rush of sensation to pulse through me, and I can’t help but moan louder, only for it to morph into quiet, breathless yelps. My legs tremble beneath the weight of it all, shaking violently with a surge of aggression, my body struggling to keep up with the overwhelming pleasure he's forcing from me.

"I just know the taste of your cum would be addicting," he purrs. "Why don't you scream for me, pretty girl, I doubt you can take another finger. Then I can lick you clean."

Going till the point my legs close in around his arm, he digs his free hand into my thigh, forcing my legs to spread.

There's no safe word.

I have no idea how much more I can take of this.

Trying to move his hand away, he pinches my inner thigh.

"Another finger it is."

Feeling a fourth finger slip into me, I let a scream rip from my throat. Feeling a mix of pain and pleasure, he covers my mouth. Gripping my cheeks, my legs viciously shakes as another release comes over me.

Gripping his shirt, I slump backward, letting my cum coat his fingers once more.

Slowly pulling his hand backward, his fingers drag out of me. Tugging the front of my shirt, he forces me back up into a seated position.

My slickness coats the top of his desk, only adding to the thrill and shame happening before me.

Holding his glistening fingers in the air between us, I try and reach for his cock. Grabbing my wrist with his free hand, he stops me.

"You weren't quiet. You haven't earned that."

Guiding my hand back to my aching warmth, a devious smirk curls up the corners of his mouth.

"Finger yourself," he demands.

Still coming down from my climax, I struggle to find my words.

"W-wha-"

"You heard me. I'm going to watch you finger yourself while you lick your cum off of my fingers."

Not even posing the proposal as a question, my core throbs with eager anticipation to please him.

God, I already came, yet his words are making me slick enough for three of my fingers to slide right in.

"You didn't stop-"

"And I won't. Not until I get what I want."

Swallowing, I close my mouth.

What is happening now is more than sexual satiation.

He lives for the power he can exert and I'm feeding right into it.

Sliding my fingers inside of myself, I use my free hand to cover my mouth. Grabbing my wrist, he makes me finger myself more aggressively.

"I want you shaking, Anastasia," he growls.

Lowering my hand from my mouth once I have adjusted, he allows me to move my hand on my own. Bringing his slick fingers to my mouth, I pump my fingers in and out of myself with a great deal of force. Licking my cum from his fingers, I close my lips around them. Gasping and moaning as he works his fingers in and out of my mouth, the dual sensation tips me further to a point of no return. Once more reaching out, I feel the outline of his cock outside of his pants. Gripping his wide base once the warmth returns to my stomach, he eyes the sight with a malicious grin.

"Look at you grasping onto me," he whispers. "You can barely handle my fingers, how much do you think you'd be screaming if it was my dick pounding in and out of you?"

Moaning once again, he pinches one of my nipples.

Forcing down a yelp, he slowly drags down one of the straps to my top.

"The least I can do is give those pretty tits some attention-"

Before he can finish, a loud knock echoes against the door, and we both freeze, tension crackling in the air.

"You still in here, Mr. Ackerman?"

My heart skips a beat.

Who the hell?

"The custodian," Noah hisses under his breath, his voice tight with barely contained frustration.

Looking at the mess before me, I pull my fingers from me. Panting heavily, I run my hand through my hair. Adjusting his cock, Noah's feral look dies down. Readjusting my top and shorts, I slide off of his desk, petrified to see my slick mess on its surface.

What in the fuck did I just do?

Glaring at the door tethered to the classroom over, Noah lowers his eyes as he adjusts his length.

"Just give me a few minutes, Tate," Noah yells.

Still feeling the sting in my cheeks from his slaps, my vagina throbs with pain and pleasure.

"Ana, don’t," Noah whispers, his voice low, almost pleading, as he watches me inch backward toward the door.

"I-I have to go," I whisper, my breath shaky. "Now."

The jingle of keys echoes from the hallway, a sharp reminder that Tate isn’t in the mood to wait. My window of escape is closing.

"Ana-"

But I don’t let him finish.

Bolting toward the side door, I spill into the empty classroom beside his, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The darkness swallows me whole, but I don’t stop moving.

Through the thin walls, I hear Tate strike up a conversation with Noah, his voice casual, unaware of the storm brewing just moments ago. My fingers fumble with the front door handle of the empty classroom, my only hope that the teacher who locked up didn’t double-check before leaving.

It clicks open.

I don’t hesitate.

Slipping outside, I seize the opportunity and bolt, my feet carrying me away from Noah, away from whatever the hell just happened between us. But even as I put distance between us, I can feel it. An invisible tether, something dark, something unshakable.

Something tells me that what I just allowed to happen has created a whole new monster.

I just wish I knew whether that monster was tethered to me or to Noah.

Chapter 9

Anastasia

It’s been two days since my encounter with Noah in his classroom.

Two days since Walker’s little fiasco.

Two days of Elijah and Megan’s relentless questioning.

The morning after my drunken mess of a night, Megan waltzed into our room, radiating happiness, as if the world hadn’t just shifted under my feet. I guess her night with Elijah evolved into something more. Something involving a girl from the swim team, if the smug grin on her face was anything to go by.

Meanwhile, I’ve spent every moment since trying to navigate the minefield of their curiosity, dodging their questions about my night with Walker. They don’t know the full truth.

Hell, I barely know how to process it myself.

Lying about the bruises was easy enough. Blaming them on Walker’s rough grip made sense. It was plausible, believable. But looking Megan dead in the eyes and executing that lie without flinching? That was damn near impossible.

Because every time I try, I can still feel Noah’s touch like a ghost on my skin. And that’s a truth I can’t afford to admit.

Not to them, and definitely not to myself.

On top of everything else, my mom has been blowing up my phone with texts about my dad. Update after update about his latest surgery, his test results, the doctors’ reassurances that feel emptier every time. She tries to stay optimistic, her words laced with forced hope, but I can hear the exhaustion between the lines. Every picture she sends me shows the truth she won’t say out loud. The chemo is stripping him down to nothing, piece by piece. It’s like every round is taking more of his soul, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

The only good news I can give her, the only thing keeping her from completely unraveling, is that I’m making something of myself here. That I’m staying on track. That I’m okay.

I can’t ruin this for them.
I can’t let Cole, Walker, or Noah derail me from this dumbass degree.
I need to be careful.
I need to think about my dad.

Before my thoughts can spiral any further, a cheerful voice cuts through the quiet.

"Oh, am I late?"

I blink, lifting my head from my desk to see Mrs. Briar standing in the doorway, her expression warm but slightly confused.

"No, I just came in early. Needed a quiet place to think."

She glances at her watch, brows raising. "Thirty minutes early?" She lets out a soft laugh, her voice light. "I must be one hell of a teacher for you to want that much extra time in my classroom."

A small smile tugs at her lips, and, despite everything, I find myself appreciating her presence. Mrs. Briar looks like she stepped straight out of a magazine, her flowy dress moving effortlessly as she walks, white heels clicking softly against the floor. She wears elegance like second nature. Around her neck, a delicate cross dangles, catching the light, and on her finger, a wedding ring most women would kill for glints with quiet opulence.

The Briars are well-known in Spokehaven, a family practically synonymous with charity and community outreach. From everything I’ve heard, their work with the youth is unmatched, their kindness not just a facade but a genuine extension of who they are. And judging by the framed pictures on her desk, her husband is just as put-together, handsome in a way that almost doesn’t seem fair, and their kids? They look like they were plucked straight from a Gerber baby ad, all bright smiles and perfect little curls.

Everything about her radiates warmth, perfection. A stark contrast to the chaos currently unraveling in my own life.

At one point, a rumor spread like wildfire that Mrs. Briar’s husband used to be the priest at her church. It was the kind of gossip that had people whispering in hallways, exchanging knowing glances. But the moment she walked into work with a hickey on her neck and robe burns on her wrists, the rumor vanished just as quickly as it had started.

No priest would tear into a woman like that.

"Just a lot on my mind," I say again, exhaling a sigh.

Mrs. Briar nods slowly, studying me with a look that’s equal parts curiosity and concern. With the effortless grace she always carries, she moves to sit on the edge of her desk, her hands resting lightly on her lap.

"Well, I’m not a teacher for another thirty minutes if you need someone to talk to," she offers with a soft smile.

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head.

"I appreciate it, Mrs. Briar, but the last thing I need is to slip up and say the wrong thing and have you report me."

"Thirty minutes, Ana," she whispers, leaning forward just slightly. "I’m all ears. Plus, it’s only you and me in here."

I hesitate, weighing my options, before letting out a heavy sigh.

"Have you ever been with someone you knew you shouldn’t have?"

The moment the question leaves my lips, she bursts into laughter, smacking her leg with a grin. But my amusement fades when I catch sight of the scars. Deep, white lines running up and down her skin where her dress has ridden up from her movement.

Fuck… are those-

"Boy, have I," she chuckles, shaking her head. "And I married him."

"Wait," I scoff, blinking in disbelief. "Those rumors about your husband being your church’s priest-"

"All true," she interrupts, her grin widening. "And man, were my parents pissed. God bless my brother for keeping my secret as long as he did."

"Were you not scared of the consequences?" I ask, my voice quieter now.

She tilts her head slightly, as if remembering something distant, something heavy.

"Honey, I dealt with the consequences. We all did. I got lucky with how things panned out and bless Zoey for marrying my brother’s sporadic ass and giving him someone else to worry about." She exhales a soft laugh before meeting my gaze again, her expression shifting into something more serious.

"But if you’re asking if I felt like it was worth it…." Her smile turns knowing, almost wistful. "Yes."

"Even if you knew it was wrong?" I interrupt, my voice quieter than before.

Mrs. Briar’s expression shifts slightly, her eyes narrowing as she crosses her arms over her chest. She studies me carefully before tilting her head, her voice light but probing.

"Well, I’ve seen the priest at the Catholic church here," she muses. "I’d say he’s a tad too old for you if you’re choosing to follow down my path," she jokes, a teasing smile on her lips.

I don’t laugh. I don’t even crack a smile.

The silence stretches between us until she exhales, her expression turning more serious. "How wrong are we talking?" she finally asks, her tone quieter now, more thoughtful.

"Never mind," I sigh, shaking my head. "The fact that I don’t want to elaborate should say enough."

Setting my head back down on my desk, I hear her shift, the soft sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she slides off her desk.

"Well, when you feel like opening up, you can always show up thirty minutes early," she offers.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice laced with full honesty. "I just-"

"Am I interrupting?"

That voice.

My breath catches, and I lift my head, my gaze locking onto Noah’s the second I see him lingering in the doorway.

Mrs. Briar waves him in without hesitation.

"Not at all, Noah, just having some girl talk."

The heat rushes to my cheeks so fast it makes me dizzy. All I can visualize is the way he looked at me in that classroom.

The way his fingers worked inside me, the way my body responded to him, to his control.

A slow, forbidden pulse of pleasure stirs deep in my core, and I clench my jaw, willing the sensation away.

God damn it.

Noah moves toward Mrs. Briar, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look at me. Not even a glance.

Interesting.

So he can function through the workday just fine, pretending like nothing happened. Pretending like he didn’t have three of his fingers buried inside me before forcing me to lick my cum from them.

"I was just stopping by to run a lesson plan by you," he says, his voice smooth, casual, untouched by what lingers between us.

His grin is easy, effortless.

So void of the power he had over me in that classroom.

Draped in his usual long brown coat, a light brown shirt, and fitted black pants, Noah looks effortlessly put together, stunning, as always. But I know better now. I know what’s hidden beneath those layers, beneath the carefully curated professionalism. I know the strength of his hands, the way his fingers feel buried deep inside me, the way his voice drops when he’s in control.

The thought alone sends a slow stir of nerves through my stomach, an uneasy heat curling in my core. The idea of feeling something more than his fingers within me lingers in my mind.

I swallow, my throat still raw, my voice still recovering from Walker’s brutal treatment.

"I think I’d better go," I rasp, the words barely leaving my lips.

Mrs. Briar watches me with quiet curiosity, but she doesn’t press.

"Sorry for bothering you," I add, forcing a small nod before moving past the pair.

But the second I step forward, I freeze.

A firm hand wraps around my wrist, halting my escape.

Noah.

The warmth of his skin against mine sends a jolt through me, a direct contradiction to the sharp nerves that creep in. Slowly, I turn my gaze upward, meeting his eyes. And just like that, all the tension from Friday night comes crawling back, tightening around my lungs like a vice.

Where the hell is a bottle of wine when you need it?

"Are you alright, Ms. Burns?" His voice is steady, laced with a sincerity that makes my stomach turn. The way he says it, so calm, so composed, makes me want to scream.

Tugging my wrist free from his grasp, I narrow my eyes, a sharp edge slicing through my tone.

"Fine," I hiss. "Just trying not to make any more mistakes."

I don’t give him a chance to respond. I leave it at that, my footsteps quick as I push through the door and head straight for his classroom.

Because despite what I just said….

I already know I’m about to make another mistake.

Taking a seat, I immediately regret it. The thought of sitting in this classroom for the next forty-five minutes is unbearable.

I had chosen something more appropriate for the cold weather. A black skirt, black stockings, and an oversized, soft gray sweater. It was meant to be practical, comfortable. But now, sitting here, I’m painfully aware of how the outfit clings in all the wrong places, the way my skirt rides just enough to draw attention to the curve of my ass. It’s the last thing I need right now.

"Hey."

The voice makes me tense.

Looking over, I see Walker lingering near my desk, his bag slung over one shoulder, his expression hesitant, almost uncertain, as if debating whether he should even sit down.

"Hey," I sigh, not bothering to mask the exhaustion in my voice. Then, without thinking, I add, "Didn’t hear from you this weekend." The sharp edge in my tone makes it clear that I noticed his silence.

He finally sits, dragging his desk closer to mine, the screech of metal against tile filling the small space between us.

"I was wrong to blow up like I did," Walker mumbles, his voice low. "I was even more wrong to handle you like I did-"

"So we can agree that face-fucking me out of jealousy was less than desirable?" I cut in, my words dripping with disdain.

He takes a shallow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. The regret is there, but so is something else.

Something unreadable.

"Let me make it up to you," he says after a moment. "Let me take you out on an actual date. Maybe then you’ll see how sorry I really am."

Glancing at Noah’s desk, a sharp wave of regret settles deep in my gut.

I am no saint either.

What moral ground do I even have to stand on?

"You can pick the place," Walker continues, his voice softer now, almost hopeful. "Or tell me your favorite kind of food-"

I don’t let him finish.

Leaning in, I press my lips against his, cutting off his words, silencing the attempts to overcompensate for his actions. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. I kiss him with force, with purpose, pressing until his hesitation melts away and his hand comes up to cup the side of my face.

He takes control instantly, guiding me upward, pulling me to my feet as he deepens the kiss. His tongue slides over my bottom lip, testing, teasing, before I part my lips and let him in.

My fingers tighten around his shirt, holding him against me as he slowly backs me into my desk. His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming, sliding over my thighs, testing the boundaries I haven’t yet set.

And I let him.

Because for a moment, it’s easy. A distraction.

All men are like Walker. Taking. Using. Maybe I can use him too. Maybe I can make him feel the same pain he gave me-

"Last time I checked, my classroom isn’t a porno set."

The voice is sharp, cutting through the haze of lust like a blade.

I freeze.

Walker instantly steps back, putting space between us. My breath is uneven as I tug down my skirt, my hands slightly trembling as I turn to face the doorway.

Noah stands there, his figure tense, his brooding gaze locked onto us with something unmistakably dark.

"Mr. Ackerman-"

"Sit your ass down," he hisses, his voice low, controlled, but laced with something dangerous. He points toward the back of the classroom, his gaze narrowing in on Walker.

"Away from Ms. Burns."

Grabbing his bag, Walker looks embarrassed, his jaw tight as he avoids both mine and Noah’s eyes.

"Next time you two want to jump each other’s bones, make sure I can’t see it," Noah snaps, his voice razor-sharp, cutting through the remaining air between us.

Then, his gaze shifts, locking onto me.

His jaw tenses, his expression unreadable, but his words carry a weight that settles deep in my chest.

"I would hate for you to feel the consequences of pissing me off."

He’s not talking to Walker anymore.

This is for me.

It’s clear now, Noah’s possessiveness last night wasn’t just an in-the-moment reaction. This isn’t fleeting anger. This is something deeper, something controlled. He’s pissed. And he isn’t letting it go.

I swallow, forcing myself to move, to sit, as the other students begin to funnel into the classroom. Conversations hum around me, the mundane noise of morning chatter and shuffled papers filling the air, but I don’t hear any of it.

My focus is locked on the chalkboard, but my mind refuses to stay still. It runs rampant, spiraling with a fear I can control.

Fear of Noah seeing me with Walker.
Fear of what he might do.
Fear of how much I want to find out.

Or maybe…

Maybe him seeing Walker and me was exactly what I wanted.

Chapter 10

Anastasia

"Ana, can you hang back? I’d love to discuss your theme for the upcoming analytic essay."

The words are casual, professional even, but the undercurrent in Noah’s voice is anything but.

Stuck in place, I bite back the urge to snap at him. I know exactly what this is.

Across from me, Walker hesitates, lingering by my desk, his confusion evident as he glances between Noah and me.

"I’ll meet up with you at lunch," I whisper, keeping my voice low. "Can you grab me something from the Baja bar?"

Walker’s eyes flicker between us again before he gives a slow nod. He’s reluctant, but he listens, finally stepping back.

"See you, Mr. Ackerman," he says, his tone laced with sarcasm, pushing the edge just enough to be noticed.

I don’t miss the way Noah’s fingers tighten around the edge of his desk, his jaw clenching so hard I half expect it to crack.

"Close the door on your way out," Noah says, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Walker obliges, but not without a final glance in my direction. Then the door slams shut, the loud thud reverberating through the room.

And just like that, we’re alone.

Slowly, I turn my gaze to Noah, my anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

"You know I turned in that paper over the weekend," I say, my voice sharp. "There’s nothing we need to discuss."

Noah scoffs, pushing himself off his desk, stepping toward me with an air of controlled frustration. "Nothing we need to discuss?" His voice drops, amusement laced with something darker, "How about we start with what I walked in on?"

I shake my head, exhaling sharply as I reach down, grabbing my bag.

"Fuck you, Noah," I snap. "What happened here on Friday was a mistake, and you know it. At least Walker is my age-"

"You want to talk about age now?" Noah hisses, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "You didn’t seem too concerned about age while you were riding my fingers-"

"Stop talking!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. "Walker is a good guy who did a bad thing. The last thing I need is to ruin that by letting my thirty-something English teacher give me extra credit after class."

"Thirty," Noah corrects with a dry, unimpressed tone.

"Great," I scoff. "Do you even know how old I am?"

"Nineteen," he growls, his voice low. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he exhales slowly. "Trust me, Ana, I am very well aware of your age."

The weight of his words hangs between us, heavy, charged with an unspoken tension.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I roll my eyes at him, forcing myself to look away, to ignore the heat curling in my stomach, to pretend that his presence doesn’t make my pulse hammer against my ribs.

I need to get out of here.

Before I make another mistake.

"Great, glad we established you're a shady teacher who gets off to fucking his students-"

"Unlike you, Ana, my focus is only on one person. If you think what's happening with you has happened with another one of my students, then I hate to inform you how wrong you are. You think I like the fact I fucking loved what happened Friday?" he snaps. Standing up from behind his desk, he walks toward me. "Do you think I like the fact I wanted to tear Walker apart when I saw his hands all over you?" Watching him glare down at me, all of my courage melts away. "Do you think I like the fact I want to rip that sweater right off of you and smack your ass raw for kissing that boy in front of me?" Leaning in, his front presses against mine. "Do you think I like the fact I want to grab you and feel your thighs squeeze my waist as I devour your lips in a kiss and bend you over my desk?"

Shaky breaths rattle through my chest, my body locked in place, frozen between fear and something far more dangerous.

"I-if you love it so much, Noah," I stammer, voice barely above a whisper. "Then do it."

His expression shifts, darkening. That feral hunger overtakes his features, and for a moment, I swear the air between us crackles. My pulse slams against my ribs, but my hands move faster than my mind can process.

"You have eight minutes between classes," I murmur, the words slipping from my lips like a challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, I slide my hands beneath my sweater, tugging it up just enough to reveal the soft underside of my breasts. Then, with a measured grace, I perch on the edge of my desk, spreading my legs just enough to test him, to push him.

Noah's jaw tightens. His breathing turns ragged, his body coiled with restraint. I press my foot against his chest, forcing him back just slightly. His eyes burn into me—seething, wanting, barely containing the storm I’ve set off inside him.

He exhales sharply, adjusting his cock with a muttered curse. His frustration is palpable, a tangible thing that lingers between us like an unlit fuse.

Eight minutes.

And all he can do is watch.

"Is this what you wanted, Noah?" I question as I tug the sweater up just a bit higher. Almost revealing my nipples, I creep my hand between my legs, touching my clit above the already-damp tights. "You want to feel me?" I question. "Fuck me?" I push.

Noah’s grip is ironclad as he shoves my leg down, his fingers wrapping tight around my wrists, halting my eager taunt.

"What the hell, Ana-"

"I'm wet, Noah," I purr, the confession dripping with wicked amusement.

I don’t give him a chance to react. My fingers snake behind his neck, pulling him down until my lips brush against his ear, my breath hot against his skin.

"And it’s not because of you," I whisper, letting the words cut deep before I nip his earlobe between my teeth.

The second I release him, I see it, the shift. His expression darkens into something terrifying, something primal.

"What-"

Before I can finish, his hands clamp onto my thighs, yanking me off the desk. A startled gasp slips from my lips as my arms instinctively lock around his neck. I barely have time to process before my legs wrap around his waist, and in one smooth motion, Noah drops into his chair, bringing me with him.

A sharp tug at my ponytail tilts my head back, his silent command keeping me in place. My stomach knots, not with fear, but with something far more exhilarating. I feel small against him, like a reckless child about to be punished.

His palm slides to the back of my neck, firm, unyielding. Then, with ruthless precision, he drags my body over his knees, forcing up my skirt, his fingers deftly tearing down my tights just enough to expose my ass and the unmistakable evidence of my arousal.

The air between us is electric, crackling with tension so thick it threatens to suffocate. And from the way Noah looks at me, I know, I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross.

Pressing his fingers to my damp folds, Noah scoffs.

"You're soaking through your underwear from Walker?" Noah questions.

Biting my lip, I laugh.

"Obviously-"

Covering my mouth with the hand that was on my neck, Noah strikes my ass the hardest he has before. Muffling my scream, his fingertips press into my cheeks as he strikes again.

"You fucking like that, Ana?" he hisses.

Striking again and again, tears well in my eyes from the pain.

"You like being a dirty slut for him?" Noah snaps. "Or do you like being my good girl, all fucking flustered and defenseless as I smack your ass for being so naughty?"

Pain flares through me, sharp and sudden, and before I can stop myself, I sink my teeth into his hand, a desperate, instinctive strike.

Noah barely flinches.

With a firm grip, he yanks my ponytail, his control absolute as he pulls my skirt and tights back into place. He forces me upright, shifting me so I straddle his lap. My body trembles, but I refuse to break. Even as the tears slip free, betraying me, I keep my chin high, my gaze locked on his.

His fingers brush against my cheeks, wiping away the evidence of my weakness. But there’s no softness in the gesture, only ownership and control.

Noah’s voice drops, low and ice-cold.

"I am not kind, Ana," he hisses. "And I do not like to share what is mine."

The words coil around me, suffocating.

"If you want gentle touches, if you crave tenderness," he continues, his grip tightening, "then you have tempted the wrong man."

His eyes burn into me, unrelenting.

"And if you think this will ever lead to something loving, you are more foolish than I thought."

The final blow lands, sharp as a blade. The space between us is thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. But I don’t look away.

I refuse to.

Glaring at him, I let out a sigh.

"What is going on here, Noah?"

His jaw tightens, his fingers flexing as if he's trying to grasp something intangible.

"I don't know," he admits, voice rough with frustration. "And I hate how addicting it is-"

I don’t let him finish.

"So what?" I press, my tone laced with something close to disgust. "All you know is pain and power when you touch a woman?"

His eyes flicker, dark and unreadable. "It’s how I cope. How I deal with my issues-"

I scoff, the bitter taste of understanding settling heavy on my tongue.

"So, what? There’s a revolving door of women you fuck into submission?"

Silence.

Thick, suffocating silence.

His lack of denial slices deeper than I expect, and I bite back the raw anger clawing its way up my throat.

"Great," I laugh bitterly, though nothing about this is funny. "And now I’m just another name on the list. Another body to use. Just like how Cole treated me."

I shift to move off his lap, but before I can escape, his hand grips the hem of my skirt, tugging me back.

"Anastasia-"

I don’t let him finish.

My palm cuts through the air before I even think, colliding with his face in a sharp, resounding slap. The crack of it echoes through the empty classroom, a violent punctuation to everything unspoken between us.

Noah doesn’t flinch.

My breath is ragged, my hand trembling from the impact, a stinging reminder of the strike. A red imprint blooms across his cheek, a stark contrast against his skin.

But he just sits there. Breathing. Staring.

It’s like I’ve poked a wild animal with a hot prod.

Why isn’t he reacting?
Why isn’t he saying anything?
Why didn’t he make a sound?

I swallow hard, forcing steel into my spine.

"Whatever I allowed to happen between us is done," I snap, each word deliberate, final. "You do not own me, Noah. I can touch and fuck whoever I want. You might be used to women bending at your will, feeding your power-hungry ego, but that won’t be me."

His eyes burn into me.

But I don’t wait for his response.

Turning, I walk away.

Hoisting my bag onto my shoulder, my movements are deliberate, controlled.

Everything I don’t feel inside.

Noah doesn’t move. He just watches, silent, unreadable, as I step back, putting space between us.

"Perhaps you should have fucked me Friday when you had the chance," I say, voice low, biting. "Much easier to get what you want when I’m too drunk to get away."

The words land like a slap, sharp and venomous, but I don’t wait to see how he absorbs the hit. I turn on my heels, willing myself forward, even as my thoughts twist and tangle in my mind.

I wanted his touch.
I wanted everything that’s happened.
I like how he handles me.
I like the power he holds.

But I can’t stomach the idea that I’m just one of many.

He made me feel special.
Maybe that’s the real problem.

I don’t look back. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing hesitation in my eyes.

The moment I shut the door behind me, a sharp crash echoes from inside. The unmistakable sound of his desk contents hitting the floor.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips.

There it is, Noah. That anger.

The real question is, did I just drive him away?

Or did I just pull the beast even closer?

Chapter 11

Noah

God, I fucking hate this.

Every single part of it.

I wanted to chase after her, grab her the second she walked out that door, and fuck her so hard she’d never even entertain the idea that I could be focused on anyone else. I wanted to erase every doubt, every comparison, every fucking insecurity she threw at me.

If it had been any other woman, I would’ve rolled my eyes and moved on. No second thought. No lingering frustration. Just a dismissive shrug and onto the next.

So why the hell did I lose control the second she slammed that door shut?

Why did I trash my desk like a rabid animal?

Why the fuck have I been teetering on the edge all goddamn day?

Every smart-mouthed student that crossed my path today barely made it out unscathed. My patience, usually controlled, was nonexistent.

All because of the way she looked at me after she slapped me.

Like I was a monster.
Like I was a predator, ready to use her, to take what I wanted and leave her hollow.

Like I was him.

She compared me to Cole. The moment she said his name, her fury ignited like a live wire, electric and untamed. No doubt, he’s the ex who had her strung up by her neck outside the cafeteria. The thought alone sends something dark clawing up my spine.

And yet, the worst part?

The moment I imagine another man touching her, my mind fractures, splintering into something uncontrollable. Rational thought? Gone. Erased.

Both times I’ve caught some asshole’s hands on her, I’ve been seconds away from doing something I might regret.

And Ana, fuck, Ana, she makes it worse just by existing near me.

Fucking her wouldn’t be enough. Not even close.

I want her.
I want her to be mine.
I want her so tangled up in me that she never even thinks about another man.

I’ve never had a woman consume me like this.

But now?

She’s all I can fucking think about.

Shoving the bottle of whiskey deeper into my bag, my fingers fumble with the keys to my apartment.

For a while, I liked the idea of owning a home—of settling into something that felt normal. Dipping into the fortune my father left me made it easy, a quiet indulgence in a life that was never really mine to begin with.

Running his business after he passed felt like a duty, one forced onto me without my consent. But the more I dug into his legacy, the more I realized how deep his ties ran to a world he had always kept me sheltered from.

A world I wasn’t meant to escape.

Letting Jake take over our family’s empire was the first real breath I’d taken in years. A weight off my shoulders.

I know my father never wanted him in charge. I know the last thing he wanted was for Jake to step into the role I was supposed to fill. But I couldn’t stomach another day pretending I believed in the way we built our wealth.

Or maybe I believed in it too much.

Maybe that’s why I walked away.

Because I could feel it, the pull. The ease with which I could become the very animal my father had transformed into.

Jake plays the part well. Civil. Controlled. But I know the truth. Deep down, he likes the lifestyle even more than our father ever did.

The months before I cut ties were a downward spiral. My father’s death came too fast, left no time to process. I stepped into his place, cleaned up his loose ends, followed his orders even after he was gone.

And fuck, were there screams.

So much control.

All of it in the palm of my hand.

Our family is deeply entwined with the Mexican drug cartel, moving meth like we’re Amazon’s best delivery drivers, putting bullets in the heads of anyone who crosses us. It’s systematic. Brutal. Efficient.

Walking away felt impossible.

So I didn’t. I just hid.

Laying low, pretending to live a clean life, teaching, of all things, felt like the perfect disguise. No one in my family would’ve expected me to actually use my degree.

And honestly?

I was never a fan of kids anyway.

Three years.

That’s how long it’s been since I last heard from anyone in my family.

No calls. No messages. No warnings.

It’s like I never existed.

Noah Ackerman suits me better anyway. Feels like a clean break from the weight of Noah Antonov, from the legacy I was meant to inherit. Leaving it all to Jake was the only way to stop myself from spiraling down the same blood-soaked path our father did.

Still, I can’t ignore the one habit I did inherit.

The taste for whiskey when my mind turns against me.

The bottle in my bag is proof of that.

"Mr. Ackerman?"

I freeze, apartment keys clenched between my teeth as I wrestle with the stubborn lock. The voice slithers into my ears, grating and unwelcome.

I know that fucking voice.

Slowly, I turn, already bracing for the sight of the last person I wanted to see.

Walker Gilmore.

Of all the goddamn people.

Dropping my keys into my palm, I stare him down, every ounce of patience I have unraveling at the sight of his smug, arrogant face.

"Walker," I say, voice tight, jaw clenched. "What the hell are you doing here?"

My tone is light, almost amused, but in my head?

I’m already picturing his hands clawing at mine, his throat constricting under my grip as he struggles to breathe.

He had the audacity to touch her.

To touch her in my classroom.

To treat her like she was his to please.

And that?

That’s something I can’t fucking let go.

Fighting every goddamn urge to think about Ana’s drunken, in-depth description of sucking this asshole’s dick, the images claw at the edges of my mind. Forcing a neutral smile onto my face, I keep my rage on a tight leash.

"I live here," Walker scoffs, arms crossed like he owns the place. "Off-campus housing."

I narrow my eyes. "Sophomores are required to live on campus-"

"Not if your family pays enough to administration to turn a blind eye to that silly little rule," he interrupts, flashing an egotistical grin that makes my fingers itch to rearrange his teeth.

This little shit.

I’ve seen his kind all over campus. The rich, entitled brats who have never worked a day in their lives, who think their family name is a free pass to do whatever the hell they want. In front of Ana, he plays it well, humble, unassuming. But out here, with no one to impress? The mask slips.

"You talk like you have Briar money," I scoff.

For some reason, when Eden first mentioned her last name, it didn’t click. Eden isn’t just any professor. The Briars are one of the wealthiest families in town. And yet, they don’t flaunt it. From what I’ve seen firsthand, they carry their wealth with quiet power, not arrogance.

Walker? He’s the opposite.

"Not quite, but pretty damn close," he smirks. "Gilmore real estate. My family owns this building."

He pats the marble wall by my door like I’m supposed to be impressed. Like I should be bowing at his fucking feet.

If only he knew who he was talking to.

My family’s affairs would make his look like a lemonade stand.

"Must be a recent move if I’m only now seeing you."

"Since the semester started," he says, shrugging. "Figured I’d rather have my own place than bring women back to a dorm." His grin widens, smug. "But, given how much time I’ve been spending with Ana thanks to your class, it seems I made the smart move."

My grip tightens around my keys, but I keep my expression unreadable.

"If you say so," I mutter, already done with this conversation.

I shift toward my door, making it clear I have better things to do than entertain his bullshit.

"Well, I have papers to grade-"

"It’s actually great I ran into you," Walker interrupts, that arrogant smirk still plastered on his face. "My apartment’s at the very end of this hallway. Figured it’s my neighborly duty to let you know things might get a bit loud tonight. So, you know, don’t hesitate to tell us to keep it down."

I arch a brow, already hating where this is going.

"Big plans with Ana tonight?" The words slip out before I can stop them, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Walker grins, eyes glinting with something smug.

"Plans with her and a few others. Throwing a little back-to-school get together. You know how these things go, a little too much vodka, and suddenly no one knows how to keep their voices down when they’re having a good time."

The way he says it.
The implication laced in his tone.

It takes everything in me not to slam his head against the fucking wall.

"You realize telling me all of this isn’t exactly in your best interest, right?" I say, my voice steady. "It’s a school night, and you’re openly admitting your plans to get wasted-"

"I just want to make sure we’re clear, Mr. Ackerman," he cuts in, his voice shifting, laced with something darker. "If Ana does decide to show up here tonight, the last thing either of us needs is her somehow finding her way to your apartment."

I go still.

The words hit me like a slow-burning fuse.

"What the fuck are you insinuating?"

Dropping my bag, I take a step closer, but Walker doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch.

He’s baiting me. Testing me.

"I’d tread very carefully-"

"No, I would, Noah," he hisses, spitting my name like a curse. His eyes darken with something venomous, something taunting. "It wasn’t too hard to put a face to the name Ana was moaning while she was riding my fingers."

White-hot rage snaps through me.

"I’m sure the school board would love to find out why one of their students is having sexual fantasies about her English teacher-"

I don’t think. I just move.

Grabbing his collar, I slam him back against my door, pinning him in place. His breath stutters, the bravado flickering for the first time. I press my forearm against his chest, my knee digging hard into his thigh, keeping him locked beneath me.

Up close, he’s smaller. Weaker. And trembling like a fucking child who just realized he’s out of his depth.

"Do you want to threaten me again?" I murmur, my voice cold, calculated. I press harder, enough to make sure he feels it. Enough to leave a mark. "Then look me in the eyes and fucking do it."

His confidence evaporates. That smug mask he wore so easily a moment ago? Gone.

He scoffs, but it’s weak, forced. A pathetic attempt to regain control.

"My parents-"

"I could give two shits what your family will do," I murmur, my voice low and lethal. "Because I promise you, mine will do much worse."

Walker swallows hard, but I don’t give him the chance to react.

"Tread very fucking carefully before you ever speak to me like that again. And if Ana was moaning my name?" I lean in, smirking. "Maybe learn to fuck her well enough that she doesn’t have to fantasize about me pounding into her instead of you."

His jaw tightens, but I can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes.

Gripping his chin, I squeeze hard, forcing his gaze to stay locked on mine. His pupils widen, fear flashing through them. "I promise you, if she comes knocking on my door tonight, the last thing she’ll have to worry about is moaning another man’s name."

I let that settle in before continuing, my grip tightening.

"Because if she’s with me, she won’t know any name but mine. So, if you’d rather not have your little girlfriend forget who the fuck you even are while I show her what it’s like to be properly fucked, I suggest you and all of your little partygoers stay the fuck out of my way."

With a sharp yank, I rip him away from my door, watching as he stumbles, nearly tripping over himself.

"Have a good night, Mr. Gilmore," I sneer, venom laced in every syllable.

I don’t move as he rubs his chest, his face twisted into something caught between anger and disbelief.

"Stay away from Ana," he hisses, his voice shaky, his ego barely holding on.

Something entirely feral snaps inside me.

The very idea of him trying to keep her from me only makes her that much more desirable.

I let a slow, knowing smirk stretch across my lips as I glance over my shoulder. "I think you’re telling the wrong person that, pretty boy."

And nothing, nothing, is more satisfying than slamming the door shut on his dumbfounded face.

Chapter 12

Anastasia

"Something tells me no part of this will be small," I scoff, scanning Walker’s extensive list of items for tonight’s so called get together. From the sheer amount of alcohol he’s stocking up on, it’s clear this isn’t about socializing, it’s about getting blackout drunk.

"Alright, fine, it’s a party," Walker admits over the phone. "But if you come, you can bring Elijah and Megan to make you feel less out of place."

I arch a brow. "Out of place?"

"I just mean… parties probably aren’t your thing-"

"Walker, I was sneaking out and going behind my parents’ backs before I even had my learner’s permit." I snort.

The words taste bitter the second they leave my mouth.

One of my biggest regrets.

There was so much time I could have had with my dad before he got sick. Time I wasted chasing cheap thrills.

Clearing my throat, I force the thought away.

"I've had my fair share of house party thrills."

Walker’s tone shifts, turning suggestive. "Do tell. What is this thrill you speak of?"

Smirking, I play along.

"Let’s just say, after four good shots, I’ll happily ditch your ass and take my turn playing spin the bottle with the hottest girl in the room."

Alcohol has always been the great equalizer of my attraction. I like to pretend I prefer men, but a few drinks in, and that false certainty unravels fast.

High school proved that well enough. One too many shots, a five-minute make out session with Erica that escalated to hands under shirts and fingers exploring unfamiliar territory.

But then my dad got sick, and suddenly, the idea of sneaking out to get wasted at some stranger’s house felt like a betrayal.

Back then, Cole and Erica were my constants. My stability.

And looking back, I should have seen it. The way Cole was happier watching Erica and me make out than he ever was alone with me.

The signs were all there, the cracks forming long before they split wide open.

Who knew he’d use my dad’s cancer as the perfect excuse to take advantage of my distance?

"So, you’re telling me there’s a chance I might get some girl-on-girl action-"

"Bye, Walker!" Megan chirps sweetly before ending the call, cutting off whatever gross comment he was about to make.

Blinking as she tosses my phone onto her bed, she plants her hands on her hips with a glare so sharp it nearly cuts me.

"What was that about?" I ask.

Her expression hardens. "I don’t like him."

"You don’t like him?" I scoff.

"You heard me, Ana." There’s zero playfulness in her voice now. "I don’t like him. I don’t know much about Cole, and thank God for that, because from everything you’ve told me, I’d probably punch him in the face. But Walker? From the outside looking in, he seems like nothing more than a rich, narcissistic boy having fun with his new plaything."

Her words land like a gut punch.

Because deep down?

I’m terrified she might be right.

"I’m assuming I’m the new ‘plaything’ in this scenario?"

Megan rolls her eyes and drops onto the bed beside me, arms crossed like she’s bracing for whatever bullshit excuse I’m about to give.

"Are you seriously going to keep avoiding telling me what happened on movie night after Elijah and I left?" she presses. "Because ever since then, every time Walker is around, you look like you’re holding back vomit."

I’d like to blame my reaction on Walker alone, on the way his presence makes my skin crawl. But deep down, I know my avoidance isn’t just about him.

It’s about the man who’s been occupying my mind ever since.

And I doubt Megan would stomach the real reason why.

She narrows her eyes. "Full honesty?"

I hesitate, but nod. No point in dodging it now.

"He couldn’t get me going that night, and… I might’ve slipped up and moaned an ex’s name to get off."

Her eyes widen. "Holy shit, Ana-"

"So, as an apology, I tried to give him a blowjob and… he got rough."

Rough is an understatement.

Megan’s posture shifts instantly, her expression hardening. "Did he touch you in a way you didn’t like-"

"No, nothing like that," I cut in quickly. "It was just… a lot."

A lot in the way that made my stomach knot and my body freeze.

But here’s the fucked-up part.

When Noah was having his way with me, the pain, the bruising grip of his hands, the raw intensity of his touch, it thrilled me. I craved it. With Walker, I was scared. But with Noah?

I only wanted more.

Tell me how one man’s brutal touch could leave me trembling in fear, while the other gets me wet just thinking about it.

Megan groans, flopping back onto the bed. "You are astronomically awful at picking men."

"Thanks for that." I scoff.

"And even worse," she continues, "I think the only reason Walker is inviting us over tonight is to live out some stupid lesbian porn fantasy in real life."

I snort, shaking my head. "I’m not making out with some random girl to stroke Walker’s ego, if that’s what you’re worried about."

Megan pouts, clearly unconvinced.

"I’m mostly using tonight as an excuse to let him down easy," I reassure her. "The alcohol gives me the courage I need to break things off."

She studies me, skeptical. Then her gaze sharpens. "And what if Cole and Erica are there?"

The question hits like a punch to the gut.

"You’re not worried they’ll make your little breakup with Walker considerably worse?" she adds, still stiff, still pissed, her usual lightheartedness gone.

I force a shrug, even though my stomach twists at the thought. "We’re not dating, Megan. This isn’t some dramatic breakup."

She doesn’t budge.

Her eyes narrow, searching mine like she knows I’m holding something back.

"What else is this about, Megan?" I sigh. "I get that you’re looking out for me, but you’re poking holes in everything I say-"

"I'm fine, Ana," Megan hisses, her voice sharp, her frustration thick in the air. "You’re going to go to that party and have the time of your life, breaking hearts, blaming your make out session with some random sleaze on the alcohol, while Elijah and I have to watch. It’s the same shit every straight girl loves to do."

Her words hit harder than I expect.

Then it clicks.

She thinks I’m going to use her.

"Megan," I say, cutting her off mid-tangent. My hands find her arms, stilling her restless movements. She looks at me, confusion flickering in her eyes. "Do you honestly think alcohol would be my only motivator for kissing someone as gorgeous as you?"

Her breath catches, but I don’t let her look away.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you by letting you think that’s the case."

Her expression falters, softening into something raw. But then, just as quickly, it twists into something hardened. Something tired.

"You and every girl I’ve been with love to pick up a bottle and use people like me, people who are sure of what we want. Then the next morning, you wake up and blame it all on the liquor." Her jaw tightens. "I’m not hurt, Ana. I’m pissed."

I don’t think.

I react.

Leaning in, I press my lips to hers, silencing whatever protest is about to spill from her mouth. My fingers graze the side of her face, cupping her jaw as I push her back against the mattress. She doesn’t resist.

She pulls me closer, fists tightening around the front of my shirt, and I feel it, that slow burn deep in my stomach, the quiet hum of something dangerous beneath my skin.

Maybe this is what I need.

A distraction. A healthy distraction.

A way to explore my curiosity. To drown out Noah.

I let my tongue tease the seam of her lips before sliding lower, my hand slipping beneath her shirt. The second she gasps, I take my chance, deepening the kiss as my fingers trace upward, dragging her shirt along with them.

The wet sounds of our mouths moving together mix with her breathy moans, and heat pools between my legs when my thumb skims over her hardened nipple.

This should be where I stop.

I’m not drunk.

I’ve already made my point.

But then, Noah.

His touch slams into my thoughts, uninvited, unavoidable.

How would he touch me right now?
What would he do if he saw this?
Would he be angry?
Would he want to join?

How far does his obsession with me go?

A sharp need coils inside me, twisting, dark, and hungry.

I drag Megan’s bottom lip between my teeth, but the ache I crave doesn’t come. It’s not enough.

I need to feel pain.
I need to inflict it.

Without thinking, my fingers tighten around her nipple, pinching. Hard.

Megan gasps, her body jerking beneath mine. The sound sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing through me, my instincts driving me further. I bite down on her lip, harder than I intend to.

The metallic tang of blood coats my tongue.

Megan pulls back abruptly, touching her swollen, reddened lip. Her fingers come away stained.

Her wide eyes meet mine.

"Ana," she breathes, something unreadable in her voice. "You bit me."

Cocking my head, reality comes crashing down around me.

Megan isn’t Noah.

No one is.

No one has the touch that Noah gave me, and I just shamelessly felt up my dorm mate trying to chase the high he left behind.

Fuck.

Heat floods my cheeks as I pull down Megan’s shirt for her, shame clawing up my spine.

"I got carried away," I mutter, my voice tight. "The pinching, the biting-"

"Your point was made," Megan says, wide-eyed but eerily calm. "Clearly, we would not be compatible in bed, but I can’t say I didn’t enjoy that." She exhales, running a hand through her hair. "I’m sorry for doubting your intentions-"

"No, don’t do that," I cut in quickly. "I’m sorry for hurting you." Rubbing the back of my neck, the weight of embarrassment settles deeper. "I wasn’t trying-"

"You like it rough, Ana. Don’t be ashamed." Megan scoffs, rolling her eyes.

I stare at her, still searching for any sign that she might be upset, but she just smirks like she’s already figured me out.

"And you’re not… hurt by what just happened?" I ask cautiously.

"If you’re asking whether I’m in love with you after that? No." Megan grins, shaking her head. "Generally, it’s the straight girls who break my heart. But you, my friend, are at the very least bi-curious."

I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn’t give me the chance.

"But do tell me, who were you thinking about when you were kissing me? And don’t give me that lie you fed Walker."

She sees right through me. Like she always does.

"I wasn’t-"

"You were," she snaps, cutting me off effortlessly. "You may be able to sway a man, but I see right past whatever distraction you were trying to create with me. So… who is he?"

Megan adjusts her shirt and sits cross-legged in front of me, her gaze locked on mine, waiting.

The heat between us has already faded, replaced by something heavier.

"He’s a bad idea." I sigh.

Her brow lifts. "A really bad idea?"

"It’s not worth entertaining," I mutter.

She holds up two fingers, shaking her head. "If I’m counting right, you’ve fantasized about him twice. With two separate people, yet you still think it’s not worth entertaining?"

"There are bad ideas, Megan, and then there are bad ideas." My voice sharpens as I shake my head, "I’d rather just let this pass and have a drunken make out session to distract myself from whoever might be occupying my thoughts."

"And I’m who you want to distract you?" Megan smirks.

"I’d rather kiss you than Walker." I grin.

Dramatically falling back onto the mattress, she groans.

"Fine. We can go. But on two conditions."

I wait silently, bracing myself.

She holds up one finger. "If we make out again, no biting." She laughs.

I nod, a small smirk tugging at my lips. "Fair."

She takes a deep breath before holding up the second finger, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"And the second condition?"

Megan glances toward my closet, her smirk widening.

"You wear something that makes Walker and your mystery man fall to their knees. I wouldn’t mind a little drama."

I scoff, shaking my head.

"Easier said than done."

Last I checked, professors don’t linger at college parties.

Then again… maybe that’s for the better.

Chapter 13

Anastasia

Tugging at the hem of the tight black dress, the fabric clings to my curves like a second skin. The bottom rests high on my thigh, too high, reminding me that one wrong move, one large lean, and anyone behind me would get an unobstructed view of my ass and the black lace thong barely covering it.

Cramming myself into Megan’s dress was a challenge in itself. Letting her push up my breasts and paint my face like one of her damn works of art? Even more daunting.

With my red hair cascading down my back, the dark eye makeup and bold red lips only deepen the seductive edge of the look. Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I barely recognize myself.

Then...

Smack.

Megan’s palm lands sharply against my ass, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Still not as hard as Noah.

Fuck.

What the fuck is wrong with me?
Stop thinking about him.

"Look how sexy you look," Megan grins, hyping me up as she fluffs my hair for the third time.

Dragging my gaze to her, I take in her own outfit.

A sheer white cropped top, her nipples shamelessly visible through the fabric, paired with sleek black pants that hug her legs like they were painted on. With her signature cat-eye liner and deep olive skin glowing under the dim light, she’s the definition of effortless beauty.

"You don’t look bad yourself," I joke, eyeing her up and down. "Is it too late to switch outfits?"

Right on cue, a rhythmic knock hits the door.

Elijah.

"And deprive Elijah of seeing you all dressed up? You’re delusional," Megan smirks.

Before I can protest, the door swings open, and Elijah steps in, one hand dramatically covering his eyes. His outfit, somehow a mix of gaudy and effortlessly stylish, features a flashy striped shirt and bright blue jeans that only he could pull off.

"Not looking," he murmurs. "The last thing I need tonight is unsolicited tits-"

Rolling my eyes, I grab his wrist and yank his hand away from his face.

"No tits here," I laugh.

Elijah finally looks between the two of us, and his jaw damn near drops.

"I beg to fucking differ. Where the hell has this Ana and Megan been?" he exclaims, waving his hands as if presenting us like a damn fashion show.

Megan rolls her eyes, already reaching for her car keys, ignoring him.

Then Elijah squints.

"Since when do you wear lipstick, Meg?"

My stomach clenches.

Locking eyes with Megan, I realize what he’s referring to, the dried blood still settled on her lip.

"Oh, it’s nothing-"

"I made out with her," I cut in, the words tumbling out before I can think twice. "Things got a little rowdy."

Elijah gapes, his mouth hanging open like a broken hinge. Before he can launch into whatever dramatics are brewing in his mind, I grab Megan’s keys and shove both of them toward the door.

"I better get the rundown on what the hell I missed," Elijah demands, still looking wildly between the two of us. "Or I swear, I’ll force you both to sit through the shittiest low-budget, raunchy rom-com next movie night."

I groan, already regretting my choice to overshare.

Good lord.

Maybe some things are worse than the truth.

"So remind me again why we’re going to this piece of shit’s party?" Elijah drawls from the backseat. "Sounds like you’re getting off well enough with Megan-"

"I wasn’t getting off to her," I snap, shooting him a glare. "And for the record, the only reason I’m going to this party is to break off whatever the hell Walker thinks we have going on-"

"Ana was using him to make some guy jealous," Megan cuts in casually.

Fantastic. More context for Elijah to latch onto like a damn bloodhound.

His eyes widen, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

"Wait. So that whole story about you moaning another guy’s name wasn’t bullshit? No wonder he face-fucked you-"

Turning my glare on him, he immediately tugs at his collar, sensing danger.

"Okay, yes, clearly it’s fucked up," he backtracks, holding his hands up. "But a meathead like Walker? The dude only knows how to drink beer and badly fuck women. Of course his default reaction is gonna be sex."

Megan smirks from the driver’s seat. "Well, Ana refuses to tell us who her mystery man is," she teases. "Maybe he’ll emerge from the shadows once he sees her cute ass crammed into that little dress-"

"He won’t be here tonight," I cut in sharply. "Can we please just focus on getting a little liquored up before I drop Walker and we ditch?"

Megan taps her fingers against the steering wheel, pretending to consider it.

"After I’ve had my rounds with the closeted girls, I’m all yours."

"I’m just here for the drama." Elijah shrugs.

Then, with zero warning, he leans forward and wraps his arms around me from behind, hugging me in my car seat like a damn koala.

"Plus, who else is gonna protect you both from the scary frat boys?" he grins.

Megan and I burst into laughter, the imagery alone enough to set us off.

All I can picture is Elijah, pepper spray in one hand, violently misting anyone who so much as breathes in his direction.

"Right," I wheeze, shaking my head. "The day you whoop someone’s ass is the day I tell you both about my mystery man."

Elijah huffs dramatically, flopping back in his seat.

"Guess I’m gonna have to beat some ass tonight."

I keep a smile plastered on my face, determined to stay positive.

But deep down?

The last thing I need tonight is anyone finding out the truth about the man who’s taken up permanent residence in my mind.

Noah

I’m going to strangle them.

No, I’m going to fucking strangle every single one of those drunk idiots.

The walls shake as bass-heavy music rattles through the building, an ungodly mix of noise and chaos. Walker’s party has mutated into a full-blown rager, bodies crashing into walls, drunken laughter spilling into the hallways like a goddamn plague.

I should’ve expected this.

Given his family owns this building, there’s no doubt in my mind why my five calls to the landlord have mysteriously been ignored.

Fucking perfect.

My grip tightens around the glass of whiskey in my hand, my eyes drifting to the bottle’s dwindling contents.

Half a bottle down.

How much am I going to regret this on a work night?

It’s one thing to drink for pleasure.

It’s another to drink to drown out the thought of a woman.

After my little interaction with Walker in the hallway, I fucking spiraled.

He touched her.
He touched what's mine.
His hands were on her body, feeling things that no one, no one but me, should ever get to experience.

And now, she might be at that party, drunk off her ass, allowing him to put his filthy hands on her again.

The thought makes something dark coil inside me, thick and suffocating.

He doesn’t deserve her lips wrapped around his tainted cock.
He doesn’t deserve to hear what her moans sound like.

The only person who should be making her feel anything, pain or pleasure, is me.

And if she’s at that party right now?

I might just have to remind her of that.

I saw it in her eyes that night.

The want.

The way her body melted into my touch, the way she practically sang my praises with the wet mess between her thighs.

I knew this wasn’t one-sided.

She wanted me.

And if anything, Walker’s little outburst only confirmed it. She doesn’t want his hands on her. She doesn’t want his mouth.

She only wants me.

But it’s wrong.

It’s so fucking wrong.

Exerting my authority over her in the bedroom is one thing. Having to face her as her teacher, pretending like none of this is happening, is nothing short of torture.

All of this is fucking torture.

I debated calling one of the women on speed dial, seeking some kind of release, some temporary fix.

I scrolled through name after name, looking for someone, anyone, who even remotely resembled Ana.

And that’s when it hit me.

There’s something wrong with me.

I can have anything I want. Anyone I want. And yet, the one thing I know I should stay away from, the one thing that could jeopardize my distance from my family, is the very thing I’m walking toward like there are no fucking consequences.

I have to stay away from her.

I have to.

I squeeze my eyes shut, exhaling slowly.

Then-

"Ana!"

A voice booms from the hallway, sharp, loud, and instantly sobering.

Any rationalization I was about to entertain vanishes, snuffed out like a flame.

I’m still in my work clothes, though barely. My tie hangs loose around my neck, my dress shirt unbuttoned and wide open, leaving nothing to the imagination.

My fingertips graze my abdomen, tracing over the faint, circular scars littering my waistline. Pale reminders of the past. Of what happens when you let emotions overtake your life.

Emotions lead to mistakes.

My hand hovers over the doorknob.

Walk away, Noah.

Taking a step back, my mind torments me.

Walk away.

"Look how fucking hot you look!"

Another male voice, loud, laughing, taunting.

A slow breath fills my lungs.

On the other hand…

Perhaps anger outweighs all my other emotions.

Cracking open the door, instantly, my cock stiffens at the sight before me.

Fuck.

Pressing my hand to my crotch, I will myself to settle the throbbing urge surging through me.

Ana.

Wrapped in a tight black dress that barely covers her perfect, curvy ass. Her breasts are pushed up, begging for attention, her dark eye makeup only enhancing the sinful image of how much better she’d look with it smudged, tears streaking down her cheeks, lips trembling.

Her lips.

Coated in a deep, rich red, plump and waiting to be ruined.

And her hair, soft, cascading curls running down her back, practically begging to be wrapped around my knuckles while she cries out my name.

This is lust. Nothing more.

Once I’ve expelled this relentless desire for her, she will become just another woman. Another face.

She’s just like the others.

Once I’ve had my fill, these twisted thoughts will die down.

I don’t care when the women I fuck move on to other men. It’s never mattered before.

So why-

"There she is!" Walker’s voice grates against my nerves, yanking me back to the present.

His arms wrap around Ana, hands roaming far too freely.

Then he grabs her ass.

Hard.

She yelps, immediately swatting his hand away.

A white-hot surge of rage pulses through me. The only thing keeping me from marching out there, from yanking Ana into my apartment and keeping her where she belongs, is the fact that my erection is still painfully obvious.

"Walker-"

"Look at this dress," he cuts her off, tone laced with drunken arrogance.

I shift my gaze. Ana’s friends stand nearby, their expressions mirroring her discomfort.

Odd.

She seemed to love his hands all over her in my classroom.

But now? She looks disgusted.

"Are you drunk already?" Ana crosses her arms, fire flickering behind her sharp eyes. That no-bullshit attitude only makes me want her more.

I’d love for her to try and tell me off with my face buried between her thighs.

The things I would do to taste her, to pull that sweet release from her lips while she’s gasping, begging me to stop, only to not stop at all.

"I’ve had a few beers," Walker groans. "But seriously, come inside-"

His head tilts toward my door.

I shut it instantly.

Fuck.

The last thing I need is for him to realize I was watching. After our last conversation, his suspicions about my infatuation with Ana are already brewing. The last thing I need is to hand him more ammunition.

Pressing my forehead against the door, I listen as the hallway noise fades. My breaths are shallow, my body wound tight.

I need to calm the fuck down.

Rationalizing while drinking has never been my strong suit. The second alcohol takes over, logic ceases to exist.

And then-

"Noah."

Her voice.

Soft. Searching.

I freeze.

A gentle knock against my door, barely there, but enough to make every muscle in my body tense.

"Don’t make me feel crazy," she murmurs. "I know it was you."

My fingers twitch around the doorknob.

It takes every ounce of restraint not to rip it open-

"Do you care to tell me why the hell Walker is trying to rip my clothes off every five seconds-"

I don’t let her finish.

The door swings open, and her cold, demanding glare morphs into something else entirely.

Surprise.

Her gaze drops, lingering at my exposed skin, tracing over my bare chest before inevitably landing lower.

She stares.

And when the red flush creeps up her neck, coloring her cheeks, I know.

She took her time looking.

When her cat-like eyes finally snap back to mine, I smirk.

She’s fucking stunning.

Standing there, flushed, flustered, caught between her own stubbornness and undeniable attraction, she looks like a temptation no man with a soul could resist.

Lucky for me.

I lost mine a long time ago.

"So you do live here," she murmurs after a few beats of silence.

"Unfortunately," I hiss.

Ana leans in slightly, her nose scrunching as she studies me.

"Guess you’re drunk too," she observes, judgment laced in every syllable.

I scoff, shifting my gaze toward Walker’s door.

"As if that wasn’t your plan," I smirk. "Should I remind you what happened last time you were drunk within my proximity?"

Her lips part, but I don’t give her a chance to cut in.

"No one asked you to come over here, yet here you are." I tilt my head, watching as her arms tighten around her body. "Makes me wonder, Anastasia, do you really despise me as much as you claim?"

Her jaw clenches.

"Shouldn’t your lapdog be with you right now?" I continue, my smirk deepening. "Tearing at that little black dress like some desperate animal?"

The moment the words leave my mouth, the red swarms her cheeks, hot with anger or something dangerously close to it.

"I told them I left something in Elijah’s car," she snaps, voice defensive. "And if we’re being honest here, I was hoping you had some answers as to why Walker is acting like a fucking lunatic."

She steps forward, close enough for me to catch the sharpness of her perfume.

"It wasn’t hard to piece together that you might be the reason for his shit attitude when I caught a glimpse of you," she hisses.

Her eyes betray her, flickering down my body before she forces them back to mine.

I lean lazily into the doorway, amused. "I’m sure you’d love to blame your fuck buddy’s shitty mood on me," I murmur, "but maybe you just have horrible taste in men."

Ana’s expression ignites.

Her finger presses into my bare torso, her eyes hot with rage. "Do you get a kick out of this?" she whispers, her voice shaking, not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.

I don’t flinch.

"Do you get a kick out of fucking with me?" she continues, voice lower now. "As if what you’re doing isn’t illegal-"

"Illegal?" My smirk sharpens. "Are you going to tell on me, Ana?"

She falters. The confidence flickers for just a second, and her hand drops.

I step forward.

Closer.

My fingers find the back of her neck, curling around her skin, tugging her just enough so that her body collides with mine.

She stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away.

Her breathing is shallow. Her resolve, cracking.

"Do you want to tell on me, Ana?" My voice is low, coaxing. My grip tightens just slightly. "Or do you love this just as much as I do?"

She glares, jaw tight, lips parted, her breath unsteady.

"Fuck you, Noah," she spits, but the words don’t land the way she wants them to.

"Still in denial?" I chuckle.

Then, without warning, I flip her around.

A sharp gasp escapes her as her back meets my chest, my arm curling around her front, locking her against me.

My hand slides up, finding the swell of her breast, fingers spreading over the soft curve as my lips hover near her ear.

She trembles.

The sound of her shaky breath, the way her body molds to mine, it thrills me.

I press my palm more firmly against her, fingers teasing the hardened peak beneath my touch, kneading slowly.

Ana shudders.

My lips barely graze her ear as I whisper, "Maybe we should test my little theory."

Pushing her harder against me, she squirms.

Her back molds to my chest, her breath hitching as my arm snakes around her front, locking her in place.

My hand finds her breast, molding over the soft curve, fingers spreading possessively. She shivers, her body betraying her, and the sound of her shaky exhale sends a dark thrill surging through me.

I bend lower, lips hovering just inches from her ear, my breath ghosting over her skin.

She trembles.

Fucking perfect.

My fingers knead slowly, feeling the stiff peak of her nipple beneath the thin barrier of fabric.

A soft, involuntary gasp escapes her lips.

Smirking, I press closer, my grip tightening.

"Still want to pretend you don’t want this?" I murmur against her ear, letting my fingers tease, coax, own.

She exhales sharply, but she doesn’t answer.

She can’t.

Because we both know the truth.

"If I were to touch you right now, Ana," I murmur, my lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "How wet do you think your pretty cunt would be for me?"

Her breath catches, her body taut beneath my grip.

I tighten my hold on her breast, squeezing firmly.

A sharp gasp escapes her lips, her voice trembling.

"Noah, we’re in your doorway. Anyone could-"

"I know," I cut her off, my voice dark, unwavering. "Let them see. Let them all see how fucking naughty you really are, Anastasia."

I don’t give her time to protest.

My hand trails down, slipping beneath the hem of her dress, shoving the tight fabric up until it gathers at her waist. My fingers slide under the delicate waistband of her lace underwear.

"Lace?" I mock, my tone laced with amusement. "All for Walker?"

She scoffs, her voice dripping with defiance and something even more dangerous... seduction.

"For anyone," she purrs. "Thirty minutes ago I had my tongue down Megan’s throat. The night is still young. Perhaps one of Walker’s frat buddies would love to feel my la-"

Wrong answer.

My fingers slip lower, dipping into the heat between her thighs, cutting off her words in an instant.

Her entire body jolts.

The slick glide of her folds coats my fingertips as I stroke her gently, lazily, teasingly. The moment my thumb brushes over her swollen clit, she sucks in a sharp breath, her entire frame trembling against mine.

She’s melting.

Melting for me, right here, in this open doorway.

Anyone could step out. Anyone could see.

Yet instead of pulling away, she clings to me, her nails digging into my arm, her grip tight as she fights against the moans threatening to spill from her lips.

"What were you saying, Ana?" I murmur, my fingers working slow, precise circles over her sensitive bud.

Her head lolls back against my shoulder, her breath uneven.

She tries to speak, her voice wavering.

"That there’s… a whole room of frat boys-"

"Funny. I don’t hear you finishing that thought."

Because we both know she won’t.

Not while I have her like this.

Not while she’s coming undone at my touch.

"That will touch you?" I murmur, my voice a dark whisper against her ear. "Touch you like this?"

Without warning, my fingers move from her swollen clit to her slick, needy entrance.

And then, I take what's mine.

Two fingers sink inside her, stretching her open as I drive into her without hesitation. Slow, deep, deliberate. As hard as the angle allows.

Her legs wobble.

She clings to my arm, struggling to hold herself up as pleasure overtakes her, her body betraying her completely.

She’s dripping, coating my fingers, drenching my hand, her soft, desperate moans growing louder with every relentless thrust.

"You feel that, Ana?" My voice is low, taunting. "You feel how fucking wet you are right now?"

Her head lolls back against my chest, mouth parted, eyes heavy-lidded as she succumbs to it...to me.

I shift my grip.

My free hand slides up from her breast, wrapping lightly around her throat, forcing her gaze upward, forcing her to watch me as I ruin her.

She gasps, her breath shallow, her lips beginning to press together-

"Keep that fucking dirty mouth open," I snap.

Her eyes flicker with defiance.

"No-"

Wrong answer.

Pulling my fingers from her soaked cunt, I immediately find her swollen clit, pinching as hard as I can.

She jerks, her body writhing against mine as tears pool in her eyes. A muffled scream slips past her lips, her hand flying to cover her mouth as I rip my hand away from her.

She glares at me, anger, frustration, and need flashing in her eyes.

Sliding my fingers back inside her, I fuck into her harder than before, making sure she feels every thrust, every movement, as my thumb teases her overstimulated clit.

"Open your mouth, Ana," I order, my tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Slowly, she parts her lips, her breath ragged.

Good girl.

Smirking, my fingers work her more aggressively, my thumb circling her sensitive bud with brutal precision.

"Good fucking girl," I praise, voice dripping with satisfaction. "Keep taking it, you fucking whore."

She whimpers, trembling in my grasp.

Gathering the saliva pooling in my mouth, I tilt her chin up with a firm grip.

Her wide, desperate eyes meet mine.

"Dirty fucking slut," I scoff.

Then, I spit into her mouth.

She gasps.

Her body stiffens, her pupils dilating, a mix of shock and something far darker flickering in her expression.

I smirk, my fingers still buried deep inside her.

"My dirty fucking slut."

And then, nothing.

Pulling out, she lets out a sharp breath at the sudden loss, the absence of my touch leaving her unsteady.

Turning quickly, she yanks her dress back down, her hands trembling slightly.

But I see it.

The heat lingering in her eyes. The need.

She can try to hide it all she wants.

But I already know, she loved every second of it.

She’s ready to yell at me, ready to spit venom, to act like she didn’t just come undone at my touch.

But before she can, I hold up the proof of her arousal between us.

Her slick glistens on my fingers, undeniable.

"Lapse of judgment?" I murmur, tilting my head.

I take a slow, deliberate step toward her, bringing my fingers closer to her lips, teasing.

"Or are you my little secret, Anastasia?"

Her glare sharpens, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t match the heat rolling off her body.

She grabs my wrist, her grip tight, her next words curling into a challenge.

"You want me to be your secret, Noah?" A malicious smirk tugs at her lips. "Then lick your fingers clean and prove to me your touch is only mine."

Oh, Ana.

You just opened Pandora’s Box.

I don’t hesitate.

Holding her gaze, I part my lips and drag my tongue slowly, torturously, up my middle and ring finger, tasting every last drop of her.

I devour her.

Licking, sucking, making sure she sees every flick of my tongue, every movement.

By the time my fingers are clean, the tension between us is suffocating. The painful strain in my pants is unbearable.

I grab the front of her dress, yanking her against me.

Her breasts push up, her breath shuddering as I lean down, my mouth inches from her skin.

"My fucking slut," I growl.

Then, I bite.

Hard.

My teeth sink into the swell of her breast, a deep, bruising mark blooming beneath my lips.

"My fucking property."

Ana gasps, a sharp, breathy cry of pain.

My cock twitches.

Forcing my head up, I admire the mark forming on her soft skin.

Perfect.

Now, every single fucker at that party will know, she is off-limits.

She touches the bite, her glare flickering between anger and something she won’t admit.

"If you go to that party, Ana," I grin, palming the bulge in my pants with no shame, "I’ll do much worse if I find out someone else put their hands on you."

She struggles to find her words, lips parting, breath uneven.

"Ana?"

The sound of her name cuts through the moment.

One of her friends.

The door is cracked open now.

I take a slow step back, retreating into the shadows of my apartment.

Reaching a hand toward her, my eyes burn into hers.

"Want to dance with the Devil, Anastasia?" I taunt.

My door has never closed faster.

Chapter 14

Anastasia

He lures me into his bedroom, the door clicking shut behind me, the soft snick of the lock sending a shiver down my spine.

The room is clean, meticulously arranged, old books lining the shelves, the pristine space a stark contrast to the man who inhabits it.

I let my fingers skim over the sheets, my voice laced with sarcasm.

"Should I be worried?"

My words are light, teasing.

But my throat tightens the second my gaze drops to the thick, straining outline of his cock pressing against his pants.

Noah watches me, hunts me, with darkened eyes.

"Maybe, Anastasia," he growls. "Maybe you should be very fucking worried."

He approaches slowly, deliberately, peeling off his shirt as he moves.

My breath catches.

The tie remains loosely draped around his neck; the only fabric left on his upper body.

I can’t help myself.

My hands lift, my fingertips trailing down his chest, feeling the firm ridges of muscle, the smooth planes of his stomach. My touch wanders lower, tracing the deep lines of his waist, lingering where the veins tease above his waistband-

And then I feel them.

Scars.

"That’s enough exploring," he snaps, voice sharp. "Time to give you something else to focus on."

Before I can react, he yanks the tie from around his neck and grabs my wrists in one swift movement.

My pulse spikes.

He moves with ease, with practice, binding my wrists together with a perfectly executed knot. He leaves just enough slack to tighten, or pull, at his command.

His grip is firm as he forces my arms above my head, securing them against the headboard.

"Noah, my arms-"

"You won’t be needing them," he whispers.

His tone is final.

The vulnerability sinks in immediately, a deep, electric awareness flooding through me as he steps back to admire his work, my wrists pulling against the fabric.

No give.

No escape.

And from the look in his eyes, he likes it that way.

"The women who have lain in this bed before you never knew my name."

His voice is low, steady, filled with something raw. "Their nights with me were fleeting. No expectations, no lingering attachments. One time, no repeats. That’s how it’s always been."

His eyes darken as they trace my body. "But you…"

A muscle tics in his jaw.

"You have become so fucking curious about why I want you, Anastasia." His smirk is gone now, replaced with something dangerously close to frustration. "And the truth?" He exhales, voice turning ragged, "I don’t fucking know."

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering as he steps closer.

"You’ve taken up my mind." His fingers ghost along my jaw, his touch barely there. "The taste of you is like a goddamn drug."

His grip tightens, his tone darkening. "I don’t know what’s happening, but God help me if you think I’ll let anyone else lay a hand on you but me."

My heart pounds so violently I swear he can hear it.

Defiance sparks in my chest, my lips parting before I can stop myself.

"And if I let you have me, Noah?" My voice is even, but my body betrays me, heat pooling under his heavy gaze. "What happens after that?"

A smirk tugs at his lips. Slow. Dangerous.

He steps even closer, his breath fanning across my face.

"What do you think I want?" he murmurs.

I hold his stare, refusing to back down.

"Do you think I just want sex?" His voice sharpens, frustration curling at the edges, "Do you think anything I do to women is something anyone would consider loving?"

The room crackles with something electric, something lethal.

His fingers press into my chin, forcing me to really look at him.

"After tonight, Ana, if you think what I did to you was love?" He shakes his head, his smirk fading into something grim. "Then you’re as fucked up as me."

The words send a thrill down my spine, colliding with something deep inside me I don’t want to name.

His thumb grazes my lower lip, teasing, taunting. "And if you crave this touch again?" His voice dips lower, almost a whisper now, "Then I fear what that means for both of us."

A shiver rolls through me, but I meet his gaze, unblinking.

"And if I tell you to stop?" I ask, my tone laced with both challenge and anticipation.

His smirk returns, but this time, it’s darker.

"That only adds to my fun."

Noah drags me down the bed with ease, pulling until my arms strain against the restraints, the pressure sending a thrill through my body.

The fabric of my dress is no match for him.

He pushes it up in one swift motion, yanking the front down until my breasts spill free, my lace underwear left as the only barrier between me and his touch.

His palm presses against my eager warmth, the heat of his hand soaking through the delicate fabric as he begins a slow, deliberate stroke along my folds.

My body reacts, a small, helpless moan slipping past my lips before I can stop it.

"So wet for me, hmm?" Noah chuckles.

His head dips down, his lips brushing over one of my hardened nipples.

Then, his teeth.

A sharp bite, followed by the soothing drag of his tongue as he sucks and nips, pushing me higher, forcing little gasps and whimpers from my mouth.

Pain. Pleasure.

A perfect, intoxicating mix.

"We’re not in my classroom anymore," he murmurs against my skin. "Let it all out."

His fingers hook into my panties, dragging them down my thighs.

My breath stutters as his hands roam, kneading my breasts, teasing my skin with calculated precision.

Then, lower.

His fingers ghost over my drenched folds, tracing, taunting.

Our eyes lock.

"Is this what you wanted, Ana?" His voice is smooth, mocking.

He forces my legs open, his grip rough as his hand leaves my chest.

"Did you want me all to yourself?"

I’m too far gone to hold back the defiance bubbling inside me.

"I d-don’t know, Noah," I hiss, my voice breathless, teasing. "Maybe you should stop running your mouth and make me cum."

The second the words leave my lips, I know I’ve fucked up.

His fingers dig into my thighs, his jaw tightening.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face.

"Right away," Noah hisses.

Tightening his grip, his head lowers, his final warning sending a shiver through me.

"Feel free to scream."

Forcing three fingers inside me without hesitation, he shoves them as deep as his hand allows.

A sharp gasp catches in my throat at the overwhelming stretch, pain and pleasure colliding in a dizzying mix.

His pace is immediate, rough, unrelenting. His fingers drive in and out, pushing slick, obscene sounds into the air between us, each movement deliberate, possessive.

"Look at your fucking pussy," he hisses, watching the mess I’ve made, the way my body responds to him. "So eager. So desperate. All fucking mine."

His fingers curl inside me, hitting that devastating spot with ruthless precision.

My body reacts instantly, legs shaking, heat curling deep in my core, the creeping presence of an impending climax threatening to consume me.

I can’t stop it.

I need it.

"No," Noah snaps, his voice sharp, unyielding. "Not yet, Ana."

I whimper, struggling against the pleasure.

"Look at me."

I try, but the sensation is too much.

My head tilts back, body arching, drowning in the feeling of him.

"I-I can’t-"

Pain.

His teeth sink into the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh, hard enough to make me jolt, hard enough to draw blood.

A sharp cry escapes me, my head snapping up as my vision locks onto his.

Noah licks his lips clean, tasting the mark he left behind.

"Good girl."

His mouth inches closer to my aching, desperate heat.

Dragging his fingers out of me, he replaces the action with a tight grip, grasping my thighs and holding them open, keeping me open.

His eyes are dark, filled with something primal, something starving.

"I want you looking at me when you cum."

Noah watches me, devouring me with his eyes, as a slow trail of spit drips onto my slick folds, mixing with the unbearable heat already pulsing between my legs.

The moment his tongue meets my dripping core, a loud, helpless moan tumbles from my lips.

He feasts on me like a starved man, his mouth working up and down my folds, his tongue flicking, teasing, claiming.

His grip tightens.

He drags me closer, forcing my legs over his shoulders, pulling me so deep into his mouth that he kneels before me, completely immersed.

My hips are off the bed, held in place by his strong hands gripping my sides, fingers buried into my skin as he keeps me exactly where he wants.

The sight alone, the way he eagerly, hungrily worships me, is enough to make me insane.

I rock my hips into his face, my body desperate for more, for everything.

And then the words slip out, filthy, breathless, and untamed.

"Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you, Mr. Ackerman?" I hiss, my voice laced with lust and power.

Noah growls against me, the vibrations sending a shudder through my entire body.

"Fucking eating my pussy like a good boy, ready to lick up my cum," I moan, the words spilling from me as the pleasure builds to a dizzying high.

The second the praise leaves my lips, his tongue works even harder—faster, rougher, pushing me closer to the edge with ruthless precision.

"Good fucking boy," I gasp, panting. "Good fucking boy-"

My words dissolve into a broken moan as the climax crashes over me, the hot wave of release spilling onto his tongue.

Noah doesn’t stop.

If anything, he tightens his grip, pulling me impossibly closer, his mouth working up and down my folds, licking and sucking as if he never wants to come up for air.

Even as my moans turn to desperate, quivering cries.
Even as the pleasure shifts into sharp, overstimulated pain.

He doesn’t stop.

His pace only grows, his tongue relentless, his hunger insatiable.

And from the dark gleam in his eyes, I know.

Noah Ackerman isn’t done with me yet.

"Noah," I hiss, my legs trembling, threatening to close around his head. "Fuck, Noah, I can’t-"

His mouth pulls away from my soaked heat, his breath heavy, his eyes dark.

And then he smirks.

"Thank you for the praises, Princess," his voice drips with amusement. "But you are far from done."

Before I can protest, he lets my legs fall from his shoulders and reaches up, yanking the tie free from the headboard.

The second my arms are loosened, I gasp, but the relief is short-lived.

Noah flips me onto my stomach, pressing me into the mattress with an effortless strength that makes my pulse spike.

His hand explores, fingers sliding through the wet mess between my thighs, spreading my slick across my skin with slow, deliberate strokes.

I shudder beneath him, my body betraying me.

Then I feel it.

The heavy weight of his cock glides against me from behind, hard, ready, shielded by nothing.

My breath catches.

His voice is a dark whisper at my ear.

"Question is, Ana-" he drags his cock over my folds, teasing and torturing. "Have you earned to be fucked in the pussy? Or does your pretty ass deserve the attention?"

Fuck.

My hands curl into fists against the sheets, my entire body burning at the thought-

We both pause as the vibration of my phone lights up the bed beside me.

The moment shatters.

My eyes snap to the screen, dozens of texts flooding in at once.

A cold wave of realization crashes over me.

I left Megan and Elijah at the party.

Fuck.

"Fucking Walker," I snap.

Noah’s grip tightens on my hips as I twist beneath him, forcing myself onto my back, ignoring the flicker of irritation that darkens his face.

"Ana-" his voice is warning, edged with frustration.

But I don’t hear him.

I don’t care.

I glare at my phone, heart hammering as I scroll through the messages-

And then I see his name.

Cole.

Walker.

My blood runs cold.

"Fucking Cole and Walker," I hiss, sitting upright.

The air shifts.

Noah’s jaw tenses, the weight of their names pulling him from the moment entirely.

His voice is different now, almost territorial.

"What happened?"

I pause, blinking at him.

Odd.

I thought Noah Ackerman only cared about himself.

Turning the screen toward him, Megan’s frantic texts light up my phone, message after message about Cole and Walker.

And then, at the bottom, her drunken ramble about the kiss.

I watch as Noah’s icy stare darkens, his grip tightening, anger clouding his features.

"You actually kissed Megan?" His voice is calm.

Too calm.

"I needed a distraction from Walker," I mutter. "And you."

The admission does nothing to soften his expression. If anything, it makes it worse.

His gaze flicks back to the screen, jaw clenching.

"Bring her here," he murmurs, voice dangerously low. "She’s drunk. She doesn’t need to know I’m here."

"What’s the catch?" I scoff.

A slow, deliberate smirk tugs at his lips.

"The catch is," he whispers, leaning closer, "once she’s asleep, I’m going to make you regret that kiss."

A thrill runs down my spine.

I lift my chin, tugging my dress back on with defiance. "Yeah?" My voice is steady, challenging. "Prove it, Noah."

He doesn’t respond, but his stare says everything.

As I gather my phone, preparing to leave, my thumb absentmindedly scrolls back through the messages.

And then I see it.

At the top of the screen, standing out starkly against Megan’s chaos, a photo my mother sent.

My dad.

My chest tightens.

Noah notices instantly. His sharp gaze flickers to the screen, piecing together what I’m staring at.

"Who is he?" His voice is different now. Careful. Controlled.

I draw in a shaky breath, my jaw tightening.

"My dad," I whisper. "He’s sick."

The room shifts.

The air changes.

Noah watches me, something unreadable flickering across his face.

For the first time since I met him, he seems… unsure.

"I didn’t know," he murmurs.

"Yeah. Well, you’re not the only one looking for a distraction from reality," I whisper.

I don’t give him the chance to respond before turning away and walking out.

The last thing he needs to do is pry further on a topic I have barely begun to come to terms with.

Chapter 15

Megan

Keeping my back pressed against the wall, I carefully avoid the drunken bodies stumbling through Walker’s apartment.

The place reeks of spilled alcohol and bad decisions.

My gaze sweeps the room, taking in the excess of it all. Nike gear littering the floor, a brand-new 80-inch Samsung TV mounted like a trophy, every single item in this space expensive and shallow, just like its owner.

Across the room, Elijah throws back a shot with some guy from his English class.

When they offer him another, he hesitates before nodding, but I can tell, the appeal of this place is already wearing thin.

"Megan!" Walker’s slurred voice cuts through the noise. "Where the hell is Ana?"

His tone is lighthearted, but I don’t trust it.

Glancing around the packed apartment, I scan for her.

Nothing.

"I guess she’s still at Elijah’s car," I mutter, reaching for my phone. "Let me just give her a call-"

"It’s actually good that it’s just you here."

Walker’s voice shifts to something too casual.

Before I can react, his hand wraps around my wrist, stopping me from digging into my purse.

My stomach turns.

"I don’t know what Ana told you about us," he continues smoothly, "but I can promise you, anything that happened was just a miscommunication."

Disgust curls in my chest.

The last thing I need is for this asshole to justify what he did to Ana.

Ripping my wrist free, I shove him back hard enough that he stumbles slightly.

"Walker, I promise you, this conversation won’t lead anywhere good with me." My voice is sharp, "Whatever relationship you think you had with Ana is over. The only reason she came tonight was to tell you she’s done. She’s done playing your little game of helping you get your dick wet."

His expression darkens.

"Any idea why she’s suddenly so disinterested?" he hisses.

I scoff at his ignorance, my eyes rolling before I can stop myself.

"I’d say assaulting her is a large factor," I whisper, my voice laced with venom. "And I’m sure there are plenty of people here who wouldn’t want to be associated with some pathetic little man who resorts to face-fucking a girl non-consensually just because his feelings got hurt."

Walker stills.

Then, he moves toward me, his posture shifting, his presence suddenly too close.

I don’t back down.

I won’t back down.

"Do you really think sweet Ana is being honest with you?" Walker murmurs, his gaze sliding down my body, lingering where it shouldn’t.

My skin crawls.

His fingers tug at the hem of my shirt.

"Now, I’m no detective," he smirks, "but I doubt you wore this pretty little outfit for any of the guys here. If I had to bet, I’d say you were trying to get Ana’s attention."

I swat his hand away, my chest tightening.

His words dig in, deeper than I want to admit.

We kissed.

That’s all it was.

She was just experimenting.

There’s nothing between us.

Right?

"Whatever happens between Ana and me is none of your concern-"

"So you did get a taste of her?" Walker sneers, his smirk widening. "Hurts when her mind is on someone else, doesn’t it?"

Rage boils beneath my skin, hotter than it should be.

Stepping forward, I close the space between us until we’re breathing the same air.

"At least I didn’t fucking assault someone when my feelings got hurt," I snap, my voice cutting through the music, loud enough to draw attention.

Heads turn.

Eyes land on us.

I don’t care.

"I can stomach the fact that what I feel might be stronger than hers." My voice lowers, shaking with fury, "But you? You’re just a worthless-"

"Calm down, crazy," Walker scoffs, rolling his eyes.

His gaze flicks to Elijah, a slow smirk curling his lips.

"We can always get back at her," he mutters.

His hand touches me, his fingers skimming over my bare waist.

Wrong move.

Very wrong fucking move.

Before I can think, before I can breathe, my hand flies.

CRACK.

The slap rings through the room, cutting through the noise like a gunshot. Walker stumbles back, his head snapping to the side, his cheek flaring red.

The room freezes.

Eyes widen. Conversations die.

Walker touches his face, blinking in shock before the anger sets in.

"Did you just fucking slap me?" he hisses, voice sharp, venomous.

Elijah moves fast, stepping between us, his body a solid barrier.

Walker’s eyes narrow, his temper boiling over. "Get the fuck out of my way, dick-licker-"

Elijah doesn’t hesitate.

He shoves him.

Hard.

Walker collides with the beer pong table, the wood groaning under his weight as cups of beer spill, drenching him in sticky liquid.

Laughter ripples through the room, but the tension skyrockets.

Walker’s friends step forward, their bodies stiff, their faces set with something dangerous.

My stomach twists.

I cling to Elijah’s arm, bracing for whatever’s coming next-

"What the fuck is going on?"

Cole’s voice booms from the hallway.

I whip my head toward him as he stumbles out of one of the bedrooms, his blonde sleaze, Erica, practically glued to his side.

Lipstick smears her mouth.

His pants are barely buttoned.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what we interrupted.

Walker shoves his wet sleeves up, shaking beer from his clothes, fuming.

"Your ex’s fucking friends came in here to start shit," he seethes, turning to Cole. "I should’ve listened to you about that whore."

Elijah moves before I do, his jaw tightening, as his hands curl into fists.

"I know you two are not the ones shit-talking Ana when she’s not here to defend herself," Elijah snaps, his voice edged with rage.

The tension snaps, the room teetering on the edge of something bad.

Please don’t have liquid courage now.

My fingers fly across my phone screen, firing off text after text to Ana, begging her to show up before Elijah’s temper gets him into a fight he won’t win.

The pulse of the party feels suffocating, bodies pressing in, the room spinning slightly from too much alcohol and far too much adrenaline. Backed into a wall, as far from the front door as possible, nausea claws its way up, threatening to bring back every drink from the night.

Across the room, Cole steps forward, voice laced with venom.

"Yeah? And what do you know about Ana?"

Walker stands beside him like a fucking guard dog.

Then, it clicks.

A sharp breath punches through my tight lungs.

"You two plotted this." The realization slams into place. Stepping in front of Elijah, the accusation comes out louder than intended. "You planned a way to fuck with Ana. That whole act, pretending you weren’t close? Bullshit."

Their smirks confirm everything.

Fucking pigs.

Cole scoffs, shaking his head. "You think someone would go for her willingly?" His tone drips with mockery. "That whore deserves nothing but what we’ve given her-"

A sharp voice cuts through the room like a blade.

"Now, boys, don’t you know it’s rude to talk behind someone’s back?"

The air shifts.

Ana leans into the doorway, hip against the frame, eyes cold, makeup streaked, hair slightly disheveled.

Something dark lingers in her expression, something dangerous.

Cole’s smirk falters for a split second.

"Glad you could make it, Anastasia," he sneers.

Without missing a beat, Ana’s eyes flicker downward before she scoffs.

"Glad to see you still don’t know how to button your fly. Your little friend’s making an entrance."

Cole stiffens, fumbling to fix his pants, his face flush with embarrassment.

Taking the opportunity, Elijah and I slip past the tension-thick crowd, weaving toward Ana.

But Walker isn’t done.

A rough grip latches onto my arm, halting any escape.

"She’ll fuck you over-" Walker starts, voice thick with something almost desperate.

The response is immediate.

"Go to hell," Ana hisses.

Ana moves without hesitation, prying his fingers off with ease.

"I’ll expose you-" Walker tries again.

Ana doesn’t flinch.

"Go ahead," she snaps, eyes flashing. "Let’s see if anyone believes you. You’ve pissed off some powerful people, Walker. Daddy’s money won’t hide your little track record with women."

Walker’s face twists, but no words come out.

Ana’s attention shifts.

Cole.

The shift is instant, her posture stiffens as her voice lowers.

"You both should tread carefully." Her warning is lethal. "I’m done being your goddamn punching bag."

No one stops her as she turns, dragging Elijah and me through the crowd, leaving no room for either of them to speak.

No more threats. No more games.

Ana has finally won.

"Ana, what the fuck? Where were you?" My voice comes out harsher than I intend, but I don’t care.

She lingers in the hallway, arms crossed, looking as if she’s already bracing for a fight.

"Meg, I got caught up with other things-"

"No way," I snap, stepping closer. "Is he here? The guy who’s been consuming your every thought?"

Ana’s silence is answer enough.

Guilt flashes across her face, and before I can push further, Elijah finally speaks up.

"I think maybe we should take this back to the dorm-"

"Then go," I cut him off, the words laced with frustration. "I’m not leaving until Ana and I are done with this conversation."

Elijah’s jaw tightens as he looks to Ana for confirmation.

She hesitates, then whispers, "Go. I’ll see you tomorrow."

He doesn’t move right away, gaze flicking between the two of us, something unreadable in his expression.

"I don’t know what the hell is going on between you two," he mutters, shaking his head. "But you better fuck or fight. Either way, whatever this is? It ends tonight."

With that, he turns, sulking away into the night.

His words cut deep.

"Why would he say that?" Ana exhales, rubbing her temples.

I ignore the question, my voice sharp with demand.

"Answer mine first. Does he live here?"

She hesitates, then slowly nods.

Something burns in my chest.

"Great," I scoff, anger boiling over. "So you left to go fuck-"

"Meg, he’s not home," she snaps, her own frustration surfacing. "And I don’t think we should talk out here-"

"That’s not why I’m upset, Ana!" my voice cracks, my chest tightening. "I lied to you."

Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, but I keep going, voice thick with emotion.

"And then I had to stand there and face your two cock-sucking exes, knowing damn well that every single word they threw at me was just more fucking torture." My throat tightens, and the words tumble out before I can stop them.

"Ana, I love you."

She flinches, but I push through.

"But I need to know if what I’m feeling for you is more than that. That kiss earlier? It didn’t help. And now, after dealing with Cole and Walker, and this mystery man, I just can’t-"

My voice breaks.

Ana’s lips part, something pained and unsure flickering across her face.

"I can’t give you what you need, Meg," she whispers. "When I barely understand what’s happening myself."

A breath shudders through her.

"You don’t deserve to feel like this. And the last thing I need is to lose you."

The words slam into me like a punch to the gut.

Silence stretches between us.

I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"I need to figure out what it is I want, Meg."

The words hit like a hammer to the chest, knocking the air from my lungs.

Reality settles in, sharp and unforgiving.

Pain swallows me whole.

A choked sob pushes past my throat. "Well then, next time," my voice wavers, but the anger burns through, "don’t use me to experiment on."

My fists clench.

"I hope you have a great fucking night with whatever asshole is locked behind that door."

The moment the words leave my mouth, regret twists in my stomach, but the pain is louder, hotter, more suffocating.

Once again, I let myself get played. I let my feelings be toyed with by another straight girl looking to fool around and call it nothing.

Ana grabs my hand, desperation in her grip.

"Meg! Please-"

I rip away from her touch like it burns.

"Fuck off, Ana!" The yell bursts out before I can stop it. "Other people need time to work things out, too."

The fight drains from her immediately.

She stands there, staring, looking… broken.

"I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone."

A bitter laugh scrapes my throat.

"Look how well that worked out."

I turn on my heel, fingers shaking as I viciously scroll through my contacts, searching for Elijah’s number.

This isn't just Ana’s fault.

I know where this is stemming from.

She was curious. I am not.

Right now, all I want is to crawl into bed, drown myself in greasy food, down an entire bottle of water, and pretend this night never fucking happened.

I force myself forward, not looking back.

The crisp night air hits my face the moment I step outside, cooling the heat burning beneath my skin.

A shaky breath slips past my lips.

"How far could you have gotten, Elijah?" I mutter, eyes scanning the parking lot. "Damn it-"

"Rough night?"

The grating voice sends a chill down my spine.

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn.

Cole leans against the wall, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, watching me like he’s enjoying every second of this.

His cold, dark eyes meet mine, the satisfaction curling at his lips making me want to slap the smirk off his face.

"Piss off," I snap.

Cole exhales a slow drag, blowing a cloud of smoke into the night air.

"Shame," he drawls. "Thought you might want some insight into Ana’s mystery man."

My blood turns to ice.

The smirk deepens, smug and knowing.

My stomach twists.

"Why would you tell me anything?" My voice is sharp, but beneath it, something shakes.

Cole takes another drag, exhaling lazily.

"How I see it, Megan," He tilts his head, gaze gleaming with something dangerous, "I help you. You help me." He pauses, watching me closely.

"And trust me, you’re going to want to hear this."

In any other situation, I would have walked away.

But pain has a funny way of swaying rational thinking.

And right now?

Rationality is the last thing on my mind.

Chapter 16

Anastasia

Pain creeps into my chest, spreading like a slow, suffocating weight.

Megan’s look of betrayal lingers in my mind, burning like an open wound.

Backing myself against Noah’s door, the pounding buzz of Walker’s party only makes the headache forming behind my eyes worse.

What have I done?

One of the only genuine friends I’ve made here, and I had to go and fuck it up, all because of a kiss.

A sharp breath leaves my lungs, shaky and unsteady. Tears slip free, hot and bitter as they trail down my cheeks.

My mom’s text flashes in my mind.

The picture of my dad.

Still smiling.

Still hopeful.

Hopeful that I’m making something of myself here.

And yet, here I am.

Allowing my professor to go down on me on a Monday night.

My fingers fumble for the door handle.

The second it swings open, I stumble inside, legs weak, breath uneven.

Noah stands only a few feet away, his sharp eyes locking onto mine immediately.

The space between us feels dangerous.

"I was about to go outside. I heard yelling."

His tone is steady, but his focus lingers on the tears flooding from my eyes.

Why the hell would he risk leaving his apartment?

"Megan’s gone," I hiss, my voice raw. "Just another aspect of my life I’ve gone and fucked up."

Collapsing onto his couch, my hands tangle into my hair, tugging, desperate for something to ground me.

"I should’ve known Walker or Cole would get to her." The sob rips from my throat before I can stop it. "I should’ve considered what would happen if I stayed in fucking Spokehaven."

Noah moves.

The weight of the couch shifts as he sinks down beside me, but he keeps his distance.

Careful.

Measured.

"What happened with Cole?" His voice is different now, almost as if he cares.

I sniff, blinking through the blur of tears, turning to face him.

"Doesn’t asking me that breach your little rule about human connection?" I snap, my tone cutting.

His jaw flexes as his hands clench.

"I only know how to deal with my emotional turmoil in one way." The admission is honest. "In most scenarios, I’d drag you back to that bedroom and give you something else to focus on."

A shiver rolls through me.

His gaze is unreadable, but not empty.

"I’m not a good person, Anastasia." His voice dips lower, like a confession, like a warning, "I like inflicting sexual pain on women. I like the power. The feeling of having a complete hold over someone in the most intimate setting is like a fucking drug to me."

A slow, sharp breath.

I meet his stare, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest.

"What’s different now?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

His fingers tighten into fists, his jaw clenching.

"Honestly?" He exhales, slow, deliberate. "My immediate reaction when I saw you crying was to give you a more pleasurable reason to streak that makeup."

Heat coils low in my stomach at the admission.

"So why didn’t you?"

The silence stretches.

Then, his voice drops to a whisper.

"Because I don’t want what’s happening between us to last only one night."

The room tilts.

Noah watches me closely, his expression unreadable.

"Which means at some point," he murmurs, "I have to allow myself to see the parts of you that can’t be seen while I’m between your legs."

The words slam into me.

My mind spins, piecing together the fragments of truth buried beneath his control.

The love for pain.
The immediate, effortless way he tied me up.
The way he knows exactly how far to push.

My voice is barely a breath.

"You’re a sadist."

Noah doesn’t move.

Doesn’t react.

Doesn’t deny it.

His silence is answer enough.

His expression tightens as he gives a slow nod.

"Regrettably."

My fingers tap against my thigh, my mind racing to rationalize exactly what this means.

"If I told you I’d allow what’s happening between us to continue," I murmur, tilting my head, "what would that mean for me?"

Noah leans back against the couch, exhaling slowly.

There’s hesitation.

Finally, he speaks.

"I’m not going to lie to you, Ana." His voice is low, deliberate. "The kind of touch I can give you is not loving. The kind of touch I want to give you is painful."

His fingers flex against his knee, his gaze unwavering.

"I crave a woman willing to submit to my wants-"

A scoff leaves my lips before I can stop it. "You could’ve fooled me when your head was stuck between my thighs."

His jaw ticks.

My words land exactly where I want them to, evident in the way he shifts in his seat, the way his hand subtly adjusts his pants, already forcing blood to the place he desperately wants to control.

"Even a sadist needs someone to challenge his authority," I add, my voice dripping with amusement.

A muscle in his neck tenses.

Noah watches me, unreadable, then leans forward slightly, his voice dipping lower.

"What happened tonight?" His eyes darken. "That was what I consider gentle."

The breath catches in my throat.

"Are you sure you’re prepared for what my real desires look like?"

My pulse spikes.

The reality of what he makes me feel, the way he’s taken up residency in my mind, clouds every ounce of better judgment I have left.

The question slips before I can stop it.

"Only me?"

Noah doesn’t hesitate.

"Only you, Ana." His voice is firm. "I wasn’t lying when I said that was the last time you’d touch another man’s cock. If you tell me tonight you want this, then I promise you, I will gladly make sure you, and everyone around you, knows exactly who you belong to."

A slow, shaky breath leaves my lips.

My eyes flutter shut for half a second.

When they open, the words spill before I can overthink them.

"I need one condition."

Noah doesn’t speak.

He just waits.

For me.

For my terms.

"If you’re going to fuck me like a whore in the bedroom," I whisper, "then I need to feel like more than just a whore outside of it-"

"Anastasia, my job-" he starts.

"Then drive a town over," my voice sharpens, cutting through his excuse before he can finish. "Take me four hours away to a cabin where you can fuck me silly and wrap a collar around my throat."

His eyes widen, his breath hitching slightly.

"But if you’re going to fuck me, Noah," I murmur, leaning in, my voice barely a breath, "you sure as hell better earn it."

Leaning in closer, my breath mingles with his, the heat between us crackling like fire.

A smirk curls at the corner of his lips.

"Is that all you want, Princess?" His voice is velvet, dark and smooth. "Or do you want to talk about Cole? About the picture of your dad I saw on your phone?"

Reality slams back into me.

My throat tightens, my fingers twitch, but I shake my head.

"There will be time for that," I murmur, pushing the weight of those thoughts aside. "Right now, I need a distraction."

His eyes search mine, studying me, reading every flicker of hesitation before he speaks.

"You sure you want this?" His voice dips lower, thick with warning, "Because if you say yes to me right now, Anastasia, you are mine. And I don’t share."

A shiver rolls through me.

I nod.

Slowly, I crawl into his lap, my hands bracing against his chest.

"I said yes, Noah," I hiss, voice laced with defiance. "So show me what being your pet looks like."

Something shifts in his eyes.

Any trace of restraint or kindness he was willing to show disappears, replaced by something darker, something ravenous.

His fingers coil into my hair, gripping hard as he forces my hips to grind against him.

A sharp gasp catches in my throat.

His cock is already achingly hard beneath me, pressing into the sore, throbbing heat between my legs.

Pain and pleasure collide.

A wince flickers across my face, and he notices.

Of course, he does.

"Already sore, Princess?" His tone is mocking but laced with amusement. "Perhaps we should give your pussy a break."

Before I can respond, he nudges me off his lap, the force making me fall to my knees before him.

I don’t need to ask what he wants.

Fingers grazing his waistband, I tease the zipper of his pants, but before I can pull it down, his grip tightens in my hair.

A sharp sting shoots through my scalp as he forces me to look up.

His stare is absolute control, looking down at me like I belong on my knees before him.

"And if I can’t handle it?" I whisper.

Noah lets out a short, cruel laugh.

"If you couldn’t handle Walker’s," he scoffs, voice thick with condescension, "you sure as hell can’t handle mine."

The words should sting.

They don’t.

Because unlike Walker, I want this from Noah.

I want to see him crave the pleasure I can give him.

Maybe it’s fucked up, but something about being his to fuck and use sends a dangerous thrill straight to my core.

Cole and Walker never gave me a choice.

But Noah?

He’s a challenge.

One whose authority has yet to meet mine.

He might be used to women bending at his will, but, where’s the fun in that?

Tugging his pants down, his boxers barely contain the thick, straining length beneath them.

Up close, the sheer size of him makes my stomach tighten.

I fight the flicker of alarm threatening to show on my face, masking it with something else.

Something hungry.

Noah watches me closely, his grip tightening in my hair as he moves my head just a little closer.

"Let’s see that pretty makeup streak, Princess."

A delicious ache settles between my thighs, the pain of the night dissolving the moment I’m in his presence.

Grabbing the waistband of his boxers with my teeth, I slowly drag them down, my eyes locked onto his cock as it springs free—thick, hard, intimidating.

Fucking hell.

Can I even fit that inside of me?

Noah strokes himself lazily, his free hand gripping the base as my lips hover just above his tip.

"Spit on it."

The command sends a thrill through me.

Pooling the saliva in my cheeks, I let the warm liquid spill over his head, coating him as I keep my eyes locked onto his.

His breath hitches as his grip tightens.

"God, look at that dirty fucking mouth," he groans, his fingers tugging at my hair. "So eager for me."

Heat floods through my body, my thighs clenching at his words.

"I want to watch you struggle to suck my cock."

A slow smirk curves my lips.

"As you wish," I purr, letting my breath fan over his soaked tip.

His jaw tightens, but before he can react, I murmur, "So long as I’m licking my cum off your cock when we’re done here tonight."

His grip flexes.

A single heartbeat passes, then I take him into my mouth before he can process what I’ve just said.

A sharp inhale leaves his lips.

My tongue glides along the ridges of his length, teasing every thick vein as I ease my way down, my mouth stretching to accommodate him.

The moment his tip grazes the back of my throat, a strangled noise escapes me.

Barely halfway, and I already feel the struggle.

Fingers wrapping around his base, I move in a slow, steady rhythm, my tongue tracing along him as I adjust.

But the moment my hand touches him, Noah growls.

His fingers tighten in my hair as he yanks my wrist away.

"I said your mouth."

His voice is sharp, dominant.

"Now fucking take it all the way."

A split second later, he urges my head down, his thick cock pushing deeper as a vicious gag rips from my throat.

Spit drips from the corners of my mouth, my eyes watering as I struggle to breathe around the sheer size of him.

Tears prick at the edges of my vision, but when I force my gaze up, locking onto his, Noah smirks.

"There’s my good fucking girl."

"God, fucking look at you," Noah growls.

The only sound in the room is the wet, obscene noise of my throat struggling around his cock.

The way he uses me, merciless and unrelenting, sends a fresh wave of slick between my thighs.

"Good fucking girl," he whispers, his voice rough, approving.

A desperate cry escapes me, my cheeks hollowing tighter around him in defiance, my eyes locking onto his with a challenge.

Tears roll hot and fast down my cheeks, dragging my ruined makeup further down my skin.

Noah watches, enthralled.

"Look at you," he murmurs darkly, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Fucking crying, barely able to take it."

His grip tightens in my hair as he thrusts deeper, his cock twitching, his control slipping.

My nails dig into his hips, clawing into flesh until he hisses from the sharp pain.

The distraction is enough.

I rip myself away, his cock slipping from my mouth with a slick, messy pop.

Before he can punish me for it, I smirk, wiping the spit from my mouth.

"Oops," I murmur, tilting my head with mock innocence.

His jaw clenches.

"I guess you’ll have to cum somewhere else, Mr. Ackerman."

His eyes darken.

Shoving him in the chest, I keep him seated, my heartbeat thundering as his grip loosens in my hair.

The second I stand, his gaze devours me.

"Do you want to fuck me, Noah?" I taunt, voice sultry, teasing.

Sliding the straps of my dress down, the tight material cascades over my full breasts, baring them to the cool air.

I trail my fingers over my own skin, teasing, lingering, before pushing the dress further down my front.

"How bad do you want to fill my sore little pussy with your cum?"

My voice is sweet, dripping with feigned innocence, but the glint in my eyes is anything but.

The dress slips past my hips, then it’s gone, pooling on the floor.

I stand before him, completely bare.

Completely his.

A sharp inhale flares his nostrils as a slow, wicked grin curves his lips.

"I can’t wait to watch you limp into class tomorrow," he growls.

Before I can blink, his hands clamp onto my hips.

A startled gasp rips from my throat as he drags me forward, yanking me back onto his lap.

His grip is bruising, his fingers digging into my ass, forcing me down onto him, grinding my soaked cunt along his slick cock.

A jolt of pleasure shoots through me, sharp and consuming.

"Fuck," I hiss, body shuddering against him.

Noah chuckles, low and taunting.

"I’m not even buried in you yet, and you’re already moaning for me."

His mouth finds my breast.

Heat pools in my stomach as his lips latch onto my nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to send a shock of pleasure straight between my legs.

A moan spills from my lips, one that only encourages him.

His mouth moves, trailing lower, his teeth nipping, biting.

His lips bruise my skin, marking a path of possessive claim across my chest.

Each one a silent declaration.

Each one a warning to anyone who dared to think they could have me.

Because I belong to him.

And he knows it.

"So, Ana," Noah murmurs through a groan, his breath hot against my skin. "Let’s start prepping that pretty ass for what I plan to do to it."

A shudder rolls through me.

Nerves spike but desire thrums beneath them, a dangerous mix of anticipation and hesitation.

My eyes flicker up to his, searching for something—some warning, some restraint.

I find none.

"Noah, I don’t think I can take your cock-"

His fingers tighten around my waist, his grip firm, possessive.

"You will learn," he hisses, his voice dripping with promise. "But first, let’s see if your pussy can handle it."

His hand wraps around his thick cock, guiding it to my entrance as I lift onto my knees.

The moment his tip presses against my slick heat, my breath shudders at the sheer realization of what I’m about to take.

Noah watches me, his jaw tight, his patience razor-thin.

"You’re not a virgin, Ana," he growls. "But you’ll bleed like one tonight."

My body jolts as he pushes on my hips, his cock slowly stretching me open, inch by inch.

A strangled moan rips from my throat, my hands clinging to his shoulders as my body arches, desperate to adjust.

"Oh, fuck," I pant, my voice breaking. "Fucking hell."

His gaze darkens, his eyes locked onto mine as spit leaves his mouth, hot, wet warmth sliding down my folds, coating where our bodies connect.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips.

"Now you’re ready."

Before I can respond, he shoves my hips down.

My moan turns into a scream as I take every last inch of him, the overwhelming fullness making my body pulse with both pain and unbearable pleasure.

His fingers dig into my ass, holding me still, letting me feel every thick inch of him buried inside me.

"Fucking bounce on it," Noah snaps, his voice raw with need. "Or I’ll tie you up and force it in your ass tonight as punishment."

A rush of fear and arousal floods my veins.

Tightening my jaw, I bury the flicker of hesitation.

"F-fine," I hiss, my fingers curling around his throat.

His breath hitches.

"Buckle up, professor."

With a slow, deliberate movement, I begin to ride him, my thighs burning as I work him in and out of me.

Smirking at my attempt to control the pace, his hands clamp down on my ass.

A gasp rips from my throat as he takes over, using his grip to force me up and down his cock, each thrust deeper, harder, his hips slamming up to meet mine with punishing precision.

Each snap of his hips sends a jolt of pleasure laced with pain straight through me.

My moans melt into his, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing louder than our voices.

The need to be closer overwhelms me.

I release his throat, my breaths ragged, my body desperate.

"Fucking come here," he growls.

His fingers tangle in the back of my hair, yanking me down into a brutal, claiming kiss.

Our tongues tangle, our lips bruising, the taste of him consuming me as he holds me flush against him.

I nip at his bottom lip, dragging my teeth along his skin before trailing my mouth to his neck.

His grip falters, just slightly.

A weakness.

A tell.

I focus on the spot that makes his breath hitch, sucking, biting, making sure to leave a mark.

A deep, guttural groan escapes him.

Then his hands tighten on my hips, forcing me down with a punishing thrust.

"Did you just fucking give me a hickey?" His voice is laced with something primal.

His nostrils flare.

I smirk, my lips slick and swollen.

"Oops-"

His retaliation is instant.

A sharp gasp tears from my throat the moment Noah’s finger slides into my ass.

The unexpected intrusion sends a shockwave through me, my body stiffening, nerves on fire.

Barely able to handle his cock already, the feeling of being stretched in both places at once has my mind spinning, my body betraying me.

I can’t form a single thought, can’t even breathe properly, just drowning in too much sensation, too much him.

Noah growls, a feral, raw sound, utterly consumed by the moment.

“Look at you,” he rasps, “taking it in both holes like a good fucking slut.”

Shame and pleasure collide, twisting into something dangerously intoxicating.

His grip tightens. His words are razor-sharp, slicing straight to the vulnerable parts of me.

"Tonight is fucking vanilla compared to what I have planned for you,” he warns.

A shiver runs through me, not just from fear, not just from lust, but from the undeniable truth in his voice.

“You want to fucking test me, Ana?” His fingers dig into my hips, grounding me, controlling me. “I will make sure you get put in your fucking place.”

The words shouldn’t make my stomach coil with anticipation.

But they do.

Heat builds fast, curling deep, an unstoppable wave threatening to pull me under.

“N-Noah,” I gasp, voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m-”

His grip tightens. “All over my cock, baby girl.” His voice is a command, a demand, a claim. “Fucking cum like the dirty slut you are. All over my cock-”

“Fuck, Noah-”

My body shatters.

A sharp cry rips from my throat as release crashes over me, wave after wave, my body clenching so tight around him it feels like I might break.

Noah groans, low and possessive, biting down on his bottom lip as his release floods into me, filling me until I feel the warm, messy proof of it dripping between us.

But he doesn’t stop.

Even after he’s spent, he keeps using me, keeps moving, his fingers still playing with me, his other hand still toying with my ass, forcing me to take more.

By the time he finally lets up, my body is wrecked, trembling and completely undone.

“Noah, I can’t-” my voice breaks, barely a whisper.

He grips my jaw, tilting my chin up until our eyes meet.

"You're not done yet.” He smirks. “You have a mess to clean up.”

He pulls out of me slowly, deliberately, making sure I feel everything, the loss, the emptiness, the undeniable evidence of what we just did.

The moment I collapse to the floor, knees hitting the hardwood, my head swims.

Noah stays seated, his glistening, cum-coated cock resting in front of me, evidence of what we just did, of how thoroughly he ruined me.

A dark smirk plays at his lips as he drags a single finger down the base of his cock. Lifting, his finger is coated in red.

Blood.

My blood.

Something primal flickers in his gaze.

"Fucking perfect," he murmurs, bringing the finger to his lips.

My stomach tightens as he licks it clean, never breaking eye contact.

A shudder crawls down my spine, but I don’t move.

I should feel shame.

I should feel horror.

But I don’t.

I feel something else.

Something dark.

Something twisted.

“Now clean up.”

The command is simple.

"Yes, sir," I purr.

I lower my mouth to him, dragging my tongue up the length of his cock, licking up every drop of our sin, my body still buzzing, my limbs barely functioning.

The taste is salty and sweet, metallic and raw, nothing like I’ve tasted before, but all of it is his.

And I take everything he gives me.

By the time he’s satisfied, Noah pulls me up onto the couch, letting me collapse against him, my body completely spent.

Pulling his boxers back on, he watches me closely.

I part my legs slightly, feeling the mess between them, knowing I’m still leaking.

A thought strikes.

A challenge.

I hook my foot onto his shoulder, forcing him to look between my thighs.

"See your cum leaking out of me?" I whisper, voice drenched in exhaustion and satisfaction.

His eyes darken.

The tension between us crackles.

"Your turn to clean up."

Before he can react, my fingers twist into his hair, yanking his head down, forcing his mouth where I need him.

No resistance.

No hesitation.

His tongue meets me, hot and wet, and I sing his praises, grinding against his face.

"See how you made me bleed?" I whisper, voice barely a breath. "Fucking lick it up. Make me feel better."

Gentle.

Cautious.

Noah takes his time, his tongue tracing every inch of the damage he’s done, savoring it.

It’s almost tender.

Almost.

A moan slips from my lips, but then, something shifts.

My hand, tangled in his hair, drifts lower.

And I feel it.

The deep, rigid scars at the nape of his neck.

They’re old, hidden just beneath his hairline, but undeniable.

What-

Before I can react, Noah’s grip tightens on my thighs.

His head snaps up, his eyes blazing with something unreadable.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The weight of his voice roots me in place.

Something in my chest twists, not from fear.

But from the sudden, overwhelming realization:

Noah Ackerman is hiding more than just his desires.

Noah wipes his mouth, the back of his hand grazing over his lips, his breathing still rough, uneven.

His eyes darken.

Before I can react, his hands clamp around my wrists, forcing them above my head, pinning me beneath him on the couch.

A sharp breath leaves me.

My body tenses, raw and aching, the echoes of his touch still thrumming through every nerve.

"Noah, are those-"

His expression snaps.

Something dangerous, something fractured, flickers across his face.

"Don't ever fucking do that again." His voice is sharp, clipped, not the usual commanding dominance, but something wounded.

Something afraid.

"You don’t fucking tell me what to do."

His grip tightens around my wrists.

Like a switch has flipped inside him, Noah's energy shifts, a wall slamming down between us.

His body presses heavier against mine, his breathing measured and controlled.

"With me, you are mine to fucking use," he hisses. "You have no power."

But this isn’t the same intoxicating control he usually exerts.

This feels different.

Rattled.

Defensive.

Is he embarrassed?

I don’t dare ask.

Noah leans in, his voice like smoke against my ear.

"Is that fucking understood?"

A slow, creeping shiver rolls through me.

I hesitate, still trying to gauge what just happened, still trying to understand him.

But after the beating my body just took, I know better than to push him too far.

I swallow, my voice hoarse.

"Yes," I whisper. "Yes, I understand."

Noah stays there for a moment, his eyes scanning me, searching for compliance.

Then, slowly, he leans back.

His weight shifts off me, giving us both a few inches of space.

And yet, he lingers.

The tension still thick between us.

I pull my knees to my chest, my body aching, my skin flushed with pain and exhaustion.

Noah rubs the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

And that’s when I see them.

The scars.

Not just the ones I brushed against before.

But new ones.

Deep. Jagged.

Etched across his lower stomach, half-hidden in the dim light, as if they were never meant to be seen.

My heart pounds.

"Did someone hurt you, Noah?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His entire body tenses.

He doesn’t look at me.

Doesn’t move.

For a second, I think he won’t answer.

Then, finally, his jaw flexes as his eyes flicker to me, his expression unreadable.

"No matter what happens between us," he murmurs, his voice low, firm, "you will never find the answer to that."

A sharp breath leaves me.

"You're mine to fuck." His voice is quieter now, almost detached, "The last thing we need is for you to start looking for my humanity."

The words cut deeper than they should.

Because I already have.

I see it, hidden beneath the cruelty, beneath the dominance, beneath the walls he’s so desperate to keep in place.

And it terrifies him.

The silence stretches.

Noah shifts, rubbing a hand over his face, exhaling deeply.

His touch returns, but this time, it’s different.

His palm settles on my leg, his fingers firm but not bruising.

It’s a touch that feels less like a demand and more like a truce.

His voice, when it comes, is rougher, quieter.

"Let me run you a bath," he sighs. "You can stay here for the night."

The offer is gentle, unexpected.

Out of character.

It’s his version of care, stripped down and hesitant, but care, nonetheless.

I should accept it.

I should stay in my place; accept the walls he’s rebuilding between us.

But I don’t.

I push, even when I know I shouldn’t.

"Will you sit with me in there?" I ask softly.

His eyes flicker with hesitation.

I already know what he’s thinking—this is too much, too intimate, too close.

But I’m already exposed to him.

He’s already seen me at my most vulnerable.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want to be alone tonight.

Before he can refuse, I add the one thing I know will make him stay.

"I’ll tell you about Cole," my voice is barely a whisper.

His expression shifts.

A sharp, flickering tension moves through him.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair.

I see it, the war in his mind, the fight between pushing me away and giving in.

In most scenarios, he’d walk away.

He’d let the woman clean herself up, gather her things, and disappear like all the others.

But this isn’t most scenarios.

This is me and him, two people who are already past the point of pretending this is just physical.

I hold my breath.

Seconds pass.

"I'll be waiting for you in the bathroom."

Noah stands, his muscles tight, his face unreadable.

But he doesn’t walk away.

And that’s enough.

For now.

Chapter 17

Noah

Dragging my fingers through the warm water, the bubbles accumulate fast, forming a thick layer over the surface.

Before tonight, the bath salts and bubble bath tucked under my sink had been long forgotten, an unopened, useless gift from a student who probably assumed I had a partner who would appreciate them more than I ever would.

They had been tossed under the sink, buried and ignored, until now.

Until her.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

A gift from one student, now used to relax another student, one I just fucked senseless, one I just ruined.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The way she makes me feel when she enters a room is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

The way my body and mind ignite when I touch her, when I hear her whimper my name, makes me question everything.

Why have I ever laid a hand on another woman before her?

Craving her pain, I also crave her gratification.

I’m addicted to her pleasure.

The way she fights for control, the way she forces me to give her what she wants, it’s unlike any other sexual experience I’ve had.

Most women shamelessly submit, letting me fuck them into obedience, into silence, into nothingness.

But her?

She fights back.

She makes me earn every scream, every moan, every fucking piece of her.

And somehow, that only makes me want her more.

Staring at my reflection in the hazy water, I let my fingers drift to the back of my neck, grazing over the ridged scars hidden beneath my hair.

A familiar sensation, a memory etched into my skin, one I never let myself linger on.

But she saw them.

And for the first time, I saw fear in her eyes.

Not the intoxicating kind that sends shivers down her spine when I claim her.

But something else.

Something I can’t name.

Her petrified expression when I came up from cleaning her up still lingers in my mind.

The way her body shook, the way she froze, as if fragile, as if she were seeing me, really seeing me, for the first time.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t know what those scars meant.

She didn’t know what they turned me into.

And for the first time in a long time, something ugly and foreign swirls in my chest.

Something I don’t recognize.

Something I don’t want to recognize.

Guilt.

Every other time, I dismissed women without a second thought, watching them stagger out of my building, their bodies marked, ruined and used without a shred of regret.

So why do I feel so fucking guilty now?

"Hey."

Her voice is soft.

Too soft.

I snap my focus toward the doorway, startled, my heart tightening at the sight of her.

Ana stands there, wrapped in nothing but her own arms, her legs shaking, her skin painted in bruises and nail marks, all evidence of what I did to her.

What she let me do.

My chest tightens.

She looks so small like this. So exposed.

I didn’t even think to get her something to cover up.

Fucking idiot.

She tries to hide herself, arms pulling tighter around her body, her confidence faltering for the first time since I met her.

No.

No, Ana-

"Come here." My voice is low, steady, "Come feel the water. Make sure it’s okay."

I reach for her, my hand outstretched, but she hesitates, keeping her arms locked over her body.

"T-thank you," she stammers. "I’m sure it’s fine-"

"Ana."

Her name leaves my lips gently, but firm enough to stop her.

"It’s okay."

Slowly, I reach for her wrists, rubbing my thumb over her skin, coaxing her arms down.

She lets me.

She lets me see her.

And for the first time, I allow myself to see the aftermath.

Her blood streaks her inner thigh, marring her soft skin.

The bruises bloom across her hips, wrists, thighs, the evidence of my lack of restraint.

This is the part I choose not to see.

This is the part I always avoid.

But with her, I can’t look away.

Her voice cuts through the silence, small, fragile in a way that makes my stomach churn.

"Cole used to make comments," she whispers.

My fingers still against her wrist.

"After he was done fucking me, he would point out everything I needed to ‘work on.’"

Her breath shakes, but she keeps going.

"He always blamed it on his ‘clarity’ after finishing, but now I know-" she swallows, her voice dropping, "Erica was on his mind."

Something dark and cold coils inside me.

Fucking bastard.

In every other moment, Ana has been fierce, unyielding, never afraid to challenge me, never hesitating to take what she wants.

I never imagined she carried this.

I never imagined she had been torn down like this before.

The men in her life have only ever known how to do one thing.

Hurt her.

And now I’m faced with a decision.

Repeat their patterns.

Push her away.

Use her until I’m done and let her walk away like all the others.

Or...

Or I do something that feels foreign to both of us.

Something that scares me more than anything else ever has.

Affection.

A slow breath leaves me as I pull her closer, guiding her between my knees as I sit on the rim of the tub.

Her body trembles, but she doesn’t pull away.

She lets me hold her.

"There is nothing you need to work on," I say, voice rough, edged with something I don’t quite recognize.

Her breath catches.

"If you’re waiting for me to look at you differently after what we did, I won’t."

I don’t give her time to protest.

I lean forward, pressing my lips to the soft skin of her lower stomach, right above the bruises, right where I know she’s sore.

Her fingers hesitate, hovering above my head, before finally, they touch me, drifting into my hair, barely applying pressure.

"You don’t need to do that, Noah-"

"Yes."

The word leaves me sharper than I intended.

I tilt my head up, meeting her gaze, what I see there nearly unraveling me.

Hope.

Fucking hope.

"I do," I murmur, my hand sliding down to her thigh.

"I won’t allow anyone to disrespect you in my presence." My fingers tighten slightly, just enough to ground her. "And that includes yourself."

Her lips part.

She doesn’t look away.

And for the first time since this entire night started, neither do I.

Guiding her toward the warm bath, I help her step in, my hands steadying her trembling frame.

She tries to mask it, tries to pretend she’s fine, but the way her body flinches, the way her breath hitches, tells me just how sore she really is.

Fuck.

I force my eyes away from her marked skin, from the bruises and nail marks that shouldn’t turn me on, but somehow still do.

She settles into the water, eyes fluttering shut, and I take a seat beside the tub, keeping just enough distance.

For her.

For myself.

"Tell me about Cole." My voice is quiet, edged with something colder than before.

I watch her tense, her fingers gripping the porcelain rim. "And don’t leave out any details."

A part of me already knows why I want those details.

All it would take is a single call to one of my lingering connections, the ones who stepped aside when I walked away from my family's business.

One conversation.

One favor.

And Cole would cease to exist.

Because unlike Walker, Ana fears Cole.

That makes him a problem.

Her lips part, but she hesitates.

"I don’t need you looking at me differently, Noah."

If only she knew the blood I already had on my hands.

If she did, she’d never let me touch her again.

I lean in slightly, my voice low.

"Try me."

She exhales, the sound almost defeated, and shifts forward, resting her cheek against the cool edge of the tub.

The makeup smudged around her eyes makes her look haunted.

I reach for the washcloth, dipping it into the warm water before dragging it gently beneath her eyes, clearing away the remnants of the night.

She doesn’t move away.

"The night of prom, our senior year, I ran into Cole with Erica."

My grip tightens around the cloth.

"At that point, I was already a laughingstock at school. Erica and Cole spun our breakup as me being a whore. He said I cheated. One of Cole’s friends, someone I had a fling with before him, had taken a picture of me during one of our hookups."

A slow inhale fills my chest.

I already fucking know where this is going.

"That picture got passed around. That was all it took. Suddenly, I was that girl. The easy one, the liar, the bitch no one wanted to sit next to at lunch."

She tries to laugh, but it’s empty, bitter.

I keep wiping her face, but something shifts in her eyes.

Something detached.

"My dad wanted to see me in my dress," she continues, her voice quieter. "He wanted to take pictures. He wanted to feel like he was part of something big in my life. But I didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth... that Cole had fucked my best friend and left me. So I showed up. Just long enough for my dad to see me off. Just long enough to sneak out and take an Uber home."

I don’t say anything.

Just keep listening.

She swallows hard.

"As I was leaving, Cole found me."

I fucking knew it.

"He begged me to talk. He looked so sincere, so genuine, and I was stupid enough to believe him."

I want to break something.

"I needed a ride home anyway. The least I could do was let my dad see his car dropping me off. I should have known better than to trust that he was sober. Let alone had good intentions."

Her jaw locks, and I see it then.

The moment she leaves this room.

She’s back in that car.

She’s stuck in that memory, suffocating in it.

"He took a back road to my house," she murmurs. "And he warned me, if I spoke up about what really happened, he’d make me regret it. Then he… then he grabbed my head, laughing. Told me I should ‘give him head for old times' sake.’"

The air drains from my lungs.

Something in me breaks open, something visceral.

I see red.

Fucking red.

"There was no way to stop it," she sobs suddenly, the words ripping out of her. "There’s no way to get the sound of the impact out of my head."

Impact.

I dial back in, heart pounding.

Tears fall freely from her eyes now, shaking her frame.

"Cole wasn’t paying attention." Her breath is shallow. "He was too focused on forcing my head down to see the road."

She pushes her hair back, revealing a small scar along her hairline, barely visible.

"I hit my head on the dash. The car spun out. And the-"

Her voice breaks.

"I heard a scream."

I stop breathing.

Her body shakes, her fingers curling into the water.

"And then a thud."

The kid.

The fucking kid in the paper.

The one who was hit while riding his bike.

"Cole did it," she sobs.

The room spins.

"And me." Her hands shake, her lip quivers, her entire body folding in on itself. "I fucking left that kid in the street while he was gasping for help. I let Cole drag me back to the car. I let him convince me to stay quiet."

She lifts her hands.

Trembling.

"His blood was on my hands. I could have saved him-"

I grab her face, firm but gentle.

"Anastasia."

She’s spiraling. Hyperventilating.

I hold her still, pressing my forehead against hers, anchoring her.

"It wasn’t you."

Tears stream down her face.

"Noah-"

Her eyes lock onto mine, glassy, shattered.

"Where did you get your scars?"

Panic punches into my chest.

The warmth of her body against mine is suddenly too much.

The weight of her question is suddenly too much.

I don’t answer.

Can’t answer.

Instead, I force my voice into something cold, detached.

"I think tonight, I’ve already shown you more of myself than I’ve ever cared to show anyone else."

Tilting her chin up, I force her to look at me.

"Cole won’t hurt you."

It isn’t a statement.

It’s a fucking promise.

And if I have to put him in the ground to keep it, I will.

"You’re safe, so long as I’m around."

Her lips tremble, but then, finally, she smiles.

Small.

Wary.

"Promise?"

Fuck.

I don’t make promises.

I never keep them.

But this time…?

Her glossed over eyes make the words slip from my mouth before I can stop them.

"I promise."

Chapter 18

Anastasia

Noah’s alarm blares like a police siren, ripping me from the depths of sleep. My body jolts, a small gasp escaping my lips as I blink away the haze. The sheets around me are cold.

The other side of the bed untouched.

Did he even sleep?

The last thing I remember is talking to him, rambling on until the bathwater turned cold and the exhaustion had won.

Now, the clock beside me flashes 5:00 AM, an ugly, fluorescent reminder of how much I despise mornings.

A faint commotion stirs beyond the bedroom, a soft clatter of dishes, the muffled sizzle of something in a pan.

Curious, I push myself up, body protesting with soreness from last night’s… events.

Tugging on one of Noah’s shirts, I step cautiously toward the ajar door, creeping forward with silent footsteps.

The first thing I see is his back.

Muscled, scarred, beautiful.

He stands at the stove, barefoot, the waistband of his work pants hanging low on his hips, his shirt draped over one of the island chairs.

A quiet humming drifts from his lips, the soft, absentminded kind that feels out of place from him.

The scent of rich coffee, butter, and something warm and savory fills the air, mixing with the faint traces of his cologne from last night.

I linger in the doorway, watching him.

For a man who exudes control, danger, and dominance, he looks peaceful right now.

Like he’s in a world untouched by chaos.

And for some reason, the last thing I want to do is disturb him.

"Good morning, Anastasia."

His voice cuts through the air, hot and thick with desire, like he knew I was standing there all along.

A shiver rolls down my spine.

Given the brutal punishment my body endured last night, you’d think the last thing I could feel is arousal.

And yet, here we are.

My thighs press tightly together, an ache already building between them.

I clear my throat, leaning against the doorframe, feigning a confidence that my trembling muscles betray.

"Morning, Professor." I smirk, my voice teasing. "Rough night?"

Noah turns slightly, just enough to glance at me over his shoulder.

His eyes are heavy-lidded, dark with exhaustion, yet still intense, smoldering.

Did he sleep at all?

Or did he spend the night thinking about me the way I spent it dreaming about him?

"You could say that," he murmurs, watching me like he’s already deciding what he’s going to do to me next.

Turning fully, he leans back against the counter, arms bracing the surface on either side, giving me a perfect, unobstructed view of him.

Shirtless.

Lined with my nail marks.

The remnants of last night are etched across his skin, proof of how he took me, ruined me, claimed me.

And fuck, he looks perfect like this.

A mess of curls, tousled and unruly. A sleepy smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

This is the kind of sight that could ruin a girl.

The kind of sight I could get used to.

"Something like that." His voice is dark, edged with something dangerous. "Now come here so I can get a good look at you in my shirt."

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, my eyes flick down to the obvious bulge forming in his pants.

"Is that all you want, Noah?" I murmur, my voice laced with challenge.

His lips twitch into a smirk. "I guess you'll find out, won’t you, Princess?"

Before I can say another word, his grip tightens on the front of my shirt, yanking me toward him.

A gasp leaves my lips just as he spins me around, pressing my front to the cold marble counter. The shock of it chills my bare skin, pebbling my already sensitive nipples against the smooth surface.

A shudder racks through me.

"After last night, pretty girl, I doubt your pussy could take my cock today," Noah murmurs, his hands running possessively over my ass.

The heat of his bulge presses against me, thick and hard even through the fabric of his pants.

"Or your ass, for that matter..." his breath is hot against my ear, "so I had to get creative."

Reaching around my face, he dangles something in front of me.

Bright pink, silicone, and slightly curved.

My stomach tightens.

Small enough to fit in his hand yet menacing enough to send a rush of heat between my legs, the toy gleams under the dim light of his kitchen.

Noah drags it across my lips, teasing, testing, his free hand slapping my ass just hard enough to make me jump.

"Open up."

The command is smooth, effortless, like he already knows I’ll obey.

And he’s right.

My lips part, and he slides the toy inside, pressing it down against my tongue, making sure it’s coated in my spit.

The taste of silicone lingers as he withdraws it, watching me with heavy-lidded amusement.

His other hand glides down my ass, between my thighs, his fingers finding my already slick folds.

"So eager, little whore," he growls, gathering the wetness on his fingers, teasing me until I’m squirming against him.

"Turn around."

The shift in his voice makes my breath catch.

I turn.

Immediately, his hands are on my hips, lifting me onto the counter.

My legs part instinctively, and Noah takes full advantage, keeping me open, exposed, his eyes devouring every inch.

"Today, you're going to cum on my terms."

A slow smirk tugs at his lips.

"Let’s see how quiet you can be during class while your pussy is being played with."

My stomach flips.

"Noah-"

The word barely escapes before he slides the toy inside of me, stretching me with its smooth, curved shape.

I let out a sharp breath, my walls clenching around the sudden intrusion.

It’s curved just right, perfectly angled to graze my clit.

I glance down, my breath catching at the wet mess between my thighs.

Noah grips my cheeks, forcing my gaze back to his.

"If I find out you came on this more than you did on my cock, we’ll have to explore that little collar idea you had."

His fingers tighten, his voice possessive.

A slow heat coils in my gut, something dark and intoxicating.

"You want me to keep this in during school?" I scoff, but my voice betrays me, trembling just slightly.

His smirk widens. "You will keep it in. And you will look at me while you hide your moans."

Reaching for the remote, his thumb hovers over the power button.

A second later, the toy hums to life inside me.

A gasp rips from my throat, my legs snapping closed, only for Noah’s strong hands to force them apart again.

"Care if we practice?"

My pulse pounds.

"Wait, Noah-"

The vibration intensifies.

I don’t finish my sentence.

I can’t.

Noah’s finger hovers over the screen, and the toy inside me comes to life.

A deep, steady vibration pulses against my aching clit, sending a violent shudder through my body.

I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay silent, my thighs tensing around the pleasure.

Noah’s dark eyes drink me in, his grip firm on my thighs, his presence all-consuming.

The only thing I need more than release is him.

His hands, his mouth, his unrelenting control.

Then it happens, a whimper breaks free from my throat.

Too soft. Too desperate. Too obvious.

His eyes narrow, his expression sharpening with something cruel, something knowing.

"Are you fucking whimpering?" His voice is a razor against my skin. "Whimpering to feel me?"

I suck in a sharp breath, fisting the front of his shirt, trying to ground myself.

"Noah, I c-can’t do this during school-"

His smirk is slow, dangerous.

"Still talking?"

He taps the screen again.

The vibration shifts, from a deep hum to a rapid, torturous flutter, and my hips react before my mind catches up, rolling instinctively.

My hands find his hair, tugging, urging, begging.

"Noah, I need your mouth-"

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he tilts his head, voice dripping with mockery.

"In class?" His smirk deepens. "Ms. Burns, are you asking me to lick your pussy on this desk, right in front of your classmates?"

My stomach tightens, heat pooling between my legs.

Fuck.

He’s toying with me, pushing me to break.

Noah slowly drops to his knees, his mouth hovering just inches from where I need him most.

Another helpless whimper tumbles from my lips.

"Yes, Mr. Ackerman," I whisper, playing into his game, my voice thick with need. "I’ve been so very bad. I need you to punish me," my breath stutters. "I need you to make me-"

BANG.

"Noah, are you in there?"

The sharp pound on the door sends a jolt through my body, dragging me back to cold, harsh reality.

Everything freezes.

The voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp, angry, unmistakable.

Walker.

Noah’s eyes darken, any trace of amusement obliterated in an instant.

With a single, sharp tap of his thumb, the toy inside me goes silent.

The sudden absence is jarring, leaving my body trembling, desperate, and unfinished.

Noah doesn’t hesitate.

His hands clamp onto my waist, lifting me from the counter with brutal efficiency, his grip unrelenting, possessive, firm.

"Go to my room and shut the door."

My body shakes, my mind still catching up, but his voice leaves no room for argument.

I hesitate for half a second too long.

SMACK.

His hand cracks across my ass, the sharp sting spreading through my skin like fire.

A gasp rips from my lips, my body jolting forward, but his grip is steel, keeping me in place.

"I said get in the fucking room, Ana."

His voice is venomous.

There’s no room for defiance, not now.

I obey.

With my legs still shaking, I slip away from him, moving swiftly down the hall.

Before closing the door, I leave it just barely ajar, enough to peek through the crack.

A soft buzzing noise drags my attention away.

My phone.

The screen glows on the nightstand, vibrating relentlessly.

A chill creeps into my spine as I pick it up.

The screen is flooded with messages.

Megan.

Elijah.

Their texts are everywhere, the emotions tangled. Panic, anger, and confusion.

But it’s Megan’s latest message that makes my stomach drop into freefall.

Tell me Cole is lying. Tell me you wouldn't sleep with a teacher.

My blood turns ice cold.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

A sharp, furious voice drags me back to the present.

"What the hell do you want?"

Noah’s tone is deadly, thick with rage and something darker.

Beyond the door, Walker’s presence lingers like a storm cloud, his words just muffled enough to spike my anxiety.

The walls are closing in.

A slow, smug stride carries Walker into Noah’s apartment.

My breath stills, my grip tightening on the doorframe as I watch from the narrow gap.

What the hell is he doing?

"Heard some commotion in the hallway last night between Ana and her roommate," Walker muses, his voice dripping with false concern. "I hope it didn't keep you up."

The casual tone is too calculated.

Noah doesn’t flinch. His body is all coiled restraint, his jaw tight, but his expression?

Cold. Indifferent. Dangerous.

"She's not here," he lies smoothly. "Whatever you think is happening between Ana and me is bred by your own delusions. No one came over last night. Some of us have fucking jobs we have to wake up early for."

My stomach twists.

Walker knows.

How? When the hell did he put this together?

Walker tilts his head, a lazy smirk creeping up his face.

"You know, it's funny," he drawls. "Cole... you know Cole, Ana’s ex? He could have sworn he saw her slip into your apartment last night. Now, given our little talk, I figured you would know better-"

Noah takes a slow, measured step forward.

"Are you threatening me, kid?" His voice is lethal.

Walker chuckles, but there’s something darker in his expression now.

"Depends," he shrugs. "You see, I’ve been doing some digging of my own, and funny enough, ‘Noah Ackerman’ didn’t exist until you stepped foot into Spokehaven. It’s like your entire life began here only a few short years ago. New social security, new birth certificate. No trace of where you came from."

My pulse skyrockets.

I grip the door tighter, my fingertips tingling with unease.

Noah? Not existing before Spokehaven?

Noah smirks, but there’s nothing amused about it.

His eyes gleam with something dark, something unhinged.

"If that truly is the case," he murmurs, "perhaps you should stop digging before you figure out what I was outside of Spokehaven."

Walker’s smirk falters, just for a second.

Then, he laughs, shaking his head.

"Oh, you think I’d come after you?" His amusement is forced now, his posture a little too stiff.

His gaze snaps toward the door, toward Cole, who I hadn’t even noticed lingering in the threshold.

The second I see him, my vision blurs with rage.

Cole.

Fucking Cole.

Walker grins, too pleased with himself.

"Oh, Noah. I'm not an idiot. No. Anastasia, on the other hand… she has a lot riding on being here. Sick daddy and that little incident on prom night. A lot could go bad for her very quickly… right, Cole?"

The room plummets into silence.

Noah’s shoulders go rigid, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Only if she opens her mouth," Cole mutters, his dead-eyed stare locking onto Noah. "She hasn't said anything to you, right?"

The room feels suffocating.

Noah’s chest rises and falls in steady, controlled breaths.

Then, his voice drops, lethal.

"No." His eyes are like steel. "Anastasia is only a student. Whatever quarrel you have with her can be settled with admin, not in my goddamn living room."

The energy shifts.

Noah is bigger, stronger, and unlike Walker and Cole, he doesn’t flinch.

Walker and Cole step back instinctively, but Noah doesn’t move.

He’s waiting.

"We were only checking in, Mr. Ackerman," Walker exhales, fake as ever. "Ana's friends are worried about her. Perhaps I’ll have the doorman check the cameras. I’ll see you in class-"

"You."

Noah’s snarl cuts through Walker’s parting words like a knife.

But he isn’t looking at Walker anymore.

His gaze locks onto Cole.

"Come here."

My heart stops.

Oh, no.

Cole hesitates, shifting uncomfortably.

"What-"

Noah moves like a predator, seizing both of their fucking heads and slamming them together in one brutal motion.

A sickening crack fills the air.

Both stumble back, gripping their foreheads, the skin already reddening.

A gasp escapes me, my hand clamping over my mouth.

Noah’s icy stare flicks to the door.

He heard me.

For a tense second, he holds my gaze.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he plants a foot down on both of their hands.

Walker shrieks, trying to yank his fingers free, but Noah presses down harder.

"You crazy fucker!" Walker spits, his face twisted in pain. "My dad-"

"Your dad what?" Noah laughs, his voice dripping with sadistic amusement. "Let’s get one thing fucking straight. You came into my home, threatened me, and now you think throwing around the threat of your dad will make me scared?"

Walker flinches, but Cole stays eerily silent.

Noah’s lip curls.

"Whatever the fuck you think I’m doing with Ana, you’re wrong."

He leans down, his voice a cold whisper.

"I don’t like sloppy seconds."

A white-hot sting flares in my chest.

Sloppy seconds.

Wonder if he’d repeat that to me while licking up my cum.

Walker winces beneath his boot, his face a mask of fury and humiliation.

"So," Noah continues, "either you two let it go, or I’ll show you the real definition of blood money. And trust me, it won’t end with a phone call to my daddy."

His foot twists on Walker’s hand, forcing a pained whimper from his throat.

"Knock on my door again," Noah hisses, his voice like gravel and violence, "and I will fucking put you both in a casket. Thank you for giving me a good reason to find a new apartment."

The threat isn’t hollow.

Walker and Cole must see it too, because they go stiff, backing up the moment he releases them.

Noah spits on them both, his expression feral, untamed.

"This one has too many rats."

Walker clutches his wrist, glancing toward Cole, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing.

Cole just stares at Noah, like he’s trying to figure something out.

"My dad-"

"Fuck you," Noah whispers, his tone ice-cold, final. "Get the fuck out of my house."

Walker spins on his heel, practically bolting.

Cole lingers one second longer, his eyes unreadable, and then he’s gone.

The door slams shut.

Noah doesn’t move.

He stands there, silent, his shoulders rising and falling.

Something about the way he’s standing, so still, so tense, makes my stomach knot.

"Blood money?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

His head tilts slightly.

"Should I put ‘sloppy seconds’ on the list of alarming shit you said during all that?"

Noah doesn’t turn around.

His voice is low, edged with something dangerous.

"Anastasia."

He finally looks at me.

Fuck.

"Go in the bedroom."

His eyes burn into mine, his voice commanding.

"And make sure to pull your hair up."

Something tells me arguing is not an option.

Chapter 19

Megan

The blurry, grainy image on my phone screen feels like a loaded gun pointed straight at my best friend. The photo, sent by Cole, supposedly shows Ana wrapped up with someone who could very well be Professor Ackerman.

Since getting back to the dorm last night, Elijah and I haven’t looked away from it.

"Call her again," I snap, my fingers tightening around my phone.

Elijah exhales, frustrated.

"Oh, I’m sure after the twelfth fucking time, she’ll answer." He throws his arms up. "Here’s an idea: maybe next time, don’t blow up on her because you had unresolved feelings you lied about. Newsflash-" He leans forward. "You willingly spoke to Cole. You know what he did to Ana. Now he and Walker are all buddy-buddy. That’s probably why Walker even talked to her in the first place-"

"I understand all of that, Elijah!" I cut him off, my voice rising.

I hold up my damn phone, shaking it in his face.

"But this, do you have any idea how fucked Professor Ackerman is if this photo is real? Ana is vulnerable as hell right now. He’s taking advantage of her."

Elijah rolls his eyes, unimpressed.

"If it’s a real photo." He gestures at the screen. "That could be any guy. It’s too fucking blurry to tell. I only knew it was Ana because of those hideous plaid shorts she insists on wearing."

I glare at him.

Now’s not the time.

He exhales, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "What did Cole even want you to do with the photo?"

Shame claws at my chest.

Even entertaining a conversation with Cole last night kept me up. It was spiteful, reckless, and now? I regret every second of it.

"He wanted me to show it to Professor Ackerman." My voice is barely above a whisper, "He said Ana doesn’t know her mind well enough to realize when she’s getting taken advantage of."

Elijah’s lip curls in disgust.

"Sounds like he’s speaking from experience."

I look back down at the photo, my mind racing.

"What if it is Mr. Ackerman?" I press. "Do you honestly think Ana wouldn’t do something reckless just to get back at Walker?"

Elijah’s brows furrow.

"You must think so little of Mr. Ackerman if you assume he’d just throw his career away to fuck a student."

"And if he isn’t a stand-up guy? You may only have dick on your mind, but I know you can at least appreciate Ana’s looks. You don’t think a man as young as him would take advantage of her if given the chance?" I scoff.

Silence.

For once, Elijah doesn’t have an immediate comeback.

He ponders the question, his jaw tightening slightly. "I suppose it’s possible," he finally admits. "But Ana is old enough to make her own decisions. She makes her grades just fine. She wouldn’t need to fuck him to get an A. So, tell me, why the hell would she be doing it if it were true?"

I open my mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Why would she?

Grades?
Some twisted kink?
Maybe he has something over her?

The thought turns my stomach.

A creak at the door snaps both our heads up.

Ana stands there, eyes shadowed, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

Her hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail, but my gaze immediately falls to the red marks on her wrists, deep and raw, like someone grabbed her too hard.

She’s shaking.

Elijah and I stare at her, caught between relief and horror.

"Ana," I hiss, standing up, "What the fuck?"

She tilts her head, eyes flicking between us.

Casually, she tosses her bag onto her bed, her expression unreadable.

"I should be asking you the same thing," she fires back. "Care to explain why you’re accusing me of sleeping with a teacher-"

"Not just any teacher, Ana." Elijah’s voice is sharp, "Professor Ackerman."

Her mouth snaps shut.

Her eyes flicker with something sharp. Anger maybe.

"And where the hell did you get that idea from?"

Ana’s piercing stare locks onto me.

Without hesitation, I grab my phone.

I don’t say anything, I just toss it toward her.

The screen lights up, illuminating her face with the blurry image that has kept Elijah and me awake all night.

"That’s you, Ana," I whisper, my voice tight. "And the other guy-"

"Who sent you this?" Ana’s voice cuts like a blade, laced with immediate anger.

I hesitate.

Elijah and I exchange glances, both of us at a loss for words.

After a beat of silence, Elijah speaks first.

"Cole," he mutters. "Cole sent it to her."

Ana’s grip tightens around my phone. The second the name leaves Elijah’s mouth, something shifts in her expression.

She drops the phone onto the bed, her eyes lowering.

"Why the fuck is Cole sending you blurry photos of me?" Her voice is sharp, accusatory. "How the fuck does he even have your number, Megan-"

"I was pissed at you last night!" The words burst out of me, louder than I intended.

Her jaw tightens.

I inhale, trying to steady myself. "Cole said he knew whose apartment you were in last night. He made it sound like you were in trouble, and honestly? I was angry enough to hear him out. If it is Professor Ackerman, Ana, we can go to the dean-"

"Mr. Ackerman is not the guy in that photo!" Ana’s voice echoes through the dorm, her frustration breaking through.

Her fingers curl into fists, her entire body tense with barely contained rage.

"Perhaps you two didn’t get the fucking memo, Cole hates my ass. And clearly, Walker is no better. Anything he tells you is absolute bullshit."

Elijah and I say nothing.

"I tried to explain things to you last night," she continues, her voice shaking slightly. "But after you walked away, I needed a place to land, to give you space. Whoever I choose to spend my time with outside of this campus is nobody’s fucking business."

I open my mouth, but she cuts me off before I can even try to argue.

"Last time I checked, I’m still an adult." She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "One who isn’t fucking one of her teachers. Can you hear how fucking crazy that sounds out loud?"

Elijah, still seated, leans forward.

"Ana, if you’re being taken advantage of, we can help," he says, his voice softer than mine.

Ana lets out a bitter laugh, her arms crossing over her chest.

"The only people taking advantage of me are the ones trying to make that photo become something it’s not."

Her eyes flicker between both of us, as if daring us to say otherwise.

"The least you two can do is not feed into their delusions."

Snatching up her things, she turns on her heel, already marching toward the bathroom.

"I’m taking a shower before class." Her voice is flat, final, "When I get back out, this conversation better be over."

The bathroom door slams shut behind her.

Silence.

Taking a deep breath, Elijah and I finally lock eyes.

Neither of us says a word.

But the tension in the room?

It’s suffocating.

"You shouldn’t have trusted anything that little weasel gave you."

Elijah’s voice is firm, unwavering. His arms are crossed, his expression filled with exasperation.

"Ana would never get with someone that fucking old. No matter how yummy Mr. Ackerman looks, Ana isn’t gonna do anything to compromise her spot here."

I open my mouth, but he keeps going.

"You know about her dad. The last thing she wants to do is disappoint him."

His words land heavier than I expect, sinking into my chest like lead.

"Fuck," I murmur, rubbing my temples. "I didn’t even think about her dad."

Ana’s father is sicker than she lets on. He’s the entire reason she pushed herself to get into Spokehaven in the first place. Before his illness, he was a celebrated professor with a reputation that carried weight.

When he got sick, his students watched his rapid decline, and rather than letting them see him waste away, he left Spokehaven behind.

Now Ana is here, bearing the weight of his name like a cross on her back.

If she did something as reckless as sleeping with a professor, her father’s legacy would crumble.

She wouldn’t do that to him.

The thought grounds me, until the soft creak of the bathroom door pulls both Elijah and me from our thoughts.

Turning, we see Ana slip out, wrapped in a towel.

My stomach twists.

Scratches trail down her back like faint battle scars.

Bruises, deep and angry in blues and purples, paint her upper thighs.

Elijah and I exchange a wide-eyed glance, too stunned to say a word.

She must see the horror on our faces because her voice comes out quiet, almost defeated.

"You're right."

Our eyes snap to hers.

"My dad would be disappointed," she whispers, her grip tightening on the brush she snatched from her bed.

She shakes it in her hand absently.

"Forgot this."

I finally find my voice, but it's soft, uncertain.

"Ana, your skin-"

"I think you’ve pointed out enough for today," she cuts in sharply. "However I choose to distract myself from Cole, my dad, and all the other bullshit is my choice."

Without another word, she turns back toward the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the walls shake.

The room is thick with silence.

Elijah exhales slowly, arms still crossed, his expression unreadable.

"So what do we do?" he finally asks.

I don't have an answer.

I wish I did.

"We let her go through whatever it is she’s going through… and we keep our distance from Cole and Walker."

Elijah nods, but his eyes narrow slightly. "And Mr. Ackerman?"

I hesitate.

If Professor Ackerman is taking advantage of Ana, would she even realize it?

She’s vulnerable. She’s looking for an escape, for release.

And he’s young, successful, powerful. The kind of man who knows exactly the effect he has on people.

How could she resist something that feels like control when everything else in her life is slipping through her fingers?

I swallow hard.

"No," I whisper, my grip tightening around my phone. "I don’t think I will."

Elijah watches me, silent for a long moment.

"At the end of the day, I love Ana." The words feel heavy in my mouth. "And I care for her deeply. Call me delusional, but at least there’s someone in her corner thinking with something other than their hormones."

Elijah heaves a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes.

"We are not letting this go, are we?"

I smirk. "We?"

He gives me a look, rolling his eyes.

"You’re not the only one who loves Ana, bitch."

His words catch me off guard, but they make something warm bloom in my chest.

He pats my shoulder, offering a small but determined smile.

"Let’s keep our girl safe."

For the first time all night, a smile tugs at my lips too.

Chapter 20

Anastasia

Icould hear them.

Every word.

Every syllable spoken when Megan and Elijah thought they were alone.

Their voices carried through the walls, slicing through the veil of steam filling the bathroom.

I kept my head pressed to the door, listening, even after I had turned the water on.

A cold, creeping dread spread through my body, settling deep in my bones.

They know something.

Or, at the very least, they suspect something.

And if their suspicions grow into certainty, if they put the pieces together before I could figure out my next move, everything would implode.

What happened between Noah and me, the tension, the hunger, the way he claimed me, had been ours alone. But now?

Now, it’s a fucking disaster.

It’s a war zone.

On one side, Megan and Elijah, driven by love and concern for me.

On the other, Cole and Walker, driven by a sadistic need to see me suffer.

The worst part?

Cole is smarter than I ever gave him credit for.

Walker is a distraction, a loud, arrogant pawn. But Cole? He’s calculated. Dangerous in ways Walker could never be.

If he even suspects something is happening between Noah and me, that means Noah is fully on his radar.

The weight of that realization suffocates me.

If this gets out, if someone decides to take this to the wrong person, I won’t be the only one to pay for it.

Noah could be fired or worse, arrested.

I could watch him be shoved into the back of a cop car, his entire life destroyed because of our choices.

Because of me.

Maybe…

Maybe distancing myself from him is the only thing I can do.

The thought makes something tighten in my chest, but before I can let it settle, I feel it.

The toy.

Still inside me.

A filthy reminder of just how far I’ve let this go.

Of how fucking reckless I’ve become.

My stomach flips as the full weight of it all crashes down on me.

"Fuck," I whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Pressing a shaking hand to my forehead, I force my reflection to meet my eyes in the mirror.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

As usual, I’m the first to class.

Settled into my seat well before anyone else, I tap my pencil furiously against the desk, my thoughts a tangled mess of panic and regret.

Everything I’ve done, the choices I’ve made, the recklessness I’ve allowed to consume me, has built a wall of problems too high to climb.

If Walker decides to poke at Noah with Cole, how long before they start putting the pieces together?

How long before they know?

Walker has already proven that he doesn’t mind stirring shit. That he’ll drag others down just to prove a point.

So what the hell happens next?

Before my mind can spiral further, a deep, rasped voice slices through the silence.

“You’re not Mr. Ackerman… are you?”

The question startles me.

Snapping my head up, I lock eyes with a man who is tall, dark, and entirely too intense.

His stare alone could peel back layers of skin, sinking into something deeper, something more dangerous.

The tattoo wrapping around his neck draws my attention first, dark vines and thorns, inked in sharp, interwoven lines. It stops just below his ear, like a warning.

Then there’s the gold band wrapped around his ring finger, gleaming under the harsh overhead lights.

Married?

Who the hell is this guy?

“No,” I whisper, gripping my pencil tighter. “He usually comes in fifteen minutes before the bell.”

The man gives a curt nod, then strides toward Noah’s desk without hesitation.

With zero hesitation, he rummages through Noah’s things.

Blatantly.

Like he has every damn right to be here.

My breath catches.

Who the hell does this guy think he is?

“Can I ask why you need him?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

But he doesn’t bother looking at me.

Doesn’t acknowledge the question.

Instead, he shoves a thick envelope into his coat pocket like he just finished a routine errand.

“Just needed something with his full legal name,” he mutters. “Mail will do.”

Mail?

My stomach drops.

Is this guy fucking insane?

Or worse, does he have a reason for what he’s doing?

The hair on my arms stands on end as I try again.

“Are you his friend?”

This time, he actually looks at me.

Not just a glance.

A lingering, razor-sharp stare.

He leans into Noah’s desk, watching me closely, like he’s trying to decipher something.

“Are you?” he counters.

The edge in his voice makes my pulse quicken.

“Not many students sit alone before class starts, waiting for their professor.”

“Right. Says the guy who just went through my professor’s things and still hasn’t told me who the hell he is.” I scoff, crossing my arms.

He smirks.

A slow, smoldering thing, one that’s more fire than warmth.

"Roman Briar."

My heart stops.

Fuck.

The Priest.

"Your wife is Mrs. Briar!" The words fly from my mouth before I can stop them, and for the first time since stepping into the room, Roman Briar actually looks intrigued.

"You have her class?"

"I do." I nod, studying him carefully. "I've got to admit, you're not quite what I expected. Are you the reason she shows up to class looking like she got pummeled some days?"

His smirk vanishes. A dark red flushes his cheeks, but his stance remains unfazed.

"I love my wife." His voice is steady, but the intensity behind it settles like lead in my stomach. "I won’t apologize for making her feel loved in the ways she wants."

Jesus.

Roman Briar, the man wrapped in tattoos and suspicion, standing here unapologetically admitting to wrecking his wife in ways that leave her marked for days.

I don’t know what’s more shocking, the fact that he said it so boldly or the fact that I somehow respect it.

But it doesn’t answer my real question.

"So, if you're Mrs. Briar's husband, why are you taking Mr. Ackerman's things?"

Roman takes a step closer, planting his hand on my desk, trying to intimidate me.

"I like to know who my wife is working with. Simple as that."

Still possibly insane.

"What has Noah-" My mouth snaps shut, panic flooding my system as soon as I realize my slip-up. "Mr. Ackerman done to make you so wary?"

Roman’s fingers drum against the desk, eyes flickering with something calculating.

"I suppose nothing." He shrugs, glancing at his watch. "But I don’t trust the university to do thorough background checks."

A long pause.

Too long.

Checking the door, he sighs.

"Time for me to go."

And before I can stop myself, I grab his wrist.

"He's a good teacher." My voice drops to a whisper, "You aren’t going to find anything. If you're worried about him making a move on your wife, I promise you Mr. Ackerman has other affairs."

His brows lift, expression shifting in an instant.

Too late to take it back now.

"Word of advice, kid?" He watches me carefully, waiting for me to let go.

"Be careful who you associate with. It may feel right in the moment, but you never know what demons someone is running from. You may feel like you're on cloud nine, but what something means to you may not be the same to the other person."

The words hit harder than they should.

My throat tightens.

He knows.

Or at least, he suspects something.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I hiss, forcing as much confidence into my voice as I can.

Roman’s smirk returns.

Like I just confirmed everything he needed to know.

"Right," he murmurs, shaking his head. "They never do."

And just like that, he’s gone, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets, keeping his profile low as he strides toward the door.

Then the shadow outside the doorway stills.

The handle turns.

My heart stops.

Noah.

His icy stare flickers from me to Roman, his body rigid, his jaw tensed so tight I swear I hear his teeth grind.

For a moment, nobody speaks.

Seconds pass before Roman laughs.

A deep, amused chuckle that clashes violently with the thick tension in the air.

He claps a hand on Noah’s shoulder, gaze flicking back toward me, and grins.

"You're right." Roman smirks. "His focus is most definitely on someone else."

And with that, he walks away.

Noah doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe.

The silence between us is suffocating.

Finally, I force myself to speak.

"Mrs. Briar’s husband."

Noah gives a slow, stiff nod, his jaw locked, muscles tight.

"He knows?" I whisper.

His fists tighten, his exhale slow and deliberate.

"I think he knows all too well what kind of situation I’ve put myself in."

The way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.

"And?" I push.

Taking a seat at his desk, he kicks himself back slightly, eyes locked on me.

"Come over here."

The way he says it, calm, steady, and dangerously unreadable, sends electricity pulsing through my veins.

I don’t hesitate.

I don't think.

All I do is listen to his quiet command.

Chapter 21

Noah

Cole, Walker, and now fucking Roman Briar.

Cole and Walker are just children. Children with power, sure, but still children.

They think they understand strength, but they don’t know what it means to be truly dangerous.

But Roman?

Roman is a different breed.

What the hell did he say to Ana to leave her so shaken?

I saw it. The way her breath hitched, the way her body locked up like prey sensing a predator.

Did he threaten her?

No, he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Would he?

There’s no fucking way he touched her.

No way he put his hands on something that isn’t his to claim.

If I had a shred of sense, I’d take this as a warning.

I’d put distance between me and Ana, let Roman’s visit serve as the reminder it was meant to be.

If I were smart, I would have never touched her in the first place.

But I’m not.

Because watching him leave this room so smug, so sure of himself, like he didn’t just fucking rattle my entire world, makes me want one thing and one thing only.

Her.

Close enough to erase every trace of him from my mind.

She listens when I tell her to come here, little resistance in her steps, and my eyes rake over her greedily.

Those tight black leggings, the oversized shirt slipping just enough to tease what’s underneath. Her breasts bounce as she moves... no bra. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

She knows exactly how many marks I left on her. And all I can think about is how fucking sweet she tasted against my tongue.

I shouldn’t have snapped at her when she touched my scars.

It was weak. Cowardly.

The kind of mistake I don’t make. Sitting there, exposed, letting her see that part of me, that was bad enough. But letting her think, even for a second, that I’m anything less than unbreakable?

Unforgivable.

Scars mean pain.

Pain someone else inflicted.
Pain I allowed someone else to inflict.

No one should see that part of me. No one should get even a glimpse of the past I carry like a weight on my back.

Especially not Ana.

She should feel one thing, satisfied. Nothing more.

Her prying into my personal life? That’s a line I refuse to cross. The more she knows, the more reason she’ll have to run. And if she runs, I won’t chase her. I can’t.

This thing between us, selfish, reckless and fucking stupid in every possible way, should have never started. But it did. And now, no matter how much sense tells me to stop, I won’t.

Because those moments with her? They’re mine.

She is mine.

And I’ll keep her as far from my fucked-up life as I can for as long as I can.

The last thing I need is for my family to catch wind of her.
The last thing I need is Walker watching my every move, waiting for me to slip, dragging her down with me when I do.

But right now, none of that matters.

Gripping her thighs, I yank her forward, swallowing her surprised yelp as she lands exactly where I want her. Straddling my lap, pressing her beautiful cunt against the ache that’s been building in me since the second I walked in.

Her hands clutch my shoulders, but her eyes flick to the door, still rattled after Roman’s intrusion.

That won’t do.

“We have twenty minutes before class starts,” I murmur, fingers curling around the back of her neck, dragging her closer to my lips.

She gasps; the sound soft enough to send another rush of heat straight to my cock.

“Twenty minutes to have fun with my pretty girl.”

My fingers dip into my pocket, a slow, devious smile pulling at my lips the second I feel the cool plastic beneath my fingertips. The remote.

Rolling my thumb over the large power button, I watch her carefully, waiting for the moment confusion flickers in her eyes.

“Did you listen?” I murmur, voice low and rough. “Is it still inside of you?”

She nods, innocent, trusting.

Perfect.

“Good.”

No warning. No hesitation.

I press the button, watching as the first wave of pleasure jolts through her. Her body lurches forward, pressing into me, a quiet, strangled gasp spilling from her lips before she can stop it.

Burying her face in my shoulder, she muffles the delicate moans I crave, but I won’t let her hide from me. Not now.

My fingers slide between her legs, pressing against her swollen clit, circling gently, teasing, rewarding her for being so obedient.

Her breath stutters.

“Fuck, Noah,” she pants, her voice laced with desperation. “I don’t know how long I can-”

“Then let’s give you something else to focus on.”

I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.

“On your knees, pretty girl.”

Her eyes widen, darting toward the door. The risk, the thrill of getting caught, it only makes this sweeter.

But she obeys.

Slowly, she slides off my lap, dragging her hands down the front of my pants, teasing, lingering. Taking her time just to make me suffer.

Nestling herself beneath my desk, she looks up at me, wide-eyed and eager, as if she isn’t about to wreck me completely.

My chair shifts forward, closing the space between us. Her hands move quickly, undoing my belt, fingers tugging, clawing at my waistband like a starved animal.

I let her work, watching every delicate movement, every flicker of hunger in her eyes.

Then I fist my hand in her hair, tilting her chin up, forcing her to hold my stare.

Innocent. Tempting.

Fucking mine.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeys without hesitation, parting her lips, her tongue flicking out in silent invitation.

My free hand works open my fly, and the second my cock has room, it springs free, hard and aching, desperate for the warmth of her mouth.

She stares, lips parted, eyes wide with hunger.

Perfect.

Leaning in, I let the spit pool in my mouth before letting it drip onto her waiting tongue, a slick string connecting us as I pull away.

“A little extra motivation for my pretty girl,” I murmur, wiping my lips clean, watching the way her breath hitches at my words.

She doesn’t hesitate, using my spit to coat my length, her soft lips part as she takes me in. The first glide of her mouth around me is slow, teasing, but her hunger betrays her. She wants this just as badly as I do.

Her head lowers, my cock disappearing inch by inch, and when she reaches the base, her throat clenches around me. The sound of her gagging sends a violent pulse of heat straight to my spine.

My hand coils into her red locks, wrapping the strands around my fingers as I guide her pace.

“Just like that,” I groan. “Good fucking girl.”

Below me, her legs tremble, shaking from the relentless vibrations tormenting her clit. Each time she sinks down, a whimper slips free, mixing with the wet, obscene sounds of her mouth working me over. The noise is a high all on its own.

Her cheeks flush red, her pretty eyes glistening as they flick up through thick lashes, silently begging for my approval.

And fuck, she has it.

Gripping my thighs for support, she drags her head up, sucking in a desperate breath, her chest heaving, saliva clinging to her lips in glossy strands.

“Already done?” I taunt, tilting my head as I smirk down at her.

Her eyes burn with defiance, answering my unspoken question before her lips even part.

“Not in the slightest, Mr. Ackerman.”

Smirking, she replaces her mouth with her hand, slow and deliberate, dragging her fingers up and down my length with torturous precision. Every stroke teases, taunts, makes me ache for more.

Then she moves lower.

Her tongue flicks past the base of my cock, traveling further, tasting, exploring. My breath stutters the moment she gathers my sack in her mouth, sucking softly, swirling her tongue over the sensitive skin.

The sensation, her wet heat, the way her hand keeps working as I fill her mouth, consumes me. I tip my head back, jaw clenched, burying my groans into my sleeve, fighting to stay quiet when every nerve in my body screams for release.

“Fuck, Ana,” I hiss, my control slipping fast. “It’s like your mouth was made for my cock-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Mr. Ackerman?”

The voice, soft and oblivious, cuts through the moment like a knife.

I stiffen.

“We know it’s early, but a few of us are waiting. Can we come inside?”

Ana freezes beneath the desk. Her lips retreat slowly, hesitantly, as if she’s just as wrecked by this as I am.

“H-hold on-” I start, trying to catch my breath.

But it’s too late.

The door swings open.

Students shuffle in, chatting, taking their seats, completely unaware of what’s unfolding right beneath their noses.

Under the desk, Ana stays perfectly still. Her grip around my cock tightens, holding me in place, her breath coming out in short, shaky gasps.

Fuck.

I don’t move.

She doesn’t move.

And the worst part?

I’m still throbbing, still aching, still teetering on the edge of release with no fucking escape.

“He has nothing better to do. Next time, don’t ask.” Walker smirks, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he shuts the door behind him.

The bastard is always the instigator, always the one stirring the pot just to watch it boil over.

Students start pulling out their materials, settling in, but Walker? He takes his time, circling Ana’s empty desk like a fucking vulture.

“Where did our sweet Ana run off to?” he sneers.

My hands curl into fists, trembling with rage the longer I look at him.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” I snap, teeth clenched, barely holding myself together.

Ana doesn’t stop.

Ignoring the situation entirely, her lips wrap around my cock again, her head bobbing slowly, silently, stealing my tension with every sinful stroke.

My fingers clamp around the back of her neck, but all I feel is her smug little smile pressing into my skin.

God.

She feels so fucking amazing.

Walker takes another step toward my desk, still grinning, still running his mouth.

“It’s just funny,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement. “She never leaves her stuff behind. You never know what she could be getting up to.”

His smirk widens.

“A leash would be a worthy investment for that one.”

My jaw tightens. My patience snaps.

“You’re right,” I hiss, pressing the button on her toy, letting the adrenaline surging through my veins take over.

Ana jolts beneath the desk, her fingers digging into my thighs. My cock twitches, seconds from spilling over the edge, and I know, judging by the way she clings to me, the way her tiny whimpers vibrate against my skin, she’s already falling apart, soaking through those lace panties she thought would survive the day.

“She really does need some discipline,” I murmur, my voice thick with restraint. “As do you.”

Walker raises a brow, but the warning in my tone must strike something in him because his cocky stance falters.

“Now sit down,” I command, voice even, deadly. “And get some work done before I send you to the dean for intruding on my prep period.”

Scoffing, the little bastard finally backs off, dropping into his seat with minimal lip.

Tapping a pencil against my desk, I drown out the quiet, filthy sounds beneath me, fighting against the need clawing its way through my body.

More students funnel in. The clock ticks by, painfully slow. The walls close in, leaving us with nowhere to go.

Most people would be cowering under the desk by now, too afraid to move, too afraid to get caught.

But Ana?

She’s still on her knees, lips stretched around my cock, eyes glistening with determination.

Trying to coax my release, trying to take every last drop of me into her mouth.

Naughty. Fucking. Girl.

Her nails bite into my thighs, hard enough to draw blood, but the pain is nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins.

How much longer can I hold this off?

How much longer can I keep this hidden?

God.

I can’t fucking take it.

She feels too good. Too fucking good.

I have to cum.

I have to-

A violent, earsplitting screech fills the room.

The fire alarm.

Blasting through the walls, loud, grating, pulling me back from the razor-thin edge I was clinging to.

Fuck.

Scrambling, I grab my mouse, pulling up my inbox, scanning the morning announcements I usually ignore.

9:00 AM – FIRE DRILL.

Well, shit.

Maybe God is throwing me a bone.

Teeth clenched, my voice cuts through the chaos. “Line up outside the classroom.”

No one questions it. Not even Walker. Annoyed by the noise, they file out one by one, leaving without pushback, leaving until it’s just me and my sweet, filthy girl.

The moment the last body disappears through the door, I push my chair back slightly, finally meeting her gaze.

Devilish, smug and sinful.

“You naughty fucking girl,” I murmur, smirking down at her. “Ready for your reward?”

Her response is instant.

Dragging her tongue from the base to the tip, she lays my cock flat against her tongue, eyes dark with need.

“Desperately, sir.”

And that’s all it takes.

A few raunchy words, a flick of her tongue, and my control shatters.

My release spills into her mouth, coating her tongue, filling her like she was made for it. She swallows every drop, taking it without hesitation, without complaint, sucking me clean before tucking me away again.

Fastening my belt, buttoning my pants, I waste no time yanking her up from under the desk.

Then my hand slips down the front of her leggings.

No hesitation. No patience left.

Her breath stutters, a moan slipping free as I retrieve the toy from between her slick, soaked folds, watching as her fingers tighten in my shirt for balance.

Pulling it free, I hold it up between us.

Her cum coats the surface, sweet, glistening and addicting.

My mouth waters at the sight.

All fucking mine.

“How did it feel?” I murmur, gripping her hair tight, giving it a firm tug until her eyes snap to mine. “Taking my cum like a good fucking slut… knowing you let yourself finish from something that wasn’t me?”

Her eyes blaze, defiant even as she winces.

“I’d much rather have taken your cock,” she whispers, her voice dripping with sin.

Then she smirks.

“Now open up, Mr. Ackerman. You have a mess to clean up.”

She nudges the toy past my lips, and the second her taste hits my tongue, I groan, sucking it clean without hesitation. The sweetness of her release lingers, addictive, all-consuming, and she watches me with a hunger that rattles me to my core.

This woman is going to be my undoing.

Tossing the toy into my desk drawer, the blaring fire alarm finally registers, snapping both of us back into reality.

Sort of.

“Care to share with the class how you’re going to explain my sudden arrival?” she prods.

I should be focused on the fact that the classroom will be filling back up, that at any moment, someone could come too close, notice something is off.

But all I can think about is laying her over this desk and burying my face between her legs.

“Simple,” I murmur. “You missed class today.”

I slide her off my lap, slowly, deliberately, my eyes flicking to the space beneath my desk, the space she had just been hiding in.

“Get back under there,” I command.

Her brows lift, eyes widening slightly before darkening with understanding.

Already, I feel the strain building again. Already, my body is demanding more.

“You don’t get off your knees,” I add, voice low, dangerous, “until it’s painting your face.”

It’s wrong.

So fucking wrong to be doing this here, in a classroom, surrounded by students who, at any moment, could walk up, could put the pieces together.

But I can’t stop.

I won’t.

Her lips part, a slow, sultry smile creeping across her face.

“Fine,” she whispers, tilting her chin up. “Let’s see how long you can sit at that desk and teach while you’re buried in my throat.”

My teeth clench. My resolve snaps.

She settles into my chair, sinking into position, watching me like she’s already won.

Then, with a devilish smirk, she leans back, her legs propped up against my desk, fingers toying lazily with my computer.

“Run along, Noah,” she purrs. “The students need you.”

Her gaze flicks up, lips curving as she taunts.

“You know where to come crawling back to once you’re done playing teacher.”

This is no longer just a game.

She’s fighting for dominance, testing her limits, wondering what the consequences of pushing me will be.

Oh, Anastasia.

You have no idea what kind of monster you’re dealing with.

Chapter 22

Elijah

“Fucking hell, Ana.”

She strides out of the classroom, wearing a wide grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, her cheeks still flushed, her gaze flickering with guilt.

She’s scouting the area.

Looking for anyone who might see her.

The further she gets, the more she ducks her head, as if shrinking away will erase the evidence of what she’s done.

My stomach twists. My hands shake.

My eyes flick back to the messages from just an hour ago, the ones I had stared at long enough to burn into memory.

Hey, did you make it to class alright?

Actually, decided to play hooky today. The last thing I need is to spend time in Mr. Ackerman's class after the shit you and Meg threw at me.

So you're not on campus?

Like I said, doing my own thing today. Don't wait up for me.

Lies.

Blatant fucking lies.

My fingers clench around my phone, my mind racing through every horrifying scenario that could explain why she would risk everything, her grades, her reputation, her entire academic career, for a man like him.

Is he forcing her? Manipulating her?

Or worse, does she want this?

I didn’t want to believe that photo was real. Didn’t want to believe Megan’s hysteria was anything more than some deep-rooted jealousy.

Cole and Walker are worthless pieces of shit, always looking for new ways to ruin Ana’s life.

But now?

Now I’ve seen the truth with my own eyes.

The guilt on her face. The lingering red on her cheeks. The way she walks, like she’s done this before, like she’s wearing the same shame I’ve carried too many times after slipping out of some asshole’s dorm room.

I know that walk.

And I know exactly where she just came from.

The realization curdles in my stomach, boiling into something sharp, something unshakable.

Before I can think, my feet move on their own, carrying me across the hall, closer, closer—until I’m standing in front of his door.

I hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then his voice cuts through the air, low, cold, just barely audible through the barely ajar door.

"I get what I want. You get what you want. Whatever piece of ass I’m tapping is none of your concern. If you’re smart, you’ll stay far away. I’m sure you’d love to dig into my wares, but I assure you-"

My stomach lurches.

"When I’m done with the little whore, there won’t be much left to have fun with."

My breath vanishes.

The world blurs.

And then, just as quickly, everything sharpens.

Rage consumes me, blinding, all-consuming.

Every rational thought I had walking in here vanishes.

Fuck this piece of shit.

I shove the door open, and the second Mr. Ackerman’s eyes land on me, confusion flickers across his face. His hand slams his phone onto the desk, his movements sharp, guilty.

I step inside and kick the door shut behind me. Hard.

My breath is coming too fast, my head light with fury, but the scene before me tells me everything I need to know.

His desk is a mess. His clothes, disheveled. His belt, just now being adjusted.

My hands curl into fists.

“Mr. Warner?” His voice is smooth, too smooth. “Can I help you-”

I don’t let him finish.

Storming across the room, I jab my finger into his chest, shoving him back a step. I get so close I can smell her on him, that familiar, intoxicating scent clinging to his skin.

His eyes widen.

He knows.

“I know,” I snarl. “I know about Ana. I know what you’ve been doing to her, and I know what it’s doing to her.”

My voice is darker than I’ve ever heard it.

“If you don’t want to leave this classroom bleeding, you’re going to cut off whatever the hell this is today. Right now.” I breathe hard through my nose, barely restraining the need to swing. “She may be just a little whore for your pleasure to you, but I won’t let you hurt her more than you already have, you sick, pedophilic piece o-”

Pain.

Sudden, sharp, crushing pain explodes across the side of my head.

Before I can react, I’m shoved forward, my skull colliding with the desk.

The world spins. My chest heaves.

He’s on me in an instant, his weight pressing down, his fingers digging into my skin like claws, holding me in place like some cornered animal.

My breath stutters.

“Do you think you can walk in here and threaten me, kid?” he snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Do you really think you understand anything about what’s happening here? You overheard one conversation and suddenly you’re judge, jury, and executioner?”

I grit my teeth.

“So it’s true?” I force out, my voice strained as I try to lift my head. “You’re fucking Ana? Using her like she’s some cheap whore?”

His body stiffens. His grip on me falters for just a fraction of a second.

I hit a nerve.

“She is not a whore,” Mr. Ackerman grinds out, his voice dangerous. “Let’s get that straight.”

Then, just as fast as he grabbed me, he lets go.

I stumble back, my head still ringing, watching as he runs a shaking hand through his hair, his breathing uneven.

“So… you too?” His voice drops to a whisper, something unreadable flashing behind his eyes. “What? Did Walker put you up to this? Too scared to confront me himself, so he sends her best friend to do his dirty work?”

Walker?

What the fuck is he talking about?

My confusion must be obvious because he narrows his eyes.

“Walker,” he repeats, his voice cold. “He did the same thing you’re doing. Trying to find a way to hurt her.”

The words hit me sideways.

He’s lying. He has to be.

“You say that like you care about her,” I snap, stepping forward. “How many students have you gotten away with fucking?”

His jaw tightens.

I take a step back when he moves toward me, but it’s too late.

His fist grips my collar, yanking me forward until we’re nose to nose, his hold tight enough that I feel the white-hot rage rolling off him.

“I never touched a student before Ana.” His knuckles turn white. “I had no intention of letting it go this far.” His jaw clenches. “I thought I had control. I thought I could look past her.”

He swallows hard, but his grip doesn’t waver.

“I would never put Ana in harm’s way.”

“But you already have.” I scoff.

His fingers twitch against my shirt.

“She’s skipping class. Isolating. Hell, she barely answers her dad’s calls anymore,” I bite out. “Do you have any idea how much her family sacrificed for her to be here? Do you have any fucking clue what she went through back home? Cole’s abuse was just the tip of the iceberg. He used her pain against her, made her think the bullshit he was giving her was love.” I shake my head, anger spilling from every word. “And then you came along. You took a broken woman and made her your plaything.” My breath shudders, my chest rising and falling in harsh waves. “All you’ve done is harm her.”

His grip loosens.

“If you really gave a fuck about her, you’d leave her the hell alone.” My voice drops to a snarl, “And maybe find someone your own age to fuck.”

His hand falls away.

For the first time since I stormed in here, something changes in his face.

His mask slips.

And dread, cold and dark, paints his expression.

“She stopped answering her father?”

His voice is quieter now, but it doesn’t soften the edge of my fury.

“He’s sick,” I snap. “And the treatment is too expensive. She knows he’s on borrowed time. And you-” I take a step closer, my words cutting like knives. “You became her distraction from all of it. You gave her a high, made her feel seen. It may be just a casual fuck to you, something to joke about with your friends, but I promise-” my jaw tightens “-it means a hell of a lot more to Ana than it ever will to you.”

“You don’t know how I feel about Ana,” he grits out, voice low.

“Really?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Then prove it. Quit. Resign. Take her on a real date, fall madly in love with her. Tell her your deepest, darkest fears. Show her a life where she’s more than just what’s between her legs.”

His silence is deafening.

Finally, he looks away.

I’ve got him exactly where I want him.

“But you won’t do that, will you?” I whisper, my voice dipping, the words a slow, deliberate dagger.

“You won’t quit. You won’t treat her like anything other than your little plaything. Because this was never about Ana, it was always about you. Your needs. Your selfish fucking desires.” I shake my head. “She never meant anything to you.”

His jaw tenses, but I push forward.

“You fuck and discard women, feeding off how easily they fall for that charismatic smile and old-money charm. You are the last thing she needed in her life, but you’re too selfish to own up to that. So don’t stand here and tell me I don’t know how you feel about Ana.”

I step closer, close enough to feel his breath against mine.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about her,” I seethe. “Because that would require you to think with something other than your dick.”

His nostrils flare, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to hit me.

Instead, his expression darkens, voice a low, venomous whisper.

“Fuck you,” he growls.

"You'd never get the chance," I snap. “If I ever find out you’ve touched her, or anyone else on this campus again, I will end you. I don’t give a fuck who your family is or why you took this job.” I lean in, voice dropping to something lethal. “Unlike you, I love Ana.”

His muscles go rigid.

“You’re lucky you’re not leaving this damn classroom with a broken nose.”

I expect him to fire back, to throw some half-assed excuse in my face. But instead, he just stares at me.

Expression unreadable.

Then, so quiet it almost doesn’t register, he mutters, “You don’t know the first thing about me.” His voice is cold, flat. “You have no idea what Ana means to me.”

“If she ever meant anything to you, you’ll never fucking speak to her again outside of class.” I scoff.

His brows knit, but I don’t let him interrupt.

“I’m giving you one chance to break this off and keep your job,” I continue, voice steady, unwavering. “Mercy is the last thing you deserve, Noah.” His name leaves my lips like a curse.

His eye twitches.

“But the last thing I need is for her to have a breakdown because of your absence. So, you end this, and I will pick up the pieces. I will take care of her.”

I shove him back with a hand to his chest.

“You will do your fucking job.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react.

Just watches me, unreadable, calculating.

Then, at last, a crack in the armor.

“You truly think Ana is suffering?” His voice is different now, thick with something unnameable.

The look in his eyes makes my stomach turn. For a moment, I almost second-guess myself.

But no.

This isn’t real.

This is manipulation.

The same kind of manipulation he used on Ana.

He does not care.

This is all a game to him.

“She’s drowning,” I say, my voice softer now, but no less cutting. “The question is, are you going to stop dragging her under?”

His jaw tenses. The air between us turns suffocating.

Then-

“Mr. Ackerman?”

The voice shatters the moment.

We both turn in unison.

Mrs. Briar stands in the doorway, her sharp gaze flicking between us.

How long has she been standing there? How much did she hear?

Ackerman’s entire body stiffens. My pulse hammers.

Her expression only grows colder.

I step back, throwing one last glance at Ackerman before leaving him with just a few parting words.

“Make the right choice.” My voice is low, final. “If you ever cared for her, you know what to do.”

And then I’m gone.

Mrs. Briar doesn’t stop me.

She just shuts the door behind me, sealing whatever conversation is about to happen on the other side.

A weight lifts from my chest, but it’s not gone. Not yet.

I pull out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen.

He won't be bothering you anymore.

Seconds pass.

Then-

What did you do?

I stare at the message. My grip tightens around my phone.

I saved you, Ana.

From pain.
From heartbreak.
From the clutches of Professor Ackerman.

Chapter 23

Anastasia

Mrs. Briar’s classroom is warm and inviting, always feeling like a space meant to keep you safe. The walls are lined with student projects, soft yellow lighting overhead, the faint scent of lavender drifting from the wax warmer on her desk.

But today, something feels off.

She sits at her desk, blankly staring into the distance, gnawing absently on the end of her pencil. Her fingers itch at her thigh in a sporadic, almost anxious motion. There’s a slight tremor in her hands, and her posture stiff, almost withdrawn, is nothing like the composed, confident woman I’m used to seeing.

She looks tired. More than tired.

Puffy eyes, a little more disheveled than usual, her blouse slightly wrinkled like she hadn’t bothered to smooth it out before coming in.

Like she had been crying.

Like she had been crying not long before I got here.

I shift on my feet, my own thoughts still tangled in the storm of the last hour. Now that the adrenaline rush of Roman’s threats and my confrontation with Noah has worn off, Elijah’s cryptic text is the only thing left lingering in my mind.

"He won’t be bothering you anymore."

I texted Noah the second Elijah made his bold claim, needing to know what the hell had happened. His response?

"Meet me by my bike after class."

Nothing more. Nothing less.

I barely made it through the rest of my schedule, skipping more classes than I probably should have, but Mrs. Briar’s was the one I promised myself I wouldn’t miss.

Looking at her now, I wonder if she even wants to be here.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice cautious. I keep a fair amount of space between us, not wanting to startle her.

She jolts slightly, clearly not expecting anyone to speak.

Dragging her fingers under her eyes, she wipes away the remnants of what can only be tears.

What the hell is going on?

“I-I’m fine,” she chokes out, the words brittle, crumbling the second they leave her lips.

She’s lying straight through her teeth.

Stepping closer, I gently pluck the pencil from her fingers before she ends up swallowing the eraser at the rate she’s gnawing on it.

“Did something happen before class?” I prod, searching her face, piecing together whatever puzzle this is.

I can’t help but wonder if her not-so-charming husband has anything to do with why she looks like she’s been run through the wringer.

Clearing her throat, she straightens in her chair, her expression hardening.

“I know,” she whispers.

Something in my chest goes still.

I glance at her sharply, schooling my features into the best look of confusion I can muster.

“Know what?”

Playing clueless is the only option I have left.

Her hands tremble as she smooths down the fabric of her skirt, like she needs something to do, something to keep her grounded.

“You know what I’m talking about, Ana.” Her voice is sharper this time, her eyes laced with accusation, “Don’t make me say it out loud.”

My mouth parts, my heartbeat thudding in my ears.

“No, ma’am, I really don’t-”

“Noah.”

The name leaves her lips like a blade.

My stomach drops.

She stares at me, unwavering, the weight of her next words crashing down before they even fully leave her mouth.

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”

Glancing around the room, I half expect to see an officer stationed at one of the desks, waiting to escort me out in cuffs.

Mrs. Briar clears her throat.

“Thirty minutes, Ana,” she whispers, her voice steady, unreadable. “The thirty minutes between classes, I told you, I am not your teacher then.” She pauses, exhaling sharply. “But I need to know what’s going on.”

Gripping the edge of my desk, my knuckles ache from the pressure.

She may not be my teacher right now, but she’s still his wife.

And after seeing the way Roman so shamelessly rifled through Noah’s desk, the way he prowled around like he had the right to own every piece of this school, I can’t afford to see her as an ally.

“I don’t know where you got that idea,” I whisper, my voice tight. “If Walker or Cole spoke to you-”

“I heard him, Ana.”

Her voice cuts through the air, sending ice down my spine.

“I heard Noah speaking to your friend Elijah,” she continues, her expression unreadable. “Elijah barreled into that classroom, ready to go to war for you. Noah denied nothing.”

My stomach twists.

“And my husband, Roman,” her voice falters for just a second before she steadies herself, “he told me he saw you in Noah’s classroom well before class had begun. He said it looked like you had been caught.”

My breath locks in my throat.

And then I laugh. A sharp, humorless sound, bitterness bleeding through the cracks.

“You’re seriously casting judgment my way?” I hiss, narrowing my eyes. “When your husband was a goddamn priest? Your priest?”

Her eyes flicker, but she doesn’t waver.

“Allegedly,” she quips.

“Allegedly,” I repeat, shaking my head. “Well then, Mr. Ackerman is allegedly fucking me.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

Mrs. Briar exhales slowly, then rises from her desk.

She moves toward me, not with anger, not with judgment, but with something else. Something I can’t quite name.

Then she asks, point-blank.

“Do you love him?”

My chest tightens.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I-”

“Yes or no, Ana.” She doesn’t let me run, doesn’t let me hide. “Do you love Noah?”

The weight of the question crushes against my ribs, suffocating, too heavy to hold.

And before I can stop myself-

“I don’t know,” I admit. “He’s been a distraction.”

Mrs. Briar’s face softens, but the sharpness in her gaze never fades.

“Do you think he loves you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words slice through me like a blade.

Memories flood in. Every moment, every touch, every shared breath.

“After tonight, Ana, if you think what I did to you was love, then you’re as fucked up as me.”

Noah Ackerman does not love.

Noah Ackerman cannot love.

“No,” I bite out. My hands shake as I grip my desk harder, as if grounding myself against the truth will make it hurt less. “Noah doesn’t love me. We only just met-”

“Then end it,” Mrs. Briar pleads, stepping closer. “End it before one of you is scorned because of your actions. I read your portfolio, Ana. You are brilliant... a girl who doesn’t need this to hinder her future.”

My lips curl in something bitter, something sharp.

“Hinder my education?” I scoff, heat rising in my throat. “That is the least of my fucking problems.”

I snap.

The words spill before I can stop them, the dam breaking, the flood unstoppable.

“My father is dying,” my voice cracks, but I don’t stop, “lying in a bed thinking I’m here, making something of myself, when in reality, I’m fucking terrified to leave my dorm. Because I know Cole and Walker are just waiting for me to screw up-”

Mrs. Briar stills, her expression shifting.

“Cole and Walker-”

“I’m not done.”

The words rip from my throat, raw and furious, cutting her off before she can finish.

“Ever since Cole sank his claws into me, my life has been his to dictate.” My breath is ragged, my hands trembling with anger. “Every decision, every move I make, it’s all been his. And then, for one fucking moment, I found something that reminded me I still have control. That I am more than a screw-up, more than something to be owned. And now you’re asking me to throw away the one goddamn comfort I have-”

“There is comfort, Anastasia,” Mrs. Briar interrupts, voice softer, but no less firm. “And then there is recklessness.” She takes a slow breath, shaking her head. “If Noah truly cared for you, he would resign. He would find a way to make this work-”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Only cold, bitter rage.

“Did Roman?” I shoot back, voice sharp as glass, knowing exactly where to cut. “When you started banging your priest, did he leave his job?”

Her face stiffens.

“Roman and I were much more complicated than that,” she says, her tone clipped. “My parents-”

“There’s always an excuse,” I hiss, slamming my hand down on my desk. The impact rattles the room, the force of my anger breaking free. “But you’re not my goddamn mother. And I don’t need you inserting yourself where you don’t belong.”

Rage drips from every word.

Mrs. Briar inhales sharply, the quiet stir of students gathering behind the closed door pulling her back.

She steps away, gaze flicking toward the chalkboard.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmurs, fingers curling around a piece of chalk.

I sink back in my chair, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath, taking the small victory where I can.

But then...

“The priest,” she mutters, pausing mid-stroke on the board.

Something shifts.

“I knew he loved me.”

Her words are venom to my heart.

And then she turns slightly, her gaze locking with mine.

“That’s the difference between Roman and Noah.”

My stomach lurches, but I refuse to break eye contact.

“Are you really willing to go to war for someone who doesn’t even love you?” she whispers.

My throat tightens as I open my mouth to protest.

But nothing comes out.

I have no answer.

Because I don’t know.

Mrs. Briar tilts her head slightly, as if reading the truth in my silence.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmurs, turning back to the board.

A hollow ache expands in my chest.

“And if I do love him?” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

Mrs. Briar exhales, slow, steady.

“Then you will do the right thing,” she says softly.

“And you will let him go.”

The bell rings.

The door swings open.

Students begin filing in, the classroom coming alive with the usual chatter, the usual noise.

But her words linger.

And you will let him go.

The problem is, I have no idea how to let go of Noah Ackerman.

Chapter 24

Noah

There comes a time in everyone’s life when they’re forced to face the consequences of their temptations. Husbands, buried under the weight of divorce papers after chasing a thrill outside their vows. Gamblers, drowning in debt, realizing too late that the house always wins. And now, a teacher, standing at the edge of his own destruction, about to shatter the one fragile sense of peace he’s clung to for longer than he can remember.

Call me an idiot.
Call me selfish.

The phone call Elijah barged in on couldn’t have come at a worse time. I should have known my brother would be looking for me. I should have been smart enough to know how easily he could find me… and Ana.

But I got lazy.

I let my guard down, let myself slip too far into the comfort of temptation.

Jake's voice grated in my ears. His voice heavy with the presence of accusation.

"Hey, big brother," he quips, voice laced with mock familiarity.

I grit my teeth, already resisting the urge to smash my phone against the wall.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Now, now, no need to be so brash. You’re the one, after all, who ran away and left me to deal with our father’s affairs. Or have you forgotten where your real duty lies? Must be hard to concern yourself with the family business when you’re busy playing teacher and fucking that beautiful redhead I saw sneaking out of your apartment.”

My blood turns to ice.

He knows.

Jake fucking knows.

"You know, it’s interesting,” he continues, dragging the words out like he’s savoring every syllable. “Initially, I was looking into that little prick’s family, the one who owns the building, but then, when I saw her leave with such a wide grin, it was impossible to get her face out of my mind-”

My grip tightens on the phone, rage curling hot and violent in my gut.

"Turns out, she’s a student at Spokehaven University… one of your students. Now, normally, I’d let you have your fun, let you fuck her, ruin her, and then have my way with her once you were done-”

Keep it together, Noah. He’s baiting you.

"But,” he goes on, voice darkening, “there’s something even more interesting about your little school. Something other than the students.”

Dread twists in my stomach.

What the fuck is he talking about?

Could he possibly know about Ana, Cole, and that night?
Could Cole have told him?
How?

Then Jake’s voice drops into a venomous whisper.

"Eden Briar," he hisses. "A lovely photography teacher… married to one of the Antonov's biggest threats. Roman fucking Christopher Briar. Associate to Echo, that damn thorn in my side.”

I freeze.

"Echo?" I scoff, but my throat is dry.

"Echo," Jake repeats, his voice sharp. "The same person who put the hit on our father. Ring any bells?”

The weight of those words crushes into me like a freight train.

My father’s murder. The fallout. The bloodshed.

My thoughts spin, piecing together the puzzle in real time.

"Roman Briar is a prominent face in Spokehaven," I argue, forcing reason into my voice. "There’s no way he’d jeopardize his family’s safety by associating with a killer like Echo-”

"Really?" Jake sneers. "Because your altered social security number was flagged today. Things like that don’t happen unless you’ve made some very powerful people suspicious.”

Fuck.

Eden told me.

Told me about Roman’s suspicions.

Begged me to give my side.

And I had said nothing.

Now I see the real storm brewing.

"I have no quarrel with the Briars-”

"Yes, you do." Jake’s voice sharpens. "You’re my brother, which means my enemies are yours.”

I grit my teeth, dread pooling like lead in my stomach.

"Listen, I’m willing to let you keep playing teacher, getting intel on the Briars. But I don’t have the luxury of loose ends.” He lets out a slow, deliberate sigh. "If you’ve gone and fallen in love with a student, I assure you, I can quickly make that problem go away.”

Rage ignites like gasoline in my veins.

"She is nothing," I hiss, forcing the words out before my emotions can betray me. "Leave her out of this."

"Right,” Jake scoffs, amusement dripping from his tone. "Well, then this should be simple. You get me what I need on the Briars, and Ana stays out of my grasp.”

His voice turns smug, taunting.

"Unless, of course, you need some extra motivation to do what I ask-”

Something inside me snaps.

I have to sell this.

Have to make him believe she’s nothing.

"I get what I want. You get what you want," I snarl, forcing my voice into something cold, something cruel. "Whatever piece of ass I’m tapping is none of your concern. If you’re smart, you’ll stay far away. I’m sure you’d love to dig into my wares, but I assure you-"

I clench my jaw, forcing out the final blow.

"When I’m done with the little whore, there won’t be much left to have fun with.”

Silence.

Then, a low chuckle.

"You’re right about one thing," Jake murmurs. "If you don’t do what I want… there will be nothing left of her.”

That’s when Elijah walked in.

He had heard too much and knew too little.

And after Eden overheard his outburst... I knew.

I knew I had to keep Ana far away from the storm my brother was creating.

The one piece of solace I had in all this chaos is now slipping right through my fingers.

Gripping the keys to my bike, I tip back what’s left in my flask, knowing damn well there isn’t enough whiskey in the world to soften the blow of this conversation.

I was vague with Ana. Gave her little context for why I needed to see her. The last thing I need is Roman Briar knocking on her door, followed by Seth Antonov cornering them both to get what he wants.

Ana is not safe with me.

And that... that’s a reality I can’t stomach.

“Drinking before you’re even off campus?”

Her soft voice cuts through the air, laced with an uneasy laugh.

Reality slams back into me as our eyes lock.

She shifts uncomfortably, her movements hesitant. Her eyes are swollen, her cheeks red, streaked with the evidence of wiped-away tears.

Who made her cry?

No.

I can’t do this.

I can’t make her my problem.

“Seemed fitting,” I murmur, keeping my tone vague.

“Fitting? How so?” She glances around, cautious. “Why meet here and not at your apartment?”

Fuck.

Here goes everything.

“You’re not coming back to my apartment,” I say, voice sharp.

Her face falls.

“Not for Walker. And sure as hell not for me.”

Forcing the anger into my tone, I let it wrap around every syllable like barbed wire.

She takes a step closer.

“Noah-”

Holding up my hand, I step back.

“Don’t fucking call me that. Don’t say my name like we know each other.”

Her lips part, confusion flashing across her face.

“Did something happen-”

“Yes.”

The word comes out like a gunshot.

I grab the front of her shirt, yanking her toward me, making her stumble.

“I let this go too far,” I hiss, my breath coming ragged. “I let what happened between us get out of control. I was having fun. And I couldn’t look past your damn lips around my cock-”

“Noah-”

She has to believe me.

She has to.

My hand moves before I can stop it.

The crack of my palm against her cheek is deafening.

She gasps, a vicious yelp ripping through the air, ripping through me like a dull knife, carving through muscle and bone.

The sting radiates up my arm, a brutal reminder of what I’ve just done.

She clutches her cheek, her eyes wide, stunned... betrayed.

Taking a shaky breath, I force myself to stay in control.

“I fucking told you not to call me that,” I snarl, yanking her close again, forcing her to meet my eyes. “What we had was fun, but now, it’s too much.”

She trembles, her fingers pressing into her burning cheek. The raw emotion in her eyes stirs something in me I thought was long dead.

Empathy.

“I-I didn’t mean-”

“To what?” I laugh, the sound sharp and cruel. “Whore yourself out to your teacher to distract yourself from the fact that your cock-sucking ex is holding your murder over your head?”

Tears spill over her cheeks, soaking her skin, carving silent paths of agony.

“You want what? Sympathy? Love?” I sneer, my own pain twisting deep in my gut. “You were a great fuck, Ana. But you should’ve learned by now-”

Do it, Noah.

Finish it.

“Your only use is to be fucked and tossed away.”

Her eyes widen, her entire body shaking with the weight of my words.

She stares at me, her breath uneven, tears relentless.

My stomach lurches. My hands shake.

It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to throw myself onto my bike and drive straight into oncoming traffic.

Because I want her.

I want to hold her.

I want to kiss her.

I want to keep her safe.

But that can’t happen with me.

She steps back, peeling my fingers away from her shirt.

“You-” she chokes, her voice wrecked. “Promised.”

I swallow hard.

“Yeah,” I say, the word cold, final. “You should have known better.”

She clutches her throbbing cheek, her head shaking, eyes unfocused.

“Mrs. Briar was right,” she whispers.

Eden?

What the hell did Eden say to her?

“You can’t care,” she bites, her voice trembling, thick with unshed pain. “You can’t attach.”

A sob catches in her throat.

“You can’t love.”

Her words gut me.

Because, Ana…

That might be the only reason I’m doing this.

“Love?” I laugh, the sound hollow and cruel.

She flinches.

“God, you really are fucking delusional,” I sneer, watching the pain flicker in her eyes, watching as it cuts into her, deeper than anything else I’ve said. “If you wanted love, Ana, maybe you should have given Walker what he wanted.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I see it.

I see the moment I ruin everything.

The moment I lose her.

She blinks, stunned, her breath shuddering in her chest.

Then she steps back.

Her lips tremble, her chin quivers, and then…

The first sob breaks free.

It shatters something in me.

But I don’t move.

I don’t reach for her.

I don’t do the one thing I desperately need to do; pull her into me, bury my face in her hair, hold her until her sobs quiet and there’s no air left between us.

Instead, I stand there, silent and frozen, watching her crumble because of me.

She stumbles backward, her shoulders shaking, her breath ragged, the weight of my words poisoning every fragile piece of her.

And I let her go.

I let her leave.

Because I have to.

Because if I chase after her now, I’ll undo everything.

Her eyes meet mine one last time, burning with a rage I’ve never seen from her before.

With heartbreak.

With hate.

“I hate you,” she whispers, her voice trembling, raw, final.

My stomach lurches.

The ground beneath me cracks open, swallowing me whole.

Then she turns.

Walks away.

And before she’s even gone, she lands the final blow.

“Love will never be something you deserve.”

A breath leaves me, sharp, like I’ve just been stabbed.

Nothing has ever hurt more than those parting words.

Nothing.

And the worst part?

She’s right.

Chapter 25

Anastasia

Two months later

Settling into my seat, I brace myself for yet another one of Mr. Zimmerman’s horrendous attempts at deep-diving into Shakespeare.

Old, frazzled, and painfully unsuited to be a long-term sub, he was the school’s last resort after Noah’s sudden sabbatical two months ago.

Two months.

Two months of silence. Two months of Noah doing god knows what and fucking god knows who.

I fucking hate him.

The very thought of his existence makes my blood boil.

The day he ended things, I questioned everything. I broke down in my dorm room, sobbing into Elijah and Megan’s arms until I had nothing left to give.

The things he said.
The things he did.

I was nothing to him.

I see that now. I see what I really meant to Noah Ackerman.

Nothing more than his plaything.

Walker lingered after it all went to hell, spewing apologies like they meant anything, thinking his weak little "I’m sorry" could somehow erase the absolute piece of shit he really is.

I played nice.

Some pathetic part of me wondered if being civil with Walker would somehow make Noah call me.

Weeks bled into months.

And his silence? It persisted.

By the fourth week, it was solidified. Noah meant every word he said.

He is a user. A manipulator.

That’s all he’s ever been.

Walker, on the other hand, has no shame, openly cozying up to Cole and Erica like nothing ever happened, laughing with them, eating with them, posting with them on his socials as if he hadn’t played a role in ruining me.

Still, I play the game. I give him the occasional smile in classes like this one.

When Noah left, people were confused.

But Walker? He looked thrilled.

Trying to figure out why isn’t my problem anymore.

So I drowned myself in pints of Ben & Jerry’s, listened to Norah Jones on repeat for weeks, and finally started to feel something close to normal.

Tapping my pencil against my desk, I skim through the incoherent mess Mr. Zimmerman scrawled across the board yesterday.

God, they really do just give teaching degrees to anyone, don’t they?

"Hey."

That grating voice.

Peering up, I find Walker standing over me, flashing that same easy, infuriating grin, eyeing the seat next to me like he expects an invitation.

Please, for the love of god, go away.

“Hey.” I force a smile.

He doesn’t move.

“Still trying to rationalize Zimmerman’s notes?” he jokes.

Cute. You think we’re close enough for casual conversation.

“As best I can,” I sigh, feigning amusement. “Honestly, I think he should just admit he has no clue what’s going on and spare us the wasted paper.”

Walker chuckles, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Well, nothing can be worse than Mr. Ackerman,” he grins.

There it is.

That subtle jab. His way of testing me. Prodding at Noah’s absence, waiting to see how I react.

I give him a slow, syrupy smile.

And when I speak, my voice is pure venom.

“Absolutely.”

His grin twitches, just slightly.

“It’s actually good I caught you,” he says, placing his hands on my desk like he owns my time. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about-”

"Sit your asses down."

The voice booms through the classroom.

And my heart stops.

Every muscle in my body locks as the room falls silent.

Every single face turns toward the front.

My breath hitches.

My chest tightens.

Because standing there is the last person anyone expected to see.

Noah fucking Ackerman.

The man standing before me is a ghost of the professor I knew two months ago.

His hair, slightly longer, curls more prominent than before, unruly in a way that makes my fingers ache to tangle through them.

God, I miss running my hands through those locks.

The scruff on his jaw is new, his stubble forming the shadow of a beard—something he never let grow in before. The dark circles beneath his eyes are deep, carved into his skin like battle scars. His knuckles, bruised and beaten, tell a story I’m not sure I want to know.

He looks like a man who’s been through hell.

And yet, his gaze is locked only on me.

I can’t breathe.

Walker shifts beside me, ever the opportunist.

“Mr. Zimmerman-” Walker starts, his voice edged with amusement.

"I said sit the fuck down."

The command cuts through the room like a blade, sharp, brutal.

Noah’s voice is deeper, rougher than I remember.

"In the back."

Walker blinks, momentarily stunned.

“Mr. Zimmerman is gone,” Noah adds, his tone leaving no room for debate.

Walker isn’t the only one caught off guard. The entire room is frozen, eyes darting between them like they’re watching a lit fuse burn down to its final seconds.

“No.”

The word escapes before I can stop it.

Every muscle in Noah’s body tenses.

“He can sit wherever the hell he wants,” I say, my voice even, but sharp enough to cut.

Noah’s eyes narrow, his jaw flexing as he bites the inside of his cheek.

His stare is lethal.

"What the hell did you just say to me, Ms. Burns-”

“I said shut the fuck up,” I snap, feeling the weight of my classmates’ attention shift onto me.

There’s a beat of silence.

A slow, dangerous exhale.

Low murmurs spread through the room like wildfire.

I let my gaze flick to his pathetic attempt at a professional uniform, the rumpled shirt, the loose tie, the open collar. He looks more like a fighter than a professor.

“Maybe learn how to wear a tie before you come in here barking orders,” I taunt, eyes trailing over his disheveled state.

His eye twitches.

A tell.

His hands curl into tight fists at his sides.

"You’re right, Ana," Walker grins, throwing his bag onto the desk beside mine like he owns the place. "Mr. Ackerman seems to have forgotten how things work around here."

Noah’s gaze drops slightly, and for a second, I see it.

Something shifts in his posture, just enough to tell me Walker’s words hit deeper than they should have.

“My apologies,” Noah says smoothly, his lips curling into something that isn’t quite a smile. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in a teaching setting.”

Wait... what?

Did Noah just fucking apologize?

To Walker of all people?

He moves toward his desk, adjusting his uniform with an air of forced composure, his fingers brushing against the wrinkled shirt like he’s suddenly aware of how out of place he looks.

His eyes scan the disaster Mr. Zimmerman left on the board, lips pressing into a thin line.

“As you all know, I took a leave of absence to focus on… family affairs.”

Family?

Noah talks to his family?

The idea shouldn’t feel like a knife twisting in my gut, but it does.

“But things have been handled,” he continues, his voice steady, his posture rigid. “My little brother has decided to spend some quality time with me, and as a result, I’m able to step back into my role here.”

His brother?

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t offer a single clue about what that means.

His gaze flicks back to me, sharp and unreadable, jaw clenching slightly.

“Family Night is coming up,” he announces, his words measured. “Administration has asked me to remind you all to invite your parents to campus on Friday.”

But he’s not addressing the class.

Not really.

He’s looking at me.

His stare cuts straight through me, into the places I’ve tried to bury since the moment he walked out of my life.

"Is that understood?"

I swallow.

The weight of his attention is suffocating.

Before I can even think of how to respond, Walker lets out a lazy chuckle.

“You seem to have left out the part where my family is funding the event,” he announces, reclining slightly in his seat.

And there it is, his blatant arrogance.

“So stay nice to me,” Walker grins, “and I won’t have any of your parents thrown out.”

The room shifts.

Some students chuckle under their breath. Others just sit in awkward silence, waiting for a reaction.

Noah’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening just enough for me to notice.

"Yes," he hisses, the words barely passing his lips. "That as well."

But something about it feels... off.

His voice is too low, too strained.

God, it’s like he’s Walker’s fucking dog.

And I don’t know what bothers me more.

The fact that he’s letting Walker speak to him like that.

Or the fact that, after two months of silence, of abandonment, of pain... he still looks at me like I’m the only thing in the room.

“Ana,” Noah hisses, his voice low and dangerous, stopping me just as I reach the door. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

No.

Fuck no.

I know what happens when Noah and I “speak alone.”

It’s never just talking.

“Sure,” I murmur, but before he can take another step, I grab Walker’s arm, anchoring myself to something.

“But I have plans with Walker,” I add, my voice smooth, calculated. “So make it quick.”

Walker doesn’t argue.

In fact, he looks fucking thrilled to be dragged into whatever this is.

Noah’s jaw tightens.

“My conversation is not for Walker,” he warns.

“Well,” Walker grins, leaning into the tension like it’s a goddamn sport, “it is now. So go ahead.”

Noah flicks his gaze between us, waiting for me to say something, to dismiss Walker, to give in.

I don’t.

“What?” I challenge, tilting my head. “If you don’t have anything useful to say, then next time, just email my student email instead of bothering me.”

Walker laughs, slow and smug. “You heard the woman.” He gestures toward the door. “Run along, Ackerman.”

Noah exhales sharply, a humorless smile curling at his lips.

Then, he scoffs, lazily looking at the floor.

“Right.” His voice drops, mocking, laced with something venomous. “I’ve been around such lovely people lately, I almost forgot how fucking arrogant you are-”

Then it happens.

Without hesitation, without warning, Noah lunges.

Walker doesn’t even see it coming.

In a single movement, Noah grabs him, slamming him against the wall so hard the air rushes from his lungs.

The room spins.

My heart stops.

And then...

The glint of a blade.

Noah presses a knife to Walker’s throat, his grip unyielding, his expression feral.

The rage in his eyes is terrifying.

“Do you want to keep pissing me off?” he snarls, his voice unrecognizable. “You know where I was those two months. And you know damn well I can be long gone before you even open your fucking mouth about this.”

Walker stiffens, his chest rising and falling in short, uneven breaths.

“Noah-” I choke, but catch myself. “Mr. Ackerman. What the fuck-”

Walker’s voice is strained, barely a breath.

“You deranged fucking lunatic-”

“No.” Noah’s grip tightens, his knuckles white around the knife. “I did what you wanted.” His voice is sharp as steel, dark as a fucking grave. “Now get the fuck out of my classroom before I make you carry your spleen in your hands as you go.”

Then, just as suddenly, he lets go.

Walker stumbles forward, his eyes wild, his entire body trembling.

“I-I’ll tell your brother-”

“Go ahead,” Noah barks, his voice booming, commanding, unhinged. “Do it. And then get the fuck out.”

Walker doesn’t hesitate.

He scurries away, shoving past me, barely holding himself together as I reach for him.

“Walker-”

He spins, face twisted with fear and disgust.

“He’s a fucking psycho, Ana,” Walker snaps, voice shaking. “You should be thanking me for getting him out of your life for two months.”

Then he’s gone.

The door slams shut behind him, leaving behind nothing but silence.

I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

Did he...

Did he just say he got Noah out of my life?

My pulse pounds in my ears.

My eyes snap to Noah, still standing at his desk, rage radiating off of him in waves.

"Fucking brat," he mutters, gripping the handle of his knife.

Then, with zero hesitation, he jabs the tip of the blade into the wooden desk.

The sound makes me flinch.

I snap out of my daze, my blood still ice cold.

“What the fuck did he mean?” I hiss, my voice shaking with the need for clarity.

Noah doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he leans back slightly, eyes dark, dangerous as he laughs.

A low, bitter laugh that sends shivers down my spine.

“Oh, so now you speak?”

His words are dripping with something.

Mockery. Amusement. Pain.

And then, suddenly, another realization hits me.

He’s fucking drunk.

“You’re fucking drunk,” I hiss, taking a step back, pulse pounding. “Threatening students-”

“Students?” Noah laughs, the sound dark, sharp. He takes a slow step toward me, his fingers curling around the handle of his knife, yanking it free from the desk with a sickening scrape.

His movements are reckless.

But his eyes, his eyes are sharp as fucking glass.

“Walker is a pawn,” he sneers, closing the space between us like a predator stalking its prey.

Too close.

Too damn close.

“Just like me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something dangerous.

Then, slowly, he turns the knife in his grip and presses the tip against his own chest.

What the fuck is he doing?

“Caught in family affairs,” he mutters, tapping the blade against his sternum like he’s taunting himself.

I swallow, my entire body on edge.

“Your brother-”

“God, look at you,” he growls, cutting me off.

His gaze rakes over me, devouring me whole, filled with something wild, something raw.

Don’t, Ana.

Don’t.

But it’s too late.

He sees me.

Sees everything I’m trying to hide.

Then, suddenly, he rips the knife away from his chest.

And I see it.

The haze of alcohol clouding his vision, dulling his movements just enough to make him unsteady.

His body wavers as he drops to his knees.

His hands find my thighs, his grip firm, desperate. His face is right there, mouth level with my stomach, breath warm against my skin.

His touch.

Fuck.

His touch feels so good.

The knife clatters to the floor, but I don’t dare move.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t think.

"Noah-"

“No,” he snaps, his voice sharp, wrecked. “Shut the fuck up.”

He’s wasted.

Completely, utterly wasted.

I reach for him, trying to push him away, trying to snap him out of whatever spiral he’s in.

“Noah, I’m not doing this with you-”

His lips latch onto my skin.

Gasping, my body locks up as he shamelessly kisses the soft skin above my waistline, his mouth hot and needy against my stomach.

His tongue flicks, drags, tastes—taking his time, savoring every inch of me like I’m something he’s been starving for.

I can feel him unraveling against me.

Can feel myself unraveling right with him.

The fire I tried so desperately to kill, it roars back to life, flooding through me in a violent surge, soaking through my underwear in a matter of seconds.

Fuck, I can’t-

“Noah,” I whisper, hands shaking.

His grip on me tightens.

"Fucking Anastasia Burns," he breathes against my skin, his lips curving in something dark, something broken. “Fuck,” he murmurs, pressing one more kiss, teeth grazing just barely. "Nothing beats reality."

My entire body shudders.

I’m seconds away from letting this consume me.

Seconds away from making a mistake I’ll never come back from.

So I do the one thing I know will make him stop.

His scars.

“Noah-” I hiss, grabbing the back of his neck.

He goes rigid.

His breath hitches.

His body locks.

My fingers press into raised ridges of skin.

Not the faint injuries I once grazed over, the ones I traced in the dark like a secret.

These are new.

Fresh.

Painful.

His entire body shakes.

And for the first time since he walked back into my life, Noah Ackerman looks afraid.

He doesn’t react the way he did last time.

No anger. No violent outburst.

Instead, his eyes are glazed over, not with alcohol, but with something far worse.

Pain.

Raw, undiluted pain.

Slowly, his fingers curl around my wrist, prying my hand away from his neck with careful precision, like he’s afraid of breaking whatever fragile moment exists between us.

And in that moment, it’s as if every last drop of alcohol vanishes from his system.

His body stills as his breath shudders and his lips tremble.

Then, softly, so softly I barely feel it, he presses a gentle kiss against the skin of my hand.

The touch is light. Reverent.

Like a prayer.

“For two months,” he whispers, voice unsteady, thick with something dangerous.

I don’t move.

I don’t breathe.

“I threw myself into the pits of hell,” he stammers, his breath warm against my skin, his grip trembling. “And all I could think about was this.”

He gasps, his lips parting like he’s struggling to speak.

“Touching you.”

His fingers trace over my palm, as if memorizing the feeling.

“Seeing you.”

His voice breaks on the last syllable.

It wrecks me.

“Noah,” I force out, throat aching.

“What happened?”

His lips press into a tight line.

His eyes flicker, something unreadable moving through them... something fractured.

Then, finally, a whisper.

“I can’t tell you.”

The words land like a gunshot.

I inhale sharply, willing my voice to stay even.

“And all the shit you said to me before you left?”

Silence.

Thick.

Suffocating.

Taking a step back, my gaze drops to the knife on the ground, the cold steel glinting between us like a final warning.

I exhale, swallowing the lump in my throat, forcing the words out before my resolve crumbles.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice raw.

His head snaps up.

I hold his gaze, unblinking.

“Thank you for showing me you have a soul... sadly, I think it’s too late.”

His expression cracks.

Just slightly.

Just enough for me to know that somewhere deep down, he knows it too.

I don’t wait for him to speak.

Turning to walk away, it takes every ounce of strength I have to hold back the tears until I’m out of his classroom.

Chapter 26

Anastasia

“See? I told you this would be fun!” Meg grins, pressing another shot of tequila into my hand like a proud dealer enabling my vices.

The bar is packed, shoulder to shoulder with college students desperate for an escape, their laughter and shouts blending into the heavy bass pounding from the speakers. Neon lights flicker against the walls, casting a hazy glow over the chaos. This is exactly what I needed. A distraction. A reprieve from the suffocating thoughts clawing at the edges of my mind.

Noah showing back up out of nowhere.

His veiled threat to Walker.

It’s like he wants to give Walker and Cole a reason to come after me, to rip apart the fragile balance I’ve been trying to maintain.

And as if that isn’t enough, the investigation into the hit-and-run is ramping up. Levi. That’s his name. I hadn’t wanted to know it, hadn’t wanted that particular weight pressing on my chest, but the professors have been relentless, prying into the student body for answers. Every morning, I wake up half-expecting to find the sheriff waiting in my dorm, ready to haul me away because Cole couldn't keep his mouth shut. Avoiding him, playing nice with Walker, those were my only options. And now, thanks to Noah, even that might not be enough.

“I heard Ackerman is back,” Elijah murmurs in my ear, his voice low, laced with irritation.

“He is,” I exhale, taking a sip of my drink, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“And? How does that make you feel?” he pushes, tossing back the rest of his Long Island in one go.

“Annoyed,” I snap, my fingers tightening around my shot glass. “Because you’re talking to me about it. You got what you wanted, didn’t you? Noah left-”

“Why does that sound like you blame me for him leaving?” Elijah scoffs, setting his glass down with a sharp clink. “He was using you-”

“I’m done talking about it,” I cut him off, swallowing down the fresh sting of memories—the look in Noah’s eyes, the scars I barely had time to process. “I don’t have anything left to say.”

But the question lingers, unwanted and relentless.

What the hell could Noah have done to earn scars like that?

He mentioned his brother was visiting, but I didn’t even know he had any connection to his family. Now that I think about it, I don’t know anything about Noah’s past.

“Fine,” Elijah huffs, exhaling sharply. “How’s your dad?”

I narrow my eyes. He gets the hint.

“Or,” he pivots, dragging out the word, “we can just ask Meg-” He turns, scanning the bar.

“Where did she go?”

“Fucking three down, bitches!” Meg’s drunken war cry echoes from across the room.

I follow Elijah’s gaze just in time to see her at the pool table, pointing dramatically at some poor frat guy as she challenges him to a drinking contest. She’s swaying on her feet, a red Solo cup clutched in her hand like a weapon.

With an exaggerated sigh, Elijah crushes his empty cup and moves without a word, already prepared to catch her before she inevitably face-plants.

Smiling at her drunken foolishness, I wave down the bartender, tapping the counter for another shot.

Thank God for fake IDs.

“Throw her drink on my tab,” a deep, husky voice cuts in, smooth and confident.

I glance up, and for the second time tonight, I feel the ground shift beneath me.

He’s handsome, really fucking handsome. Not as good-looking as Noah, but pretty damn close. His light brown eyes gleam under the dim bar lights, framed by a head of tousled, dark curls that look just messy enough to be intentional. When his lips pull into a smirk, I find myself glaring at his perfectly straight teeth, almost annoyed at how flawless they are. The only imperfection, if you can even call it that, is the thin scar slashing across his cheek. It should make him look rougher, less put together, but instead, it does the opposite. It makes my pulse skip in a way that’s more thrilling than it is curious.

“Care if I sit?” His voice is smooth, edged with confidence, the kind that comes naturally to men who know they always get what they want. His clothes scream money, tailored to perfection, expensive fabrics that don’t belong in a place like this.

I glance around for Elijah, but he’s already deep into a drinking game with Meg, laughing as he tosses back another shot.

“Be my guest.” I pat the empty seat next to me, flashing a coy smile.

As he settles in, he snaps his fingers at the bartender with an effortless authority that makes the poor guy jump to attention.

“Get her a shot of the good stuff. Top shelf.” He grins, his voice dripping with amusement.

The bartender nods without question and excuses himself to fulfill the request, not even bothering to ask for a card.

“The good stuff?” I arch a brow, turning to him with a smirk. “You know that shit is, like, eighty bucks a shot, right?”

“Is it?” He feigns surprise, lifting his glass to his lips. “Guess that means you’ll have to sit here and talk to me to make up for it.”

I’m well aware of how I look tonight. This dress leaves little to the imagination. Tight, black, and clinging to every curve like it was made for me. I opted to ditch most of my undergarments, leaving only a pair of panties beneath the fabric, a decision I don’t regret as I notice his not-so-subtle glances at my chest. Let him look. If it keeps the expensive tequila flowing, who am I to complain?

The bartender returns, setting the shot glass in front of me with careful precision. I pick it up, tilting my head as I study my new drinking companion.

“Anastasia Burns.” I introduce myself before tossing the shot back effortlessly, the smooth burn sliding down my throat.

He watches me, amused. “Jake Antonov.” He sips his bourbon, eyes never leaving mine.

I quirk a brow, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Antonov?” I echo, my lips curling at the edges. “You in the mafia or did you just get blessed with one of the most menacing-sounding last names I’ve ever heard?”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Mafia.” He exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “I prefer the term family business.”

Cute.

“So tell me, Jake.” I lean in slightly, dragging a finger along the rim of his glass, watching as his eyes flicker down to the movement. “Why is a man in Louis Vuitton sitting in some sleazy college bar on a Friday night?”

His gaze sweeps the room lazily before returning to mine, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Then, without hesitation, his hand lands on my thigh.

“I liked what I saw in the window,” he murmurs, fingers pressing just slightly into my skin.

Normally, this kind of flirting would make me roll my eyes. I’d shut it down with a sarcastic remark, brush him off before he got too comfortable.

But after what happened with Noah?

I need a distraction.

And right now, Jake Antonov looks like the perfect one.

“Did you now?” I tease, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt, letting my nails drag lightly against the fabric. “Liked what you saw enough to lose a few of these layers for me?”

Jake leans in, his breath warm and laced with bourbon, the scent rich and intoxicating.

“I sure wouldn’t mind seeing what all the buzz is about-”

But before he can finish, a sharp voice cuts through the thick tension between us.

“Jake, man. Why the fuck are we in this place? You said we were going to a good bar, not my students’ fucking hangout spot.”

My heart drops.

Slowly, I lean away from Jake, pulse hammering as I shift my gaze past him, past the expensive suit and easy confidence, until my eyes land on the last person I ever expected to see tonight.

Noah.

And he’s not alone.

There’s a woman clinging to him, her drunken hands roaming beneath his shirt, fingers mapping the ridges of his stomach like she has any right to. A cold weight settles in my stomach, the expensive tequila suddenly less smooth, more acidic.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

Noah looks as shocked to see me as I am to see him. His grip tightens on the brim of his ball cap, tugging it lower, as if that flimsy attempt at hiding his face is going to work.

Jake, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, grins. “I was just speaking to Ana here,” he says smoothly. “Is she one of your students?”

Noah’s gaze snaps to Jake, the tension between them sharpening into something unspoken, unreadable. His jaw tightens. His fingers flex at his sides.

I smile, forcing myself to keep my expression light despite the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Mr. Ackerman,” I purr, tilting my head, letting just enough venom slip into my tone. “Funny seeing you here. I wasn’t aware you had friends.” My eyes flick to the woman still draped over him, barely standing upright. “Or… whatever that is.”

Jake lets out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Her?” He scoffs. “I just dropped five hundred bucks on her for my big brother-”

Hold on.

Big fucking brother?

I blink, the words rearranging themselves in my head, my brain short-circuiting as I process them.

“Wait.” My voice comes out slower this time, all previous flirtation gone as I push aside the prostitute part to focus on the only thing that matters. “You told me your last name was Antonov.”

Jake smirks, but Noah?

Noah glares.

“I kept the family name,” Jake sighs, swirling the bourbon in his glass like this conversation exhausts him. “Big brother over here decided Ackerman was more fitting.”

Beside him, the woman clinging to Noah tries to pull him back into her drunken orbit, pressing her lips against his jaw. He barely acknowledges her before nudging her aside, his focus locked on me.

“Ana, I think you should go-” Noah starts.

“Oh, now you care?” I scoff, cutting him off. My gaze flicks to Jake, the pieces snapping together in real-time. “You wanted to see what all the buzz was about?” I repeat his words mockingly. “As in, what your big brother told you? Like I’m some fucking whore you can pawn off... like her?”

The woman merely shrugs, unfazed by the insult, already batting her lashes at the bartender like she’s found her next mark.

“Oh, no, Ana dear,” Jake drawls, grinning like he enjoys my fury. “Unlike my brother, I know how to do things properly. One night with me, and you’d forget all about how much of an asshole he was.” He claps Noah on the back, the action more patronizing than affectionate. “I told him you were a keeper. All he had to do was rejoin the family business.” Jake exhales, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “But no. Seems he thought breaking things off with you and keeping his respectable little teaching job was the better choice before starting with me again. Pity. You really are fucking gorgeous.”

A lump forms in my throat, but I force it down, narrowing my eyes at Noah.

“So let me get this straight,” I say, voice tight. “You told your brother about me? And now you’re wrapped up in some kind of family business?”

“My business,” Jake corrects smoothly. “Could’ve been his, but…” He shrugs, lazily swirling his drink again. “Didn’t quite have the stomach for it.”

Fucking hell.

Everything inside me screams to walk away, to let this moment be the final nail in the coffin of whatever the hell I thought Noah and I had left.

But I don’t.

Instead, I stay.

And I push.

“So you do have the stomach for it?” I purr, shifting my attention to Jake, dragging my fingertips along the scar that cuts across his cheek. “Is that how you got this sexy little thing?”

“Ana-” Noah’s voice is sharp.

“Shut up, Noah,” Jake interrupts, his smirk widening.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth and dangerous. “I am the financial advisor to my family business,” he says, watching me like he’s waiting to see how I’ll react. “I can make anything happen. Anytime.”

“Anything?” I hum, trailing my fingers down his collar.

“Baby,” Jake grins, flashing perfect white teeth, “I can make anything go away.” His gaze flickers briefly to Noah before he adds, “Including my dumbass big brother, who is clearly being rude to his guest.” His attention shifts to the woman, his expression turning ice-cold.

“How the fuck did you even get in here?” Noah growls, his voice tight with frustration.

“Fake ID.” I scoff, rolling my eyes.

Then, lowering my voice, I tilt my head just enough for my lips to nearly brush his Jake's ear.

“Are you gonna tell on me?” I whisper, a slow smirk forming.

Noah exhales sharply. Jake just laughs.

And me?

I’m just getting started.

“Tell on you?” Jake smirks, his hands sliding onto my thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make a point. With a slow, deliberate pull, he tugs me closer, his touch searing through the thin fabric of my dress. “I’d much rather get to know you.”

“Go away, Noah,” I hiss, my voice cutting through the thick air between us. “We’re done talking.”

Noah opens his mouth, but before he can say a word, Jake snaps his fingers, a lazy flick of command that makes my stomach tighten. And just like that, Noah goes rigid. He doesn’t leave, doesn’t fight back, he just steps back a fraction, looking feral, his fists clenched at his sides.

But this isn’t about him.
This isn’t about Jake, either.
I need to know more.

With stiff movements, Noah drops into a seat beside his drunken whore, who barely seems aware of the storm brewing around her. His gaze stays locked on Jake and me, his expression carved from ice, watching.

Waiting.

Jake doesn’t care. If anything, it fuels him.

“Where were we?” he murmurs, his fingers drawing slow circles against my skin.

“You were telling me about your work,” I purr, my lips curving in a playful grin. “Tell me, Jake… have you ever gotten your hands dirty?”

He tilts his head, considering me. “Depends,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement. “Do you want me to get my hands dirty, Ana?” His fingers tighten, his grip shifting slightly as his voice drops lower. “Do you really want to know what I do?”

Leaning in, I brush my lips just past his ear, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to know who my dear old teacher really is,” I breathe, my gaze flicking to Noah over Jake’s shoulder. “Then maybe… you get a reward.”

Jake chuckles, the sound deep and knowing, his hands drifting from my thighs to my waist, his touch featherlight.

“Let’s just say,” he murmurs, lips close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck, “your drink was paid for with blood… and a whole lot of fucking power.”

A chill slithers down my spine. My stomach lurches.

I force my face to stay still, my smile to remain intact, but beneath the surface, nausea twists through me like a vice.

“Whose blood?” I whisper, watching Noah’s jaw flex, his knuckles white against the bar.

Jake grins, tilting his head slightly.

“Whoever needed to stay quiet so my family could prevail.”

The words land like a blow.

My stomach churns, the tequila rising, thick and sour in my throat.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, my voice tight. “Nature calls.”

Sliding off the chair, I catch Noah’s gaze, holding it for a fraction of a second before my mask slips. My charming smile vanishes the moment I turn my back.

Noah wasn’t running from his family.

He was hiding.

And now, they’ve found him.

And they’ve found me.

Chapter 27

Anastasia

God, what the fuck was that?

Jake just openly admitted to murder in front of me, without a second thought, without hesitation. He’s tied to the very business Noah abandoned, the one he left behind to chase some semblance of a normal life.

So what the hell has Noah gotten himself involved in?

What the fuck did Noah do?

Leaning over the bathroom sink, I brace myself, waiting for the tequila to make an unwelcome reappearance. My reflection stares back at me, pale and shaken, my pupils blown wide with adrenaline. The bathroom is dimly lit, trendy, overstimulating, designed for drunk college kids who need a break from their poor decisions. A sleek couch sits against the wall, meant for those too wasted to stand, too lost in their own haze to function.

I splash cold water on my face, inhaling sharply, grounding myself.

Then the door handle turns.

Shit. I regret not double-checking the lock.

“Someone’s in here-” I start, reaching to shove the door shut.

But he doesn’t give me a chance.

Noah pushes inside, locking the door behind him with a sharp click. His tie comes loose as he tosses it onto the couch, his chest rising and falling with barely contained fury.

I straighten, holding my ground.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, his voice low, heated. Like he has any right to be angry.

“Oh, I’m the problem?” I scoff, laughter bubbling up, sharp and humorless. “How about you explain what the fuck you’re doing? Associating with your psychopath of a brother and whatever the hell your clearly fucked-up family business is?” My voice shakes, but I don’t back down.

Noah’s jaw tightens. His fists clench.

“Antonov?” I sneer, throwing his real last name in his face like a weapon. “Is everything you told me a goddamn lie?”

“Yes,” he bites out, taking a step closer. “Every part.”

The words hit like a slap.

I swallow hard, the air thick with something I can’t name.

“Even what you said at your bike-”

“Especially what I fucking said at my bike,” he whispers. His eyes darken, the truth spilling from his lips like something he’s been forced to keep buried for too long. “Every fucking word. A lie.”

My pulse hammers in my ears. I try to make sense of it, try to rationalize, but my thoughts are too loud, too chaotic.

“No. No, you said-”

“I know what I said.” His voice is quieter now, but somehow, it cuts deeper. “I know what I thought I had to say to keep you away from Jake. From my family.”

My breath hitches.

“What did he do to you, Noah?” I whisper. “Those scar-”

His lips press into a hard line, his shoulders tense.

“A reminder,” he mutters. “Of what business my family is really in. Imagine my fear, knowing they still control me. That they now know who you are.”

A shudder rolls through me.

“You left-”

“To keep them away.” His voice drops lower, rough with something unreadable. “Away from the Briars. Away from you.”

The name sends a bolt of confusion through me.

“The Briars?” I whisper. “What the hell do they have to do with anything?”

Noah exhales slowly, stepping even closer, the air between us charged, suffocating.

“You don’t become a name like that in Spokehaven without sacrifice,” he murmurs. “You don’t have a name like Roman and Eden without stirring conflicts with families like mine.”

“And what kind of family do you have, Noah?” I swallow, my throat dry.

He lifts a hand, his fingers grazing my cheek, his touch burning against my skin.

“One that has done bad things,” he whispers, his voice haunted. “One that wants to do worse to the person I care about… to keep me in line.”

His fingers trail from my cheek, down my neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake.

“A family that makes me break promises that should have never been broken.” His touch stops at my collarbone, lingering there like he’s memorizing the shape of me.

“A family that will make me regret this.”

His gaze flicks to the couch, his expression unreadable.

“I’m tired of playing their fucking games.”

Noah cups the back of my neck, his grip firm but desperate, pulling me close until our breaths mingle.

“I need you, Ana,” he rasps, his voice raw, unguarded. “Not just now. Not in secret. I need you. God, I fucking need you.”

His hands.
His voice.

It’s like his very existence has been woven into mine, a thread so tangled in my soul that I can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

But I can’t.

I won’t give in so easily.

Noah Ackerman submits to no one.
That changes now.

“Then get on your knees,” I whisper, my voice laced with challenge. “And beg for me.”

His eyes widen slightly, lips parting as if he misheard me.

“What-”

“You heard me.” I push him back just enough to break his hold. “Get on your fucking knees and beg for me.” My voice sharpens, years of hurt, months of agony twisting into something lethal. “I spent two months miserable after what you did, and now you come in here pleading? Fucking beg, Noah. Show me this isn’t just another stunt.”

His jaw tightens, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting against every instinct he has.

“Ana, that girl at the bar was just a fucking ploy from Jake,” he says, frustration bleeding into his tone. “Now I know why he forced her onto me. He knew you were there, he knew-”

“I don’t give a fuck about Jake.” My words cut through his like a blade, cold and merciless. “You want to be a fucking man, Noah?” I step closer, tilting my chin up. “Then show me how far you’re willing to go for me.” My voice drops, daring him, pushing him, “Show me, Noah Antonov.”

Something shifts in his eyes. Hesitation. Uncertainty.

But I don’t let him linger in it.

“Or,” I growl, leaning in just enough to let my breath ghost over his lips, “maybe you need a reminder.”

I move toward the couch slowly, deliberately, my every step calculated. Noah’s eyes track my movements, dark and heavy with something barely restrained. Tossing his tie aside, I lower myself into the seat, stretching out, making myself comfortable, making sure he sees exactly what he’s been missing.

“For two months,” I whisper, voice smooth as silk, “I tormented myself in your absence.”

My fingers trail down the front of my body, teasing my own skin, my legs parting with no shame. The air between us crackles, charged with something dangerous, something inevitable. He hasn’t even touched me, but I’m already slick, already aching for him in a way that would be humiliating if I wasn’t so damn determined to make him suffer for what he’s done.

“Two months of wondering what I did wrong,” I murmur, my hand drifting lower, grazing the curve of my breasts.

His breathing hitches. He fists his hands at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to close the distance, to put his hands where mine are. But he won’t. Not yet.

“Two months of questions,” I continue, my fingers traveling further, stopping at the hem of my dress, playing with the fabric.

Noah swallows hard.

“Two months of missing your touch.”

I hike the dress up just enough to expose my soaked panties, my skin burning under his stare.

“Two months of imagining what it would feel like to have your cock ramming inside me again,” I whisper, my voice laced with sin, my eyes locked onto the way his body reacts.

His jaw clenches, his breathing rough. The blood rushes between his legs, his arousal evident, undeniable.

I have him.

“I would crawl into my bed,” I whisper, dragging my nails over my thigh. “Letting my hand trail down, just like this-”

Slipping my fingers beneath my underwear, I toy with my own slick entrance, teasing myself the way I know he wants to.

“I’d whisper your name into my pillow,” I breathe, tilting my head as I watch him, “wishing it was you touching me… instead of just me.”

A shudder rolls through his frame, but he stays rooted in place, his restraint teetering on the edge of collapse.

Then, with a slow, taunting push, I slide two fingers inside myself, my moan slipping past my lips in a sultry gasp. My heeled feet anchor onto the couch, bracing me as I start a slow, torturous rhythm.

I don’t break eye contact.

I want him to watch.

To see what he abandoned.
To suffer for it.
To break for me.

And judging by the way his fists tighten, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths…

He’s already hanging by a thread.

My fingers work in and out of myself faster, deeper, the slick, obscene sounds filling the air between us. My breath turns ragged, little panting gasps slipping past my lips, teasing him, tormenting him.

I know he hears it.

“Do you hear that, Noah?” I whisper, my voice dripping with sin, my eyes locked onto his. “Hear my fingers fucking what’s supposed to be yours?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. His grip flexes at his sides.

Then, with a sharp inhale, he palms his arousal, his restraint slipping.

He’s almost broken.

Almost.

Pulling my fingers from myself, I bring them to my lips, my tongue trailing over the tips, slow and deliberate, savoring every bit of my own slickness as I meet his gaze with a knowing smirk.

“Mmm,” I purr, eyes hooded. “Remember that, Noah?”

His breathing shudders, his pupils blown wide, dark with lust.

“Remember how sweet I taste?” I taunt, licking the last of my mess from my fingers, my every move designed to unravel him further.

His control snaps.

“I do,” Noah growls, his voice low, dangerous.

His hands move fast, his belt undone in one sharp pull, his eyes locking onto mine with an unmistakable promise.

“Time to take back what’s mine.”

Noah moves toward me with slow, deliberate intent, lowering himself to his knees between my legs. His eyes are locked onto the mess I’ve made, dark and hungry, his breathing shallow.

Then, glinting in the dim light, a blade appears.

He pulls a knife from his waistband, dragging it between his fingers before letting it hover dangerously close to my needy warmth.

“My family is bad, Ana,” he growls, his voice thick with something almost feral.

The tip of the blade kisses my thigh, a teasing whisper of cold steel against burning skin.

“I am fucking awful.” His eyes flick to mine, holding me captive as he rolls the flat edge of the knife over my damp underwear, pressing just enough to make me shudder.

“I’ve killed people,” he murmurs, his tone void of remorse. “So many.”

The words slither through me like a warning, like a promise.

Then, with one sharp flick of his wrist, the blade slices through my underwear.

A sting, a small knick against my hip, pulls a gasp from my lips, my breath catching as he tears the ruined fabric away, leaving me bare beneath him.

Blood wells at the tiny cut, a single drop sliding down my skin, trailing toward my aching heat.

Noah watches, his gaze darkening, pupils blown wide with something dangerous. Something ravenous.

“But knowing I couldn’t touch you,” he hisses, running the dull edge of the knife along my slick folds, teasing, torturing.

“Knowing someone else could be touching you,” his voice drops to a purr, velvet and wicked, “it was worse than any punishment they ever gave me.”

The mix of pain and pleasure coils in my gut, everything too much yet not enough.

Then, in one swift movement, he jams the knife into the arm of the couch, the blade sinking deep into the leather with a sharp thunk.

His eyes lift to mine, blazing with possession, with unhinged, reckless need.

“Because you are fucking mine, Anastasia Burns,” he snarls.

His fingers curl into my thighs, gripping hard enough to leave bruises.

“And I will fucking undo you.”

Noah’s mouth crashes onto me, his tongue devouring every inch like a man starved, desperate to claim what’s his. He licks me clean, his tongue flicking over the cut on my hip before sealing his lips around it, sucking as his fingers dig into my skin. My moans spill freely, the sound sinful and unfiltered.

Then, with a growl vibrating against me, he moves back, his tongue swirling over my most sensitive spot, relentless and unforgiving. A sharp gasp rips from my throat as his hand lifts, plunging three fingers inside me, stretching me wide without hesitation.

A strangled cry escapes me as he drives into me mercilessly, each thrust forcing my body to jolt, my breasts bouncing from the sheer force of it. My hands tangle in his hair, gripping tightly, pulling him deeper against me. My hips roll, grinding shamelessly into his face, lost in the intoxicating mix of pleasure and dominance.

Then, hesitantly, my fingers trail over his scars.

For a moment, I brace myself, ready to retreat, ready to pull away the second I feel them along his neck.

But before I can, his hands shoot up, gripping my wrists.

He doesn’t push me away.

Instead, he forces my hands back, pressing them to his skin, letting me feel every raised line, every mark of pain and survival.

“No more fucking hiding,” he growls, his breath hot against me, his fingers curling deep, sending a shudder through my body.

A sharp, desperate moan spills from my lips.

“No more lies,” I gasp, my head falling back, my fingers trembling against his scars.

His eyes flick up to mine, dark and smoldering, then without hesitation, he spits onto my already slick heat, his fingers driving in deeper, rougher.

“Keep fucking eating me,” I command, my voice wrecked, breathless.

A low chuckle vibrates against me before he obeys, his tongue lapping, his lips closing around me, sucking with brutal intent. My thighs quiver, my stomach tightens, and the pressure coils dangerously, pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

I’m going to break.
I’m going to cum all over his face.

Then, just as I teeter on the edge, Noah rips his fingers away.

“No,” he growls, his voice thick with need, dark with possession.

I barely register the loss before he’s towering over me, his chest heaving, his lips glistening with me.

“You’re cuming on my cock,” he snarls, his grip bruising as he yanks me up.

Spinning me toward the sink, he leans in, his breath hot against my ear.

“Bend over,” he commands, his hands pressing against my hips. “I want you to watch me fuck you in the mirror.”

The knife clatters into the sink, forgotten, as Noah’s hands move with purpose. One grips my hair, yanking my head back just enough to keep me upright, while the other locks around my wrists, holding them firm behind my back. He controls me, keeps me exactly where he wants me as he finally allows me to brace myself against the sink.

And then he ruins me.

He drives into me with unrelenting force, each thrust sending fire through my veins, tearing desperate moans from my lips. Tears spill freely, not from pain but from the overwhelming, unbearable pleasure of him. The stretch, the depth, the way he fills me completely, without mercy, without hesitation, he gives me everything.

My climax creeps closer, tightening low in my stomach, twisting violently. I clench around him, my body on the edge of breaking, my moans growing louder.

“I want to cum,” I gasp, my fingers curling into fists, my body bowing beneath his control. “All over your fucking cock.”

His grip on my wrists tightens. His pace grows brutal.

“You want my cum, Princess?” he growls, his voice rough, dark, deliciously dangerous. His hips snap forward, punishing, relentless. “You want me to fill you up? Make you fucking watch as my cum spills free from your sore, used pussy?”

A shudder racks through me, my nails digging into my palms.

“Yes,” I whimper, my head dropping forward, my body tightening around him, desperate, so close.

“Then tell me,” I snap.

Lifting my head, my eyes meet his in the mirror, my face flushed, my lips parted in pleasure.

“How bad do you want me, Noah?” I pant, my voice thick with need. “How bad do you want to make me yours?”

His breath stutters, his rhythm faltering for the first time. He’s seconds from breaking, his body teetering on the edge just as much as mine.

But then he leans in, his voice rough, raw, dangerous.

“I don’t just fucking want you, Ana.” His cock twitches inside me, his grip punishing, unyielding.

“I fucking need you.”

He yanks my head up, forcing me to look at myself in the mirror, my reflection streaked with pleasure, with tears, with him.

“You wanna know why?” he snaps, his thrusts turning brutal, desperate, his control slipping.

“Why, Noah?” I whisper, teetering on the edge, my release so close it hurts.

His eyes bore into mine, his voice breaking.

“Because I-” His hips slam into mine.

“Am fucking-” His breath stutters, his whole body tensing.

“In love with you.”

That’s it.

There’s no stopping it.

My body shatters.

A strangled moan rips from my throat as my release crashes over me, my body trembling as I come undone around him. His pace stutters, his breath catching before a deep, guttural groan spills from his lips. He buries himself inside me, his release surging, filling me until I feel like I might break apart all over again.

The sound of our pleasure, our bodies still moving together, prolonging the bliss, fills the air, raw and unfiltered.

He doesn’t stop. Not until my legs give out beneath me, my body too spent to hold itself up.

As my knees buckle, he catches me.

Strong arms wrap around me, stopping me from collapsing onto the cold tile. His breath is ragged against my temple as he tucks himself away, his hands firm as they adjust me against his chest. Then, without hesitation, he lifts me, hooking his arms beneath my legs, carrying me effortlessly across the room.

Back to the couch.

Settling down, he keeps me in his lap, my body curled into him, buried in the warmth of his chest. My pulse is erratic, matching his, our breaths still uneven as we try to ground ourselves, to find something solid in the aftermath of what we just did.

I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat, letting it lull me back to reality.

Then, barely above a whisper, fragile and uncertain, I ask, “D-did you mean it?”

His grip tightens around me, his chest rising and falling in a heavy sigh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice rough, raw with emotion. “I fucking meant it.”

Swallowing, I lift my head, shifting just enough to cup his face between my hands. His skin is warm beneath my fingertips, his gaze searching mine.

“Do you promise?” I whisper.

Something flickers in his eyes, guilt, hesitation, but then, he raises his pinky between us, a quiet, solemn gesture.

“The first time I promised you something,” he says, his voice hoarse, “I failed.” His lips twitch slightly, almost bitter. “Pretty sure you have to cut my pinky off if I break this one.”

A breathless laugh escapes me, and finally, finally, a small smile breaks across his lips.

I hook my pinky around his, pressing my thumb over his knuckle, watching as he does the same.

His promise is sealed.

His word is solidified.

Then, softly, as warmth blooms in my chest, I whisper, “Then… I think I love you too, Noah.”

His eyes flicker, something shifting, something bright, something alive.

He looks at me like I am the only thing in his world.

Then, with a slow, wicked grin, he leans in, gently laying me back against the couch, his body hovering over mine.

“Think?” he teases, his voice low, warm, dangerous.

His lips brush against mine, his breath tangling with mine, his hands already exploring, already claiming.

“Guess we’ll have to change that,” he murmurs, his grin widening just before his mouth crashes against mine.

God knows how long we were in that bathroom.

All I know is that he is exactly what I need.

Chapter 28

Noah

Leaving the bathroom after Ana, I reach for her, straightening her clothes, relishing the way she stumbles toward the door, wrecked, spent, utterly undone by what I just did to her.

But fuck, I needed that.

I needed to feel her, to taste her, to remind her just how desperate I am to have her close again. To make her understand that she’s not just something I want. She’s something I need.

The words I love you were never meant for me. Never something I thought I’d say to anyone.

But Ana, God, Ana.

For two months, she was all I thought about. Her smile, the way her hands felt against my skin, the sound of her voice in the dark. I never knew what it meant to feel true pain until I was forced to endure her absence, a hollow ache that never fucking left.

Loving her came fast, violent, all at once.

I know she was scared she was just a quick fuck, and maybe... maybe at first she was. But somewhere along the way, I lost sight of anything and anyone else. My focus narrowed, locked onto her, and before I could stop myself, I was already falling.

The first night I crashed at Jake’s, he made his power known. He showed me pictures of Ana, ones taken when she wasn’t looking. His way of proving he had his eyes on her long before I did. Then came the cigarette burns, pressed against the back of my neck, just like Dad used to do. A reminder. A lesson. That at any moment, at any time, he could shatter my world.

He could ruin her.

But tonight, seeing his hands on her, his hands where only mine should ever be, there was no fucking way I was walking away.

I was ready to kill him right there.

And I would have faced the consequences with a fucking smile.

Catching the eyes of Elijah and Megan, I see the way they glance at my brother, then back at me, their brows raised in quiet curiosity.

Yeah. I’m the last person they wanted to see here.

Keeping her back to me, Ana subtly urges her friends away from Jake, her fingers gripping Megan’s wrist in a silent plea.

"Big brother!" Jake grins, his voice dripping with amusement. "There you are. Ana dear was just introducing me to her lovely friends."

Cautiously, I move toward them, watching Elijah and Megan’s expressions shift from wary to sickened.

"Brother?" Elijah quips, crossing his arms. "Is he also a teacher who doesn’t know boundaries?" His scoff is sharp, biting.

Ana kicks Elijah in the leg, glaring.

There’s my girl.

"Not as yummy as Ackerman," Megan slurs, narrowing her eyes at Jake. "But something tells me you have a much more… interesting job." Her fingers trail over the scar on his cheek, a slow, drunken touch meant to provoke.

My dad did that to him.

A drug deal gone wrong, one that cost my father more money than he could stomach losing. Jake got the reminder carved into his skin. Maybe that’s why he leaned into the more torturous tactics when it came to control.

"My brother has learned from his mistakes," Jake smiles, the words smooth, practiced. His gaze flicks to Ana. "Isn’t that right, Ana?" he purrs, testing her.

He’s waiting to see if she cracks, pushing her to slip up. Jake isn’t an idiot. Even with the pounding music and the constant hum of bar chatter, he knows where I just was.

"Noah's affairs do not concern me," Ana says sweetly, offering Jake a saccharine smile. "Thank you for the drink."

With that, she turns, rallying her friends, tossing me one last look as she pulls them away from Jake and me. They’re talking her ear off, clearly confused, asking questions she doesn’t seem in the mood to answer.

Jake watches her go, then leans in, his voice venomous. "Pretty sure your cum was still running down her leg."

I smile, slow and sharp. "Maybe."

His eyes narrow, sensing the shift in me.

"But you know what?" I whisper, grabbing him by the collar. "I’m done fucking listening to you."

The adrenaline from Ana’s touch still courses through me, fueling every movement. "I can play your guard dog. I can step into Dad’s affairs. But what I won’t do is let you hold her over me. You’re a fucking child playing dress-up. I let you wear the crown, Jake."

Then, with one violent motion, I slam his head against the bar.

His chair topples, sending him crashing to the floor.

Gasps echo around us. The bar shifts, tense and watchful, eyes snapping toward the scene I just created.

When I glance up, Ana and her friends are frozen mid-conversation, their wide eyes locked onto me.

Scrambling to his feet, Jake barely gets the chance before I slam my boot against his chest, pinning him to the floor.

"But remember," I murmur, leaning in just enough so only he can hear me, "I can take it back whenever I want."

Jake glares up at me, his forehead reddened from the impact. His breaths are sharp, but he doesn’t struggle. He just watches. Calculating.

"That used to be true," he whispers, barely audible over the noise of the bar. Then, with a slow, deliberate tilt of his head, he gestures toward Ana.

My jaw clenches.

"The difference between you and me, Noah, is that I have nothing to lose. Nothing to hold onto." His voice is eerily calm. "But you? You’ll regret what you just did-"

"Breaking news," an announcer bellows from the TV, cutting him off.

The bar falls into a hush. Every screen, once broadcasting football, suddenly shifts to a live news report. The words BREAKING NEWS flash in bold, red letters.

"New developments in the hit-and-run of Levi Trace, the young boy mercilessly killed last summer, have surfaced. An anonymous source has linked one suspect to that night. Investigators are actively pursuing the tip. While no one has been convicted yet, authorities believe the source is credible and could be tied to one of the students currently attending Spokehaven University-"

My blood runs cold.

Across the room, Ana freezes, her eyes locked onto the screen. Her entire body goes rigid, her breathing shallow.

Jake’s laughter rumbles beneath me, low and triumphant.

"Checkmate," he sneers, smirking up at me. "Told you to play nice."

And just like that, my fear skyrockets.

Anastasia

Meg and Elijah keep talking, their voices buzzing around me, throwing question after question about Noah.

But I can't think.

Can't process.

All I see is Levi’s face plastered across the screen, his smile wide, his hands gripping his diploma, eyes full of life–life that Cole stole.

Life that maybe, just maybe, I could have saved.

My hands tremble, my breath shallow as the announcer’s voice distorts, turning into static in my ears.

"While no one has been convicted yet, authorities believe the source is credible and could be tied to one of the students currently attending Spokane University-"

Cole.

It has to be Cole.

There’s no way in hell he’d let anyone rat him out. Erica, Walker, his newest lapdog, they’d know better.

But me?

Fuck. I’m the perfect scapegoat.

"Ana?" Megan hisses, shaking my shoulders. "Are you even listening?"

From the corner of my eye, I catch Jake’s smirk. His focus isn’t on Noah anymore, it’s on me.

An unsettling urge coils in my gut, pressing me forward. My fingers move before I can stop them, pulling out my phone, dialing a number I swore I’d never call again.

The line rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then-

"I figured I’d hear from you," Cole murmurs, his voice a slow, sinister drawl. "Pity. They could’ve at least used a better picture of the kid-"

"What did you do?" I whisper, my throat tightening.

"You made some very powerful enemies, Anastasia," he purrs, amusement dripping from every syllable. "So did your little fuck buddy. You know, I always pegged you for a kinky whore, but screwing a professor? That was unexpected."

"What the fuck did you do, Cole?" I snap, my teeth grinding together.

He sighs, like this entire conversation is beneath him. "The Antonovs had business with Walker’s family. I needed money. Walker knew that. And after Noah’s little stunt in the classroom, well… he was motivated to help my little problem go away."

My stomach churns.

"Noah said Walker’s family and his were competitors-"

"Joint interest has a funny way of making people see eye to eye. Especially when interested in taking down a common enemy. You... the Briars." Cole muses.

The Briars?

Glancing back at Jake and Noah, the realization slams into me like a freight train.

That’s why Jake sought me out.

That’s why he dangled me in front of Noah, why he pushed him.

He knew this was coming.

He knew this would happen tonight.

"The police are one tip away from pinning this all on you," Cole whispers, his voice a razor-sharp promise. "So long as Noah plays nice and listens to Jake, everything should be fine."

A cold wave of dread washes over me as my grip tightens around the phone. Across the room, Jake’s forehead is still red from where Noah slammed him into the bar, but it’s his smile that fills me with something far worse than fear.

"You killed that boy," I rasp.

Cole laughs. "Yeah? You should be grateful I didn’t kill you, too. Keep your mouth shut about this conversation or Walker will have someone pay your dear old dad a visit the next time he’s in the hospital."

My pulse pounds in my ears.

"That’s it, then?" I whisper. "You win?"

"Win?" Cole chuckles, dark and cruel. "I’ll win when you’re ten feet under, just like Levi. Enjoy your night, Anastasia. Too bad Jake couldn’t get a taste of you before your professor ruined it all."

The line goes dead.

Slowly, I lower the phone, my fingers barely able to grip it. My gaze locks onto Jake’s, his malicious grin stretching wider, his victory carved into every inch of his expression.

"Ana," Elijah murmurs, his voice cautious. "Who was that?"

I glance between Jake and Noah.

Noah looks as miserable as I feel.

"I-I have to go," I whisper, my voice barely holding steady. A million thoughts crash into me at once, each one louder than the last. "Right fucking now."

Backing away from my friends, I push through the bar’s exit, spilling into the cold night air. My breaths come fast, uneven, my hands shaking as I fumble with my phone, trying and failing, to order an Uber through the blur of tears clouding my vision.

Then, my screen lights up with a single message.

I ordered you an Uber. My place. I'll see you there shortly.

Noah.

My pulse stutters. My body feels like it’s about to collapse, the weight of everything pressing down so hard I can barely stand.

I have no way out.

No escape.

All I have now is Noah.

The problem is, we’re both staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

Chapter 29

Anastasia

His door is unlocked.

My hand trembles as I turn the knob, my body moments away from breaking under the weight of everything that’s happened tonight.

If they get what they want, if Jake, Walker, and Cole succeed, not only will I be arrested for a murder I didn’t commit, but Noah… Noah will be trapped in a life he never wanted. A life of crime, of control, of being nothing more than a pawn in his brother’s sick game.

And if they don’t throw him under the bus for us?

Then they’ll bury him another way.

We’re backed into a corner. Everything around us is imploding, the walls closing in faster than I can think.

And the Briars? What fucking grief do Cole and the others have with them?

I know Roman Briar is a powerful man, but how powerful? Enough to be a real threat to someone as twisted as Noah’s brother? What business is he really in?

Does Mrs. Briar know?

Lost in thought, I step inside, barely registering the relief of not seeing Walker’s car in the parking lot.

Then I stop.

My breath catches in my throat.

Noah’s apartment is filled with flowers.

Dozens of roses, their colors deep and varied, line the room, breathing life into the usually bleak space. Candles flicker, their soft glow casting warm shadows along the walls, the scent of wax and petals intertwining. The fireplace crackles, its roaring flames a stark contrast to the chaos clawing at my mind.

Cautiously, I move toward the couch.

And then I see it.

A note.

Lying on the table, waiting for me.

My heart fractures and mends all at once as I pick it up, hands unsteady as I read.

My fingers tighten around the note, my chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

Noah isn’t just telling me the truth.

He’s choosing me.

Even with everything crumbling around us, he’s choosing me.

"I didn’t know if you’d ever see it," Noah whispers, his voice drifting from behind me, low and uncertain. "Didn’t know if I’d ever share those words with you tonight."

I turn slowly, my pulse thudding in my ears.

He stands in the doorway, watching me, his expression unreadable as he reaches back to latch the door shut.

"A-all of this-" I gesture weakly at the room, at the flowers, at everything.

"I guessed," Noah murmurs. "Guessed I’d see you tonight. Guessed you’d want me as much as I fucking wanted you."

He drops his things onto the floor, his body heavy with exhaustion, yet he still moves toward me, each step slow, deliberate.

"The flowers?" I whisper.

His throat bobs, eyes dark with something raw, something real. "A petal for every second I spent wishing you were with me those two months."

The confession sinks into me like a weight, pressing against my ribs, making it harder to breathe.

Then he’s there, in front of me, wrapping his arms around my waist, his body pressing into mine as if he’s afraid to let go. His mouth brushes against the side of my head, his breath warm against my skin.

I melt into him.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let him lift me, let myself fold into his embrace, grounding myself in the way he holds me like he never wants to put me down.

"Are they going to hurt us?" I whisper, voice trembling. "Is Jake going to hurt us?"

Noah’s grip tightens. "No," he breathes. "No one is touching you. No one is getting near us. Jake made a big fucking mistake-"

I swallow hard. "I called Cole tonight."

His entire body stills.

"H-he and Walker… they’re in on all of this."

Noah doesn’t speak. He just holds me closer, his fingers digging into my skin as though he can’t believe it either.

Then, after a long beat, he exhales sharply.

"There’s something you need to know about Levi," he murmurs. "And Cole."

I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. Our noses graze, breaths tangling, the weight of unspoken truths sitting heavy between us.

But I know, whatever he’s about to tell me is about to change everything.

"That boy, Levi. Do you know why he was riding his bike that late at night?"

I shake my head, my throat too tight to speak.

Noah exhales, his expression darkening. "His parents... they were clients of Roman Briar. Moles. Ex-cartel who joined Catalyst, Roman’s company, to wiretap my brother’s drug deal."

"Catalyst?"

His jaw clenches. "Human trafficking, drugs, dark web affairs, anything the government doesn’t want its hands in. Roman was hired years ago by an old associate. No one knows his real name, but he goes by Echo. Echo runs things from Idlewood, where Eden grew up, while Roman handles affairs here in Spokehaven."

A chill runs down my spine.

"Cole mentioned the Briars," I whisper. "I know he has ties to your brother, but what does Levi have to do with any of this?"

Noah’s eyes darken. "Levi saw something he wasn’t supposed to. He witnessed my brother and Walker take out a loose end during that deal. His parents swore he was away for the night, so their house was supposed to be secure. But he must’ve come back early."

My breath catches.

"Cole was already desperate for money. Walker was going against his parents’ wishes by dipping into the Antonov family business. He wanted to prove himself to Jake, to show his loyalty. And so did his friend."

Noah swallows hard. "Levi slipped away on his bike. Walker saw it. Instead of warning Levi’s parents, Walker took matters into his own hands."

My stomach churns.

"That night," I whisper, the pieces clicking together like jagged glass. "Cole got a call-"

"Walker," Noah confirms. "Telling Cole to handle the boy so they could both secure their place with Jake."

I feel like I can’t breathe.

"When he hit Levi-"

"It was planned," Noah murmurs, his voice thick. "My guess? He was shoving your head down to stop you from grabbing the wheel. To keep you from stopping him."

The realization crashes over me like a tidal wave. My lips tremble as I take it all in.

"Did you know?" I whisper, barely able to get the words out.

Noah’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. "No." His voice is raw, broken. "I detached from my family months after my father died. Ana, I won’t lie to you. There’s blood on my hands. I had no idea what was really happening, how fucked up it all was. I tried to get away, to start over... then I met you."

His hands tighten around me, like he’s trying to ground himself in the weight of my presence.

"I knew Jake let me come here. Not because he couldn’t find me, but because he had me exactly where he wanted me. Getting closer to the Briars was never part of my plan. But in his sick, twisted mind, he assumed he could pin all of this on you and use you as leverage to pull me back in."

He swallows, his forehead nearly pressing against mine.

"I wasn’t a good person before you, Ana," he whispers. "But everything after you? It changed me."

I search his face, my chest aching.

"Then why go back?" I whisper. "Why leave me for two months?"

His eyes darken with something unreadable.

"To learn all of this. To see how much Jake really knew... and to find a way to tip Roman Briar off. The only way I could protect you and speak to him was to go back. Jake had to believe I was helping pin this on you. But now, after tonight, I'm running on a ticking clock."

I glance around the room, my eyes landing on the flowers, the candles, the flickering light of the fireplace.

It all hits me.

"Yet you still found time to do all of this?" I whisper, voice barely above a breath.

Noah’s fingers skim my cheek, his gaze burning into mine.

"You needed to know," he murmurs. "How much I need you."

"Do you need me right now, Noah?" I whisper, my lips hovering close to his, teasing.

His breath is uneven, his body rigid against mine. "Desperately."

Good," I murmur, brushing my lips along his jaw. "Because right now, the only thing I want is for you to touch me like you did in that bathroom… and make me forget, just for a second, what our reality is."

I move to his ear, my voice nothing but a sultry whisper.

"Fuck me like you love me, Noah."

That’s all it takes.

A sharp growl rumbles from his chest as his hands clamp onto my ass, lifting me effortlessly, hoisting my legs around his waist. There’s nothing careful about the way he carries me, his steps full of purpose and hunger.

He throws me onto the bed, my body bouncing against the mattress, breath hitching as he spreads my thighs apart, his hands gripping my flesh possessively. But just as he reaches to rip my dress open, I press the sharp point of my heel against his shoulder, stopping him.

His dark eyes flick to mine, burning, questioning.

"Beg, Noah," I whisper, my voice dripping with control. "You’re still earning me back. So beg for it."

His mouth curls into a sinful smirk, amusement flickering behind his hunger.

Lowering himself, he presses his lips to the inside of my thigh, slow, deliberate.

"For you, Ana?" he murmurs against my skin. "I’d beg until my voice gives out." He nips at my flesh, sending shivers racing through me. "But right now, I want to hear you beg for me to ram my cock inside of you."

I barely get the chance to react before his hands tighten in the fabric of my dress.

With one swift, aggressive pull, he rips it apart, the sound sharp, thrilling, sending a rush straight to my core. The torn fabric flutters to the side, leaving me exposed in nothing but my underwear, my body burning beneath his heated gaze.

His hardened length drags along my stomach as he leans over me, still trapped behind his pants, teasing, tormenting.

I reach for him, craving him, but he’s faster.

Grabbing the back of his shirt, he yanks it off in one swift motion before shoving me back down by my throat, pinning me to the mattress.

"Not so fast, baby," he rasps, his grip tightening just enough to make my breath hitch. "You wanted me to beg? Then let’s see how long you last before you’re the one begging for me."

Reaching for his discarded tie on the floor, my fingers barely graze the silk before Noah’s grip locks around my wrist.

"Not so fast," he murmurs, amusement laced in his voice.

In one smooth motion, he coils the tie tightly around my wrists, securing them together with expert precision. Then, without warning, he tugs, dragging me with him as he leans back against the headboard.

My pulse pounds as he settles into position, his legs spread wide, his presence commanding.

Then his hands move to his belt.

My breath catches, mouth watering as he tugs his pants down, his cock springing free...thick, hard, already leaking for me.

He nestles me between his legs, the heat of his body searing against my skin as he lifts my bound wrists, tying them to the headboard.

Trapped.

Pinned.

My hands are completely useless, held high and out of reach, while my body is pressed firmly against him, his cock rubbing against the small of my back, teasing me with its heat, its promise.

"How wet are you, princess?" he murmurs, trailing his hands over my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples before pinching them between his fingers.

I gasp, back arching, only for his lips to latch onto my neck, sucking, biting, marking me.

"How ready is that pretty pussy to take another pounding from me?" His voice is thick with hunger, his hands drifting lower, over my stomach, his fingers teasing just above my core.

I writhe against him, desperate for more, for him.

"Do you know how bad I want to hear you scream my name?"

The second his fingers brush against my clit, my whole body jolts. He circles it slowly, dangerously, applying just enough pressure to make me whimper but not enough to give me what I need.

"How badly I want you to beg for me to stretch you out again?"

Then, without mercy, he plunges his fingers inside me.

I cry out, head falling back against his shoulder as he thrusts deep, stretching me, working me open, curling his fingers just right, knowing exactly how to tear me apart.

The slick, wet sounds of my arousal echo in the room, mingling with my breathless moans. Behind me, his cock twitches, precum smearing against my back, the evidence of his own desperation making my thighs clench.

"So, Ana?" he taunts, his voice dark and full of promise. "How bad do you want it?"

Pleasure courses through me, my body burning, my mind fogged with nothing but him.

I smirk, rolling my hips against his fingers, letting the bliss consume me.

"I don’t know," I purr, my voice dripping with challenge. "How bad do you want to fuck me?"

"Let’s see," he murmurs darkly, his thrusts slamming deeper, harder, sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.

"I’d love to fuck you so hard you’re dripping down my cock," he growls, his voice rough, possessive.

His fingers slip out, only to be replaced by his hands hooking beneath my thighs, spreading me wider, forcing me open.

"Completely-"

He reaches down, guiding his thick length to my aching entrance, the swollen head stretching me, teasing me, making me whimper.

"Under my-"

My breath catches as the tip pushes in, forcing my walls to part, my body molding around him in the most delicious way.

"Control," he growls, holding me firmly in his grasp as he lowers me down onto him, his cock sinking in deep, filling me inch by inch until I can’t breathe.

I cry out, my arms still strapped above my head, my legs helpless in his grip.

Pinned.

At his mercy.

Noah doesn’t hesitate, he owns me, thrusting up as he bounces me on his cock, using his strength to slam me down, meeting each stroke with punishing precision.

Gasps and moans tumble from my lips, my body nothing but pleasure, my breasts bouncing with each ruthless movement.

"How does it feel?" he purrs against my ear, his voice dripping with control. "To have my cock so deep inside you, you can’t even speak?"

I try, fuck, I try, but all that comes out are broken, incoherent sounds.

He pounds into me harder, making sure I can’t answer, making sure all I can do is take it.

Take him.

Noah ruthlessly pounds into me, his grip unrelenting, his hands working me up and down with a force that has my moans unraveling into screams. Each thrust is punishing, brutal, sending shockwaves of pleasure tearing through me as the sound of skin meeting skin fills the air.

"Just like that, Princess," he growls against my ear, his teeth sinking into my neck, biting, marking, owning. "Just fucking like that."

"Noah-" I gasp, my body tightening around him, teetering on the edge. "I-I don’t know how much longer-"

Suddenly, he stops.

The loss is abrupt, devastating.

"Then you’re just where I want you."

Before I can process it, he’s undoing the tie around my wrists, grabbing the back of my neck, forcing me off his lap and onto the mattress. His palm presses between my shoulder blades, shoving me down until my cheek meets the sheets, my ass raised, exposed, completely at his mercy.

A sharp smack lands against my skin, making me jolt.

I whimper.

"Did that hurt, Ana?" he scoffs, amusement laced with something darker. "Dirty fucking whore."

Another slap.

This time, I moan.

"My dirty fucking whore."

The sensation of something warm drips down my folds, trailing lower, spreading between my cheeks. My body tenses as I hear him rummage in the bedside drawer, my breath hitching when I feel something cold and silicone press against my entrance, teasing, testing.

His voice drops, rough and possessive.

"You, Ana," he growls, "are taking it in both holes tonight."

Fuck me.

His grip tightens, forcing my thighs apart as he presses the toy inside me, slow, unyielding, stretching me open.

A deep moan rips from my throat, my body instinctively arching, needing more.

"Your pretty pussy gets this," he murmurs, sliding it in deeper, my walls clenching around the intrusion.

His cock nudges against my ass, the tip smearing precum as he grips my hips, spreading me wide.

"And your ass?" he rasps, voice dripping with dark hunger. "Well, that’s all for me."

He’s really about to fuck my ass.

And fuck, I think I’m going to love it.

Working the toy in and out of me, he spits once more, the warmth trailing between my cheeks, slicking my skin. He guides himself closer, the thick head of his cock pressing teasingly against my tightest entrance.

I whimper, body tensing in anticipation.

"I’ll go slow, baby," he murmurs, his voice dark, "but you won’t want me to."

"N-Noah-"

My words are gone the second he pushes forward.

His cock stretches me inch by inch, filling me in a way that has my back arching, my teeth sinking into his sheets. My body screams with pleasure, overwhelmed by the fullness, the relentless toy still working my soaking cunt while his cock claims the last part of me untouched by him.

His hips push forward slowly, until he's seated to the hilt, his body flush against my ass, stretching me so wide I feel him in my throat.

Then he moves.

A slow, torturous rhythm, fucking into my ass while the toy thrusts in time with him, leaving me no room to breathe, no space to think.

I scream into the mattress, fists gripping the sheets, my body trembling as he pounds into me.

"Fucking hell-" I cry out, overwhelmed, taken, filled to the brim.

"That’s right, baby," Noah groans, his grip tightening on my waist. "Look at me, filling both of your holes."

He pounds harder.

"You dirty-" Deeper, making me shatter.

"Fucking-" Faster, wrecking me completely.

"Slut."

I’m gone.

"By the time you’re done, Noah," I sob, my body convulsing with pleasure, "I better be bleeding."

That’s all it takes.

A vicious moan tears from his throat as his thrusts turn brutal, erratic. Heat pours into me as he spills inside, his body locked to mine, filling me with every drop of his release. The toy is soaked with my pleasure, dripping as he rips it free from my body, only to pull out and slam back into my aching cunt, wringing every last ounce of pleasure from me.

A rough hand fists into my hair, yanking me up, forcing me against his chest.

"See that, Ana?" he whispers, holding the bloodstained, cum-slick toy before us both, his breath ragged against my ear. "With me, you bleed like a virgin."

I shudder, my lips curling into a wicked smile.

"Yeah?" I purr, snatching the toy from his grip. "Then clean it up."

I climb onto him, straddling his lap, hovering the toy by his lips. His dark eyes burn into mine as he obeys, his tongue dragging over the silicone, licking it clean with slow, shameless strokes, devouring every last drop of our mixed release.

When he’s finished, I toss it aside, his hands immediately curling around my waist, owning me once again. His lips find my neck, my body molding into his as his grip tightens.

Because no matter what, I belong to him.

Noah wraps me in his arms, his warmth sinking into my skin as our lips find each other again. His hands fumble for the blanket, pulling it over us, shielding our bare bodies from the chill creeping into the room.

I nuzzle into his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath against me, our foreheads pressing together as the adrenaline from everything we just did begins to fade.

"I-I don’t think," I whisper between gasps, "I can do that twice in a row again."

A breathless chuckle rumbles through his chest. "Maybe a safe word should have been discussed," he murmurs, his cheeks flushing crimson.

I blink.

Is Noah Antonov actually embarrassed?

A teasing grin tugs at my lips. "Safe word, hmm?" I hum, trailing my fingers along his collarbone. "How about... Teacher’s Pet?"

His brows arch as a laugh escapes him. "Teacher’s Pet?" he repeats, shaking his head. "Pretty fond of yourself, aren’t you?"

"What can I say?" I smirk, only for him to cut me off with another kiss, hot and possessive, his lips dragging along my neck.

I let my fingers thread through his hair, grounding myself in the way he feels, the way he holds me so close like he never wants to let go.

But then, reality seeps in.

My smile fades. My grip tightens slightly in his hair.

"Noah," I whisper.

"Hmm?" he hums against my jaw, pressing soft kisses along the curve.

I take a breath, my voice quieter now. "This is the first time I’ve felt safe since you left."

He stills.

Slowly, he pulls back, his dark eyes locking onto mine, searching, serious.

And in that moment, I know, whatever happens next, whatever comes for us…

Noah won’t let me face it alone.

"I’ll figure something out, Ana," Noah whispers, his voice low, steady, a promise woven into every word. "No one is going to hurt you."

I want to believe him. God, I want to. But my body trembles against his, my lips parting as a shaky breath escapes.

"How do you know?" I whisper, my voice barely holding together, my lip quivering.

His arms tighten around me.

"Because," he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead. "I love you. And anyone willing to threaten the woman I love? They’re already dead."

Something about the way he says it, so final...so sure, makes me believe him.

And for the first time in two months, sleep finally finds me.

Nestled in the arms of the one man who makes me feel truly alive.

Chapter 30

Noah

Family night.

An evening designed to introduce the student body’s parents to the prestigious, uptight professors of Spokehaven University. Normally, the school would foot the bill for an event like this, pouring as much money as necessary into making itself look like something worth investing in. A spectacle of wealth, status, and legacy.

But Walker has made it painfully clear, this year is different. This year, it’s about control. His control.

His family doesn’t give a damn about funding an event like this, and he wants everyone to know it. More than that, he wants me to know it. He wants to flaunt his wealth, his power, and now, with the knowledge of just how deeply intertwined he is with Cole and my brother, this might be my only shot at getting Roman Briar to hear me out.

The investigation is closing in. One bad tip, one wrong move, and everything gets pinned on Ana. Those three devils know it, and they’re counting on it.

The courtyard behind the school is a shimmering display of opulence, lights strung from the sprawling gazebo casting a golden glow over the scene. The scent of expensive wine and imported cuisine fills the air as caterers and waiters weave through the crowd, handing out gift bags stuffed with artisanal cheeses and sleek new gadgets.

Walker has planned every detail meticulously. Get the staff drunk, pull the strings from the shadows, and let my brother and Cole lurk just out of sight, watching, waiting.

I keep to myself, my fingers fidgeting with the knot of this damn tie. Despite my protests, Ana insisted it looked nice, tucking a single rose petal into my front pocket before whispering that everything would be okay.

Who knew she’d be the one reassuring me?

I take a long sip of champagne, but the moment Roman and Eden step into the courtyard, all eyes shift to them.

Roman, clad in a sleek black suit, moves with calculated precision. His hair is slicked back, a tattoo peeking from the collar of his crisp shirt. He’s carrying. Of course he is. His sharp gaze barely leaves Eden’s face, softening only when she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.

She looks ethereal. A vision in white silk, her dark hair adorned with delicate gold vine embellishments. As she introduces Roman to her colleagues, his attention flickers across the crowd, his mind constantly assessing, scanning.

Good.

At least one of us is keeping a sharp eye on the event.

Across the space, Roman catches my stare. A brief but mutual nod passes between us. My jaw tightens as I try to subtly motion for him to come over.

Before he can make a move, a grating voice cuts through the noise behind me.

"Quite the turnout."

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. But I do anyway.

Walker stands there, a smug grin plastered across his face, a glass of whiskey in hand. Cole stands beside him, mirroring the expression, his own drink reflecting the golden light of the courtyard.

“The drinks aren’t for little boys,” I snap, gripping my champagne flute a little too tightly.

Walker rolls his eyes. “They are if your parents are paying for the liquor.” He nudges Cole’s arm with a smirk.

“So,” Cole drawls, his smile curling like smoke, “has our sweet Ana heard the news yet? About her little fuck-up with Levi?”

The words hit me like burning coals pressed to my skin.

“You mean your fuck-up?” I scoff, raking my gaze over him, disgusted.

Cole doesn’t get a chance to respond before another voice joins in, one that turns my blood to ice.

“No, big brother.”

Jake’s hands slam down on my shoulders from behind, his grip firm. “He means Ana’s fuck-up.”

I whip around, my fists already curling, but Jake just grins, standing beside me with his own glass of whiskey. The faint bruise from our last encounter is blooming across his forehead, an ugly reminder of the last time we spoke.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I spit.

Jake scoffs, tilting his glass toward the entrance. “The Briars are here. You and Ana are here. Her parents… it all seems perfect, doesn’t it?”

A sick feeling coils in my gut.

I told Ana to wait. I told her not to come until I gave the okay. I needed to speak to Roman first...needed to make sure he’d even consider helping me before I dragged her into this mess.

But it’s too late now.

Family might be blood, but Ana is so much more than that. And if this goes sideways, if Walker, Cole, and Jake have their way, she’ll be the one to suffer for it.

Catalyst might be my last hope to save her.

And I won’t let these bastards take that from me.

"So what? You're here to stalk your prey?" I snap, locking eyes with Jake, my grip tightening around my drink.

He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, a slow, insidious smirk spreads across his face. "I'm here to make sure you stay in line," he hisses, his gaze drifting past me. Then, with a sick sort of amusement, he adds, "And to marvel at our lovely Anastasia."

There’s something hungry in his tone...something that makes my blood run cold.

I follow his gaze.

The moment I see her, the world around me tilts.

Ana stands beneath the soft glow of the courtyard lights, wrapped in a deep emerald-green dress that clings to her body like it was made just for her. The fabric cascades over her curves, teasing the lines of her figure in a way that makes my mind waver, my body reacting before I can stop it.

I know every inch of her. Every scar, every secret. Every breathless moment we’ve stolen away from the world.

Her hair, deep red and glossy, falls in soft waves down her back, a stark contrast against the smooth expanse of her bare shoulders. Her eyes, rimmed in smoky shadow, flicker in the dim lighting, her lips painted the color of fresh blood.

Fuck.

She looks stunning.

And hanging from her neck, exactly where I wanted it, is the necklace I slipped to her this morning. The diamond charm catches the last rays of the setting sun, shimmering against her skin.

So perfect.

"She looks fucking breathtaking, wouldn’t you say, big brother?" Jake taunts, his voice slithering under my skin like poison.

I grind my teeth, forcing my breathing to stay even.

"Perfect," Cole scoffs. He swirls the whiskey in his glass lazily before sneering, "Wait until you’ve had her in bed. There’s nothing perfect under that dress."

The air between us snaps like a live wire.

I grip my glass so hard I swear it might shatter. My pulse is a war drum in my ears, every muscle in my body screaming to move, to strike.

No. I should fucking kill him.

Before I can react, Erica stumbles into the circle, her drunken sway knocking into my side. She latches onto Cole with a sloppy grin, reeking of liquor and cheap perfume.

"Hey, baby," she slurs, giggling as she curls into him. Then, with a nasty edge to her voice, she sneers, "See that skanky whore over there-"

"Shut the fuck up."

The words come out before I can stop them, low and lethal. My control splinters.

Erica blinks, startled, but I don’t give her a chance to recover.

"Why don’t you learn to fucking hide your hickeys before you start calling someone a whore?" I snap, my eyes flicking to the raw bruises scattered across her neck. The hypocrisy makes my stomach churn.

Walker and Cole exchange glances, both of them smirking like they’re waiting for the show to continue. Then, almost on cue, their attention shifts to Jake, as if expecting him to reel me back in.

"Easy, Noah," Jake warns, his voice tightening. "You don’t want to piss off my friends-"

I don’t hesitate. I down the rest of my drink, slamming the empty glass onto the nearest table before meeting his gaze head-on.

"Yeah," I mutter, my lips curling into a sharp grin. "I do."

Anastasia

Catching the gazes of Elijah and Megan, I spot their parents nearby, chatting among themselves. Their hands flutter eagerly, waving me over, urging me to socialize.

I pretend not to notice.

"Ana!"

Mrs. Briar’s voice rings out, light and airy, just a touch too enthusiastic. She’s been drinking. That much is obvious.

I barely have time to turn before she pulls me into a warm embrace, the scent of expensive perfume clinging to her. Roman trails close behind, his ever-watchful presence a silent contrast to her bright energy.

She pulls back, taking me in with a beaming smile. "Look at you," she coos, eyes sweeping up and down my frame. "You look like a princess."

Oh, the irony.

"You don’t look too bad yourself, Mrs. Briar-"

"Eden," she corrects smoothly. "Tonight call me Eden." she grins, the warmth in her expression making it impossible to refuse.

"Alright," I reply, forcing a smile of my own, willing myself not to scan the crowd for Noah.

"Where are your parents tonight, Ms. Burns?"

Roman’s voice cuts through the moment, calm and measured. The way he says my last name isn’t a question. It’s a statement. A reminder that he already knows exactly who I am.

Clever man.

He asserts his authority effortlessly, without ever needing to raise his voice.

I exhale, shifting on my heels. "My dad had appointments," I admit. "Asking him to come to something like this would be torture. Seeing his old students, being this sick… I didn’t want to put him through that."

Roman nods, processing my words. But his attention flickers, just for a second, toward the drink table.

He sees them before I do.

"Well, I’ll take plenty of pictures for him," Eden chimes, her smile unwavering. "Roman, love, can you grab Ana a drink?"

Roman lingers for a moment, his jaw ticking. But at his wife’s request, he softens. Turning toward her, he presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his voice warm despite the tension in his shoulders.

"Of course, Angel."

"I never get tired of his smile," Eden muses, watching him weave through the crowd. "You know, our daughter likes to say her dad-"

But I don’t hear the rest.

Because I’ve already tuned her out.

My attention is locked on the very same thing Roman noticed first.

The drink table.

Jake. Cole. Walker.

Their presence is like a storm cloud rolling in, heavy and suffocating. They stand just close enough to be a problem, their eyes fixed on me with unsettling precision.

A lump forms in my throat. Jake’s presence here, tonight, makes my skin crawl.

And I’m not the only one who feels it.

Even from a distance, I can see it in Roman’s body language. His subtle shift in posture. The way his hand lingers close to his side, as if preparing for something. He doesn’t trust them.

Neither do I.

My chest tightens as I glance around, searching, hoping, until finally, my eyes land on Noah.

Relief washes over me.

He moves with purpose, closing in on Roman like a man on a mission. Without hesitation, he reaches out and plucks the drink from Roman’s hand, his voice low and insistent, saying something I can’t quite hear.

Whatever it is, it’s enough.

Roman lets him guide him away from the three men, his expression unreadable. But I see the shift. The understanding.

"Ana?"

Eden’s voice pulls me back.

I blink, finally turning to face her.

"Are you okay?"

Jake’s gaze burns into the side of my head, scorching, relentless.

Swallowing hard, I force down the fear clawing at my ribs.

"Fine," I whisper, even though it’s a lie.

Even though nothing about this night is fine.

Even though, from across the courtyard, Jake is still watching.

And we both know it.

Noah

"What the hell are you doing?" Roman snaps, yanking his arm away as I pull him farther from the three devils watching us.

I don’t answer. Not until we’re out of earshot. Not until my back is turned to my brother’s pack of criminals.

Lowering my voice, I lean in. "You need to look like I’m threatening you."

Roman’s eyes narrow. Confusion flickers across his face. "What-"

"Antonov," I hiss, cutting him off before he can protest. "That’s my last name. And the man standing over there, watching Ana like a crow, is Jake Antonov. Ever heard the name?"

His jaw clenches. His expression hardens.

"Antonov?" he mutters under his breath. Then, his voice drops even lower. "The same Antonovs who Catalyst had a run-in with last year? The ones who killed a couple of my men during a drug bust gone south?"

I nod, gripping the edge of my suit jacket to keep my hands steady.

Roman grimaces, his mind already piecing the rest together. "There wasn’t a Jake Antonov in charge when my men busted that warehouse." His gaze darkens. "I thought it was odd. A man named Noah Ackerman. No background, no life before Spokehaven. A clean social security number...almost too clean."

His eyes flick to mine, sharp and unreadable.

"It was a long shot," he continues, "but then there was another name. One that carried weight. Noah Antonov. Feared. Ruthless. A murderer. A drug smuggler. A man willing to do anything to uphold Gregory Antonov’s legacy."

The words hit like a bullet to the ribs.

Roman studies me, his jaw twitching. "So, tell me, Noah, what made you drop everything to become a teacher? And more importantly, why the hell would a man like you go and fuck such an innocent girl?"

I exhale sharply, my voice barely above a whisper. "You don’t understand what Ana means to me."

"Maybe not. But it doesn’t excuse the blood on your hands." Roman’s lip curls.

"I left," I snap, my patience thinning. "I ran. My father built his empire on blood he forced my brother and me to spill. Jake fed into the madness. I got out."

Roman’s eyes flick behind me, zeroing in on Jake with unsettling focus.

"Why are the two kids with him?" he asks quietly.

I glance over my shoulder. Walker and Cole. Both standing with my brother. Both playing their roles in a game that’s been rigged from the start.

"Walker," I mutter, "his family has it out for you, just as much as Jake does. And Cole… he has it out for Ana."

Roman’s expression shifts, his fists flexing.

"She saw something," I continue. "Something no one should’ve witnessed. The result of Jake getting sloppy. Walker and Cole are coiled around the Antonovs, and now they want to pin a murder on Ana just to punish me."

Roman exhales slowly, tilting his head. "The boy. Levi Trace. That hit and run. Who caused it?"

I swallow hard. "My brother gave the order to Walker," I admit. "But Cole… Cole is the one who carried it out. Ana just happened to be in the car that night-"

Roman pieces it together instantly. "And now, given your ties to her and your brother’s trigger finger, they want to make you both pay."

I nod, rubbing my temples. The weight of it all is suffocating.

"He wanted to exploit my job," I murmur. "My connection to your wife-"

Roman stiffens. "My wife?" His voice is razor-sharp, his tone enough to make any sane man tremble. "What the hell do those bastards want with my wife?"

I hesitate, watching the fire in his eyes grow deadly.

"To use her," I whisper. "To use my working relationship with her to get to you."

Roman reaches for the gun hidden beneath his suit coat, his fingers twitching against the grip. He’s going to shoot them. Right here. Right now.

Grabbing his wrist, I stop him before he makes a brash decision.

"Help me," I plead, my voice raw. "Help me find a way to keep Ana and Eden safe. I don’t give a damn what happens to me. If you want to throw me in jail for what I’ve done, fine." My voice trembles, but I push forward. "But don’t let them hurt the only woman I’ve ever truly loved."

His nostrils flare, his breathing heavy.

"There was a time, not so long ago, when you were fighting for something people thought was wrong." My voice is desperate now. "When you were willing to tear the world apart for a woman who made you see the better parts of yourself, the parts you thought were lost."

Roman’s jaw tenses, his teeth bared like a predator deciding whether to rip into flesh or walk away.

I take a breath, steadying myself. "So help me."

His eyes flicker with something unreadable— recognition perhaps or something close to it. His grip on the gun slackens, but I know him well enough to see the war still raging beneath the surface.

A long beat passes. Then, finally, his lips curl into something cold, almost mocking. "They’re staring," he mutters. "What the hell did you tell them we were doing?"

Shame burns through me. I clench my fists at my sides. "I told them I was threatening you. And Eden."

Roman nods once, inhaling sharply through his nose. "Fine," he whispers.

Then, with no warning, his knuckles collide with my nose.

The impact is sudden, the pain radiating through my face as I stumble back, gripping my cheek in shock. A murmur ripples through the crowd, guests whispering, exchanging silent conversations.

Roman adjusts his cufflinks, smirking like a man who just handled a problem with his fists. "Have to sell it, don’t we?"

I swallow hard, blinking away the daze, my nose throbbing. "Right."

Across the courtyard, Jake is watching. His expression shifts into something sickly satisfied, as if he just won a game he’s been playing for far too long.

Fucking hell.

How the hell am I going to pull this off?

A light touch brushes against my shoulder. I turn sharply, body still tense, only to meet her eyes.

Ana.

She stands there, holding out a handkerchief, her delicate fingers steady despite the silent concern written all over her face.

"You better explain what just happened," she whispers, her voice low, guarded. Then, with a glance toward the dance floor, she adds, "After you dance with me."

For the first time all night, a small, tired smile pulls at my lips.

Chapter 31

Anastasia

"Is this allowed?" Noah whispers, his voice low, his nose still red from Roman’s punch.

I don’t give him a chance to protest. Gripping his wrist, I drag him toward the center of the gazebo, weaving through the swaying couples under the golden glow of the lights.

"It’s for charity," I whisper back. "Teachers sponsor dances with students. It’s a way to show how ‘hands-on’ the staff is." I smirk, dabbing away the last trace of blood from his skin. "Besides, we need to talk about what the hell I just saw."

Other staff members awkwardly shuffle with students, the hum of the music masking our conversation.

I tilt my head, arching a brow. "So, dance with me, Professor."

Noah doesn’t hesitate. His hands find my waist as I wrap my arms around his neck, the warmth of his touch grounding me. His eyes roam over my face, lingering like he’s memorizing every detail.

"You look fucking breathtaking, Princess," he murmurs.

Heat rises to my cheeks.

"You don’t look so bad yourself, handsome," I tease. Then, pressing closer, I add, "But flattery aside, you’re telling me what just happened."

He exhales slowly, pulling me into a gentle sway. His grip tightens.

"I’m handling the problem."

"By letting Roman Briar punch you?" I scoff.

Noah shakes his head, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts across my skin. "Jake needs to believe I threatened Roman. He needs to think I’m under his control."

I narrow my eyes. "And the truth?"

Noah hesitates, then quietly, "I asked Roman for help."

I stiffen. A chill snakes down my spine. "How do you know that’s safe? How do you know Roman won’t lump you in with-"

"I don’t." His voice is resolute. "All I know is that you will be safe. That’s the only thing that matters to me right now."

The song slows, and he dips me back with it.

For a moment, everything else fades. Our noses barely graze, his grip steady, his breath mingling with mine.

"That will be the only thing that ever matters to me," he whispers, his gaze locking onto mine, "so long as you are in my life."

I want to kiss him.

Fuck.

I want to kiss him and disappear from this place. I want to run, far, far away, and never look back.

But the moment shatters.

"Anastasia!"

The voice slices through the air, sharp and grating.

Noah tenses, his hands steadying me as he pulls me upright. We both turn.

Cole.

He stands at the edge of the gazebo, a smirk stretched across his face, his eyes gleaming with something sinister.

"Sorry to cut in, Professor," Cole drawls. "But I have someone here who’s excited to see Ana."

I step toward him, ready to slap the smug look off his face.

But then he shifts aside.

And my world stops.

I freeze. My breath catches.

No.

Standing there, no longer needing support, his posture strong, his presence undeniable—

My father.

His eyes meet mine, warm, alive, vibrant in a way I haven’t seen in so long.

"Hi, honey," he whispers.

The chaos around me vanishes.

The weight of my reality, the threats, the danger, the fear, it all dissolves.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever, my father looks alive.

"Dad?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," Cole says. "I thought-"

I don’t let him finish.

I throw myself into my father’s arms, holding him as tightly as I possibly can. His warmth, his strength, it’s all there, real and solid, something I never thought I’d feel again. Over his shoulder, I catch my mother’s eyes. She smiles, lifting her camera to snap a picture, her joy undeniable. My dad grins, matching her excitement, and for a fleeting moment, the world feels right.

"I missed you, Bean," he murmurs, his embrace strong, his voice thick with emotion.

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I missed you more."

"Cole, dear," my mom chimes in, her voice light and curious. "Who is Ana’s friend?"

I stiffen.

Reality crashes back in, and I’m instantly torn from the moment. My glare lands on Cole, sharp and unforgiving.

Before he can answer, Megan steps in, her tone bright but pointed. "Professor Ackerman here is one of the best English teachers in the department."

She loops an arm through Elijah’s, dragging him and their parents into the conversation.

"Isn’t that right, Elijah?"

Elijah catches on immediately, his usual easygoing grin turning smug. "Absolutely. Cole doesn’t have a single one of his classes. In fact-" he turns toward Cole, eyes glinting "-Cole should probably screw off."

"Oh, Cole, honey," Megan’s mother coos. "We haven’t seen you in so long-"

Megan doesn’t miss a beat. "That’s because he’s not a part of Ana’s life anymore." Her voice is sweet, her smile sharper than glass. "Run along."

Cole’s jaw tightens. His hands flex at his sides, his control slipping just enough for his frustration to show. Then, with a slow, venomous smile, he steps back.

"It was nice seeing you both," he hisses. "I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear just how much time Professor Ackerman has been spending with your daughter."

A heavy silence settles over the group.

My grip on my dad tightens as I glance at Noah, suddenly acutely aware of just how many people are watching. The weight of Cole’s words lingers, but I force a bright smile, turning to my mom.

"Mom, why don’t you meet Elijah and Megan’s parents?" I suggest smoothly.

She hesitates but takes the hint, letting Megan guide her toward Elijah and her family.

That leaves just them.

Noah and my father.

The two men stand face to face, their expressions unreadable. No hostility, no immediate warmth, just quiet assessment.

Then, after a pause, my dad extends his hand. "Noah Ackerman," he says, his voice even. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh."

Noah doesn’t hesitate. He reaches out, shaking my father’s hand firmly, a genuine smile crossing his lips. "The honor is all mine, sir. I’ve heard such great things about you and your work."

My dad chuckles. "So you’re saying they miss me here?"

I cut in before the conversation can go any further. "Dad?" My voice is quiet, edged with disbelief. "How… how are you here? How are you so-"

"Alive?" He grins. "That’s a conversation for another time, Bean. Tonight is about you. Wouldn’t want to waste Mr. Ackerman’s money talking about my recovery."

My stomach drops.

What?

Snapping my gaze to Noah, I find him looking, of all things, embarrassed.

"Do you care to explain?" My eyes narrow.

Noah shifts uncomfortably under my stare.

"Oh, Ana, don’t be so hard on him," my dad interjects. "I tried to explain to all my old co-workers back here I couldn’t make it because of the travel costs, but Noah here overheard and generously offered to bring me and your mother out for the event, so long as I upheld my promise to give him some tips about my time here."

I blink.

Slowly, I turn to Noah, my mind struggling to process what I just heard.

"Y-you did that?"

Noah shrugs, ever so casual. "I’d do it for any of my students." Then, with a small, knowing smile, he adds, "Especially ones as special as you."

Noah fucking Antonov just flew my father out here.

Just so I could see him. Just so I could have this moment.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, I could ever do to repay that.

He gained nothing from it. No personal reward, no strategic advantage. And yet, the smile on Noah’s face is the biggest I’ve ever seen.

Admiration. Depth. Love.

It’s all written in his expression.

My father finally breaks the silence. "Cole," he says, shifting the conversation. "Your friends made it seem like things ended badly-"

At the mention of his name, my attention flickers past Noah and my dad.

Cole stands at the drink table, his shoulders hunched, his expression hollow. His hand moves lazily, pouring himself another drink, the tension in his frame unmistakable.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, Jake.

He nudges his chin in Cole’s direction, casual, deliberate. Then, slowly, he lifts his hand, shaping his fingers into the shape of a gun.

Pointing it directly at my father.

My stomach twists. A silent warning. A promise wrapped in a threat.

I snap my gaze away, forcing my expression to remain neutral.

"Noah," I whisper, my voice barely above a breath.

I don’t even think about my use of his first name. I just need to get away, need to breathe before the panic sets in.

"Why don’t you update my dad while I grab him a drink?" I say, already stepping back, desperate to put distance between myself and Jake’s veiled threat.

Noah hesitates. My father, however, chuckles. "Noah?" he repeats, amused. "You let your students call you by your first name?"

I glance at Noah. His jaw tightens. His fingers fidget at his collar, his wide eyes darting to mine, silently pleading for backup.

Before I can step in, my dad grins.

"Good," he declares. "I love it. I’ve always hated Spokehaven’s uptight rules. First names always made the staff seem more human."

Thank God for my dad’s relentless optimism.

Noah exhales, shoulders dropping just slightly.

I force a smile, my heart still hammering. "Let me get you both a drink while you chat," I say quickly, stepping away before either of them can question me further.

I need air.

And I need to figure out how the hell I’m going to keep my father safe.

Jake lingers near the drink tables, waiting.

Waiting for me to follow.

I hold my breath, forcing my feet to move, weaving through the crowd with careful, measured steps. I don’t dare look back at Noah or my dad. If I do, I might hesitate. If I hesitate, I might panic.

Cole and Walker blend in effortlessly, sipping their drinks, laughing with professors like this is just another night, another gathering of Spokehaven’s elite. But their eyes, sharp, waiting, and predatory, stay locked on me.

I keep my head down, my fingers tightening around my phone, concealing it behind my back like a lifeline.

Then, I meet him.

Jake’s cold gaze holds mine, his lips curving into a slow, satisfied smirk. A thrill dances in his eyes, like a cat finally cornering its prey.

"It would seem my message was clear," he murmurs.

My chest tightens. "Leave my dad out of this."

Jake steps closer, his breath ghosting against my face. "You don’t get to make the rules, Anastasia," he growls.

His voice is low, laced with warning.

"I need you to come with me." He nods subtly toward Cole and Walker. "They’ll wait until you’ve complied before they follow. Do anything stupid and all it takes is one text, one order, and dear old dad gets a bullet in the back of his head."

A pause.

A grin.

"Maybe your mom too. I doubt you want to be an orphan."

The ground beneath me shifts, my pulse hammering in my ears. But I don’t let it show. Instead, I glare, stepping closer until there’s barely any space between us.

"Get to the point."

Jake tilts his head, amused, but he doesn’t see what I’m doing.

With slow, deliberate movements, I slide my phone into his coat pocket. He won’t expect that. He won’t realize what I’ve done. Not yet.

Then, in a single, brutal movement, he grabs my wrist and drags me away.

I stumble on my heels, struggling to keep his pace, the sound of laughter and conversation fading behind us. As soon as we’re out of sight, he shoves me against the nearest wall.

The air is knocked from my lungs.

"Gotta make sure you don’t have anything on you."

His hands roam. Careless. Cruel. Unapologetic.

I want to scream.

His fingers linger too long on my chest, my hips.

My skin crawls.

"Get your fucking hands off me.

The punch comes fast, blunt and merciless.

Pain explodes across my nose. I stagger, the sharp taste of blood spilling onto my lips. A hot, throbbing ache blooms in my skull, my breath ragged as I register what just happened.

Jake flexes his fingers, his expression calm. "That was gentle." His voice is almost amused. "Tell me what to do again and I’ll make sure you see stars."

He finishes his search, his movements slower now, taunting. Then, smoothly, he pulls something from his waistband.

Cold metal presses into my side.

A gun.

Jake’s smirk deepens, his finger resting lazily on the trigger. "Care for a ride?"

My stomach plummets.

Nothing has ever scared me more.

Chapter 32

Noah

"So, honestly," Will mutters. "Is my daughter doing okay?"

His voice barely pulls me from my thoughts.

My mind is elsewhere—half in this conversation, half scanning the crowd, trying to track her.

Jake wouldn’t be stupid enough to try something here. Not with so many people around. Not with Meg and Elijah’s parents chatting away, not with professors scattered throughout the event.

And yet…

Something feels wrong.

The crowd grows denser, the conversations louder, making it harder to see her through the shifting bodies.

My fingers twitch.

"Ana?" I murmur, my attention flickering back to Will, but my focus still split.

Will exhales, shaking his head. "You seem to know her well," he says, watching me closely. "And I played it off earlier, but let’s be real. I don’t know many professors who would fly out a student’s parents. Or let their student call them by their first name."

His words sink into me like stones.

Slowly, I straighten, finally tuning in to the conversation.

Will’s expression is unreadable as he studies me.

"How long?"

My stomach tightens.

"How long have you been seeing my daughter?"

The question lands like a hammer, the weight of it pressing down on my chest.

I take a shallow breath, trying to play it off. "I don’t-"

"Spare me," he sighs. "Before you back yourself into a corner and try to talk your way out, just give me clarity."

There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but his voice is firm.

I exhale, my jaw tight. "Since the school year started."

Will nods slowly, letting the words settle between us.

Then, after a beat, "Was there anyone before her?"

"No." I don’t let him finish the thought. "There will only ever be her."

He watches me carefully.

I know what he’s thinking. That I’m fucked up, that maybe I get some sick power trip out of this.

So I cut to the chase.

"I know how this looks," I admit. "I know what you’re probably thinking. But I didn’t take this job to fall in love with one of my students."

Will’s brows crease slightly, but he stays quiet.

I press on. "I took this job to get away from a family that was breaking me down, day in and day out. I was drowning in a life I wanted nothing to do with, ready to slip into my own miserable existence."

A pause.

"But then?" Will prompts.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. "Then I met your daughter. And, God, I didn’t want to feel how I did."

Will leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. "You want to know something?" he mutters. "Something cancer has taught me?"

I brace myself.

"Nothing is ever black and white," he says, letting out a dry laugh. "You see, I knew my baby girl was struggling with my diagnosis. Knew she was distancing herself, so I made a trip to campus earlier this year."

My brows knit together.

"She didn’t know about it," he adds.

I stare at him.

"I knew Eden Briar from my time here," Will continues. "And I asked her to keep an eye on Ana for me. When she told me she suspected my daughter was involved with a professor, I was livid. Hell, I wanted to rip you apart."

My pulse quickens. Where is this going?

Will watches me, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "But then… I saw you."

My breath stills.

"You and her. Just walking through the courtyard, talking about one of her reports. I was ready to hobble over and tackle you with what little strength I had left."

Then, something shifts in his face.

A smile.

"But then I saw her smile. And, God… I hadn’t seen her smile like that in ages." His voice turns softer, almost distant. "She looked at you like the world started and ended with you. And you looked at her like life itself relied on her."

I swallow, my throat tight.

"And that’s when I had to sit back and reflect." He exhales, shaking his head. "Because, in the end… I’m no better than you."

"What?" I frown.

Will glances over his shoulder. Across the courtyard, Ana’s mother stands among Elijah and Megan’s parents, laughing, her presence vibrant, alive.

He looks back at me.

"Ana’s mother," he says, voice quieter. "She used to be one of my students."

The air shifts.

The world stills.

My heart slams against my ribs.

"Your student?" I whisper.

Will nods, his expression unreadable.

And suddenly—everything makes sense.

Will nods, his expression thoughtful as he shrugs.

"Nothing happened between us until after she graduated," he admits. "Though… I can’t say there weren’t moments where my professionalism slipped. Where my love for her got the best of me."

His voice is calm and steady, but there’s something nostalgic in it.

"I resigned the moment I realized I was in love with her," he continues. "Only came back once she was gone. Our marriage happened pretty quickly after she graduated, and, man, I do not regret a single second of it."

I blink, trying to process. "Ana never said-"

Will chuckles. "She doesn’t know.

The words catch me off guard.

"But I think I’m telling you all of this because I need to know," he says, leveling me with a look. "Will you resign? Do you love my daughter enough to put this career on hold to be with her?"

There’s no hesitation.

I meet his gaze, my voice steady. "I already gave the dean my resignation letter this morning."

Will’s brows lift slightly, but he says nothing, letting me continue.

"I thought I was staying here to protect her," I admit. "But in reality, I was only hindering her college experience. Holding her back."

Will studies me for a moment before reaching out, clapping a firm hand on my shoulder. He gives it a squeeze.

"Does she know?"

I exhale. "I haven’t had the chance to tell her yet." I rub the back of my neck. "I just wanted her to have one good night. No drama, no fear, just peace."

Will smiles knowingly. "And that’s why you flew me and my wife out here."

It’s not a question. It’s a realization.

"For Ana."

I nod, releasing a quiet breath. "I have a feeling there won’t ever be another thing I do that isn’t for her."

And I mean it.

Every. Single. Word.

"Well then," Will chuckles. "I can spare you the ‘if you don’t resign, we have issues’ speech."

His lighthearted tone makes me exhale, just a little.

"But," he continues, "I did have one more question for you. My treatments… they were drowning us in debt, making it impossible to keep up with, but-"

Before he can finish, a familiar voice cuts through the conversation.

"Sorry to interrupt."

Roman’s deep timbre carries over the noise of the party, commanding attention. "Can I steal Noah here for a moment?"

Will glances at him, then over at his wife, deliberating. Finally, he nods, his smile easy. "We can pick this conversation up another time."

His eyes flick back to me, expression softer now. "Have a great night. Tell Ana her mother and I will be waiting for her."

With that, he excuses himself, leaving behind a string of unanswered questions and revelations I’m not sure I’m ready to unpack.

I turn to face Roman. His arms are crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Dad knows?" he laughs, clearly amused.

I narrow my eyes. "I resigned."

Roman nods, unfazed. "I know." His smirk deepens. "Took you long enough."

"So all those threats-" I scoff.

"Were my way of keeping you from doing something stupid," Roman interrupts smoothly. "Staying in a job that hinders your relationship with someone you love? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone."

For the first time, I see something different in him. Something human.

Roman must notice, because he shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "But don’t take that as me suddenly being on your side. You’ve got a lot of fucked up shit to make up for."

I let out a humorless chuckle. "Are you just going to keep berating me, or is there an actual reason you’re here and not with Eden?"

"I’ve got an offer for you, Noah," Roman growls, his voice low and deliberate. "One you’ll want to listen to carefully."

I meet his stare, standing my ground.

"An offer?" I echo, my voice quiet but firm.

Roman tilts his head. "Tell me, Noah, how much do you know about cops?"

I shrug, trying to read where he’s going with this. "I know they hate me."

He smirks. "Did you know that as part of a rookie’s training, they’re tasked with getting an I.T.?"

I narrow my eyes. "I.T.?"

"An Informant Turned," he explains. "A crooked criminal looking to avoid cuffs. Someone willing to sell intel to the cops in exchange for staying out of jail."

And just like that, I see exactly where this is going.

My fists tighten. "You want me to be your rat?" I hiss.

Roman’s smirk widens, but his voice remains steady. "Rat? No. Unlike the cops, I don’t want you feeding me scraps of information from the sidelines. I want you in, full time. I want you to work undercover for Catalyst, using your connections to bring down crooked families just like your own."

His words hit like a slow-burning realization.

"You have knowledge I’ll never have," he continues, his gaze sharp. "You’ve lived the lifestyle I’m trying to dismantle. That kind of insight is rare. I’d be a fool not to use it."

"What’s the catch?" I grit out.

Roman lets out a humorless chuckle. "There is no catch, Noah. You come work for me, get paid handsomely to take down the kind of sick bastards your father bred. You do the work the government is too scared to handle. And in return?"

He takes a step closer, his voice dropping lower.

"Me and all my resources help take care of your little problem with your brother."

I clench my jaw.

"You get to live a life with Ana," Roman adds, pressing the final piece into place. "And every night, when you go to bed, you’ll know you’re doing something to keep her safe."

The weight of it settles over me like a lead blanket.

My hands curl into fists. "So… undercover work?"

Roman scoffs. "Don’t tell me you can’t act."

His smirk is razor-sharp. "You lied to everyone about you and Ana with a smile on your face. I’m sure you can slip right back into those Antonov shoes and get me the intel I need to make this world a little less dirty."

"So what?" I mutter. "You offer me the job, and that’s it-"

Roman exhales, shaking his head. "You’ll have to meet my boss first."

Something in his tone shifts.

A name surfaces in my mind before he even says it.

Echo.

The faceless name that every person in my family’s world fears.

Roman catches the flicker of recognition on my face and grins.

"Ah," he muses, satisfaction lacing his voice. "So you are aware of who my boss is."

"I’d be a fool not to," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of the party. "Echo is one of the most nefarious thorns in any crime family’s side-"

Roman cuts me off with a knowing smirk. "Then you understand the opportunity I’m giving you is a one-time offer."

His words carry weight, the kind that settles deep in my chest.

"Echo doesn’t take kindly to criminals in his inner circle," he continues. "He’s choosing to trust my judgment, and I’m choosing to trust that your love for Ana is as genuine as it looks."

Then, he holds out his hand.

I stare at it—rough, calloused, steady. A symbol of power. A line drawn in the sand.

"Shake my hand now, Noah," he says, voice even, "and I make all your problems go away."

He pauses, letting the moment settle before adding, "But walk away and you’ll know very soon what the inside of a cell looks like."

The air shifts.

His voice drops lower, just enough to send ice through my veins.

"And Ana becomes my problem… for my wife’s sake."

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. "You’re lucky Eden has taken such a liking to the girl."

My jaw tightens. My pulse hammers.

Roman’s hand remains extended, his words digging in, sinking deep into my mind.

This is it.

A choice. A line.

I exhale sharply. "If I shake your hand now, you ensure Ana’s safety?"

Roman chuckles, shaking his head. "Ensure? No, Noah." His eyes lock onto mine, unrelenting. "You would be ensuring her safety."

A pause.

Then, a smirk. "You may think a life of crime is the only way to survive, but I guarantee you, life on the other side is a hell of a lot more rewarding."

The weight of the moment presses down on me.

And still, his hand waits.

God.

Please, let this be the right decision.

I grip his hand, hard. Not just accepting the deal, claiming my place in it. I pull him in slightly, refusing to let him exert all the authority.

Roman doesn’t flinch. Instead, he grins, that knowing, condescending smirk, like I’m a kid who just learned how to play the game. His grip tightens, unyielding.

"We’ll be speaking soon about the details," he murmurs, his voice low, deliberate. "Keep your eyes wide open tonight, your work began the second you shook my hand."

The weight of those words settles.

"Walker, Cole, and Jake are all in one place tonight," he continues. "If all goes according to plan, my men will have them in cuffs for the murder of Levi Trace by the end of the night."

I exhale slowly, letting the reality of it sink in.

"And you," Roman adds, tilting his head, "will do your due diligence and step back into your brother’s role. I want the whole Antonov empire on its knees, and you will ensure it happens."

I nod once, jaw tight.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch her.

Eden.

She stands a few feet away, waving Roman over with a look I know all too well, biting her lip, eyes flicking toward the building.

She wants him.

And for the first time since I’ve known him, Roman looks flustered.

Clearing his throat, he barely spares me another glance. "Excuse me," he mutters. "My wife needs me."

He starts to step away.

But I grab his wrist.

He stops. His gaze flicks back to mine.

"Tonight," I whisper, voice steady, "we make them all go away?"

Roman studies me. Then, slowly, his lips curl into a wicked grin.

"That," he says, "and so much more."

A pause.

A final moment of weight between us.

Then...

"Welcome to Catalyst, Noah."

Chapter 33

Anastasia

Jake drags me along, his grip like a vice, his fingers tangled in my hair so tight it sends jolts of pain down my spine. The wounds he’s already inflicted bleed freely, warm rivulets trickling down my skin.

He takes a path no one would, one slick with mud and shadows, where the looming chill of winter settles in. My heels sink into the soft earth, caking in thick layers of filth with every stumbling step.

Stay calm.

I force myself to rationalize, to analyze every detail, every possible way out.

"I’m following you," I hiss, my voice raw, shaking. "The least you can do is ease up."

Jake laughs, the sound slicing through the cold air. His grip tightens instead.

"What’s the fun in that?" His voice slithers into my ear, smug, grating. "I know you like it rough, Ana. Can’t both brothers have a go?"

Bile rises in my throat.

Then, I see them.

My stomach drops.

Cole and Walker linger beside a blacked-out Porsche, leaning against the vehicle like this is casual, like they’re waiting for a business deal to go through. But I see it, the unmistakable bulge of guns tucked into their waistbands.

Fuck.

This is bad.

Jake yanks me forward, stumbling as I approach them. The Porsche is parked away from the school, tucked into the shadows, hidden by the sea of cars filling the lot.

"Holy fucking shit," Walker laughs, his eyes gleaming. "You actually got her away from him-"

I snap.

Swinging my leg out, I kick Walker square in the crotch, watching with satisfaction as his laughter twists into agony.

He doubles over, groaning, his face contorted in pain. Good.

A smirk tugs at my lips. I gear up for another strike-

Too slow.

"You stupid whore-"

Cole grabs me by the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair before slamming my face against the hood of the car.

Stars explode in my vision.

The world spins, pain crashing through me, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache.

My cheek burns against the cold metal, my breath fogging against the surface as Cole’s weight pins me down. His grip is relentless, pressing into my neck, my lower back, keeping me trapped.

Behind me, Walker groans from the ground. "I-I should fucking cut you for that-"

"Don’t whine because a woman got the upper hand on you," Jake scoffs. "At least Cole knows how to handle her."

Handle me.

Jake’s words crawl under my skin like poison, but then, a new sensation.

His hand.

Sliding down my back. Lower.

His fingers skim the curve of my ass, and my stomach twists.

I want to scream. Vomit.

"I’m curious," Cole murmurs, his voice like rusted metal. "Is that ass of yours still nice, Ana?"

No. No, no, no-

"W-where the hell is your whore?" I snap, trying to twist away.

Cole sighs, almost bored. "If all is going to plan? Keeping Noah and Roman distracted."

Jake chuckles. "No one would expect us to take you with so many people around," he muses. "That’s the beauty of it."

I thrash, but Cole shoves me back down, my ribs aching against the car’s unforgiving frame. His fingers tug at the bottom of my dress.

"Get your fucking hands off me-"

The slam is harder this time.

Pain rockets through my skull, my vision blurring. I taste blood, metallic and thick, coating my tongue.

Jake laughs. "Might as well have a look."

Their hands move.

Tearing fabric. Tugging at the hem.

No. No, no, no.

I writhe, kick, fight, but I can’t break free.

They lift my dress.

Cold air brushes over my exposed skin.

Nothing but a thin layer of white lace separates me from them. The kind of lace Noah would have loved. The kind that was meant for him.

Not this.

"Fucking whore-" Walker snarls, his hand striking my ass so hard that the impact shudders through my body.

A yelp rips from my throat, but Cole is faster. His palm clamps over my mouth, silencing me.

"Now, now, Walker," Jake murmurs, amused. "Can’t ruin all of her."

Something in his tone makes my blood turn to ice.

Then, he shifts behind me.

His hands tighten on my hips.

His crotch presses against me, the fabric of his pants brushing against my bare skin.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t-

"I could have my way with you right now," Jake murmurs, his lips dangerously close to my ear.

My chest tightens.

"I could send Noah a photo," he muses. "Make him regret ever crossing me."

A threat. A promise.

The tears fall freely now.

I have to find a way out of this.

I have to fight.

"But," Jake laughs, the sound crawling under my skin like something vile. "Perhaps I’ll have my fun when we’re all alone."

His voice is mocking, taunting, a sick game only he is playing.

Then, just as quickly as it began, he yanks my dress back down, smoothing the fabric over my skin like he’s doing me some kind of favor.

"Give me the zip ties," he snaps.

Cole’s grip on my head eases, his fingers finally releasing their brutal hold. I gasp for air, the relief fleeting, because the moment I turn to face them, Jake is waiting.

Smiling.

Enjoying this.

Cole tosses him a pair of zip ties, and Jake grabs my wrists without hesitation, forcing them together before pulling the plastic tight. The sharp bite of the restraints digs into my skin, cutting off circulation, but his hands don’t stop there.

He searches me, fingers dragging over my body in a way that makes my stomach churn. A shudder runs through me, bile rising in my throat as his hands skim over every inch, looking for something.

Then, he stops.

"Your phone?" Jake snarls, his eyes narrowing.

I hesitate, but only for a second.

"Noah has it," I whisper, forcing the lie from my lips as smoothly as I can. "I gave it to him when I went to the bathroom."

Good.

He doesn’t know.

He hasn’t realized.

My phone is still in his pocket.

Jake watches me carefully, his head tilting slightly, waiting for a tell...a crack in my story.

Then, slowly, he grins.

"Perfect," he murmurs, his satisfaction bleeding into his tone. "Then I won’t have to worry about you getting in my way."

The zip ties dig deeper into my wrists.

My pulse pounds.

What the hell is his plan for me?

Jake swings open the passenger-side door of the Porsche, his eyes flicking to the seat like it’s some kind of prize. Like I should be grateful for the privilege of getting inside.

"Get in," he hisses.

I don’t move.

His jaw tightens. "Do it without giving me lip, and I won’t have to put a bullet in your leg to get you to cooperate."

A fresh wave of nausea rolls through me.

My stomach churns as I stare at the open door, my pulse hammering in my ears.

"What are you going to do to me?" I whisper, barely able to keep the tremor from my voice.

Jake grins. Slow and cruel.

"What am I going to do?" he echoes, taking a step closer.

Before I can react, his fingers grip my chin, forcing my head up until my eyes lock onto his. His gaze is dark, vicious, his smirk curling like smoke.

"I’m going to make my brother regret ever crossing me," he purrs. "With the one thing on this earth he truly loves."

My stomach drops.

I don’t get the chance to react before I feel Cole move behind me. His breath is warm against my skin, his lips grazing my ear.

"Where is your teacher now, Anastasia?" he taunts.

A chill runs down my spine.

I suck in a breath, steeling myself, keeping my voice steady.

"Noah will find you."

Jake tilts his head, amused. "Maybe," he allows.

Then his smirk darkens.

"But by then, it will be too late for you."

And before I can fight, before I can scream, before I can run, they shove me inside the car.

The door slams shut.

And the world outside disappears.

Chapter 34

Noah

Caught up in the conversations I’ve shared with Will and Roman, a harsh reality gnaws at me.

It’s been twenty minutes. Ana hasn’t returned with the drinks for her father and me.

Panic starts to creep in as my eyes dart over the crowd, searching for any sign of her green dress. Instead, something else makes my stomach drop.

Cole, Walker, and Jake are gone.

Their families stand alone, glancing around anxiously, searching, just as I am.

A sharp unease grips me as I push through the crowd of people, weaving between clusters of conversation. My pulse hammers in my ears when I spot Megan and Elijah. Without hesitation, I cut into their exchange with their parents.

"Sorry to interrupt," I whisper, my voice hushed but urgent. "I’m your kids’ English teacher, and I was hoping to discuss their recent reports before the night gets away from me."

Elijah and Megan exchange a look, catching the hint despite their parents’ puzzled expressions.

"It’ll only take a second," Elijah says smoothly, flashing a polite smile as he steers Megan away from their families and toward me.

The moment we’re clear, Megan rounds on me, her tone sharp. "Care to explain?"

I don’t have time for her attitude.

"Was Ana with you guys?" I demand.

Their shared look of confusion sets my nerves even further on edge.

"No," Elijah murmurs, glancing at Megan. "Her parents were talking with ours, but they couldn’t seem to spot her in the crowd. Meg and I figured she was with you somewhere, as much as we wish she wasn’t-"

"You haven’t seen her at all?" I press, urgency slipping into my voice.

Megan scoffs, arms crossing over her chest. "I thought I saw her by the drink table a little while ago. She was talking to your brother, the guy from the bar-"

Her voice fades.

My heart slams against my ribs.

I don’t wait for her to finish. My hand is already in my pocket, pulling out my phone as I turn away.

My finger trembles as I scroll through my contacts and press his name.

The ringing stretches on, each second tightening the knot in my stomach. When he finally picks up, my breath catches.

"I was wondering when I’d get your call," Jake drawls, his voice dripping with malice.

"N-Noah?" Ana’s voice trembles on the other end, raw with fear. Every defensive instinct in me ignites.

"Is that Noah-"

"I told you to keep your mouth shut!" Jake snarls.

Ana yelps. The sound sends a bolt of terror through me.

"Don’t you fucking dare hurt her-" I hiss.

"Already have," Jake sneers. "And I’ll keep going if you don’t listen."

My jaw locks as I scan the crowd, desperate for a glimpse of Roman, hoping he’s finished whatever the hell he and Eden disappeared to do.

"You have my attention," I snap. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I told you what would happen if you didn’t listen to me," he says smoothly. "Ana is clearly a distraction-"

"Don’t listen to him, Noah-" Ana cuts in, her voice urgent.

"Alright," Jake muses. "Clearly, you need a lesson."

"Jake-" I try to stop him, but Ana’s scream rips through the phone.

A cold, suffocating dread settles over me.

"A knife to the thigh should be sufficient," Jake says, almost gleeful. Ana’s agonized sobs shred me apart.

"What the fuck do you want?" I force out, my voice raw. "You want to punish me? Fine. Bring Ana back and take me instead-"

"Now, now, Noah," Jake sighs, as if I’ve disappointed him. "No one gets what they want with her alive."

"You said-"

"You didn’t stay in line." His tone sharpens, razor-edged. "Any promise I made to you was void the moment you thought you could go behind my back. Antonovs don’t love. We hunt. You should be thanking me for getting rid of your distraction."

Stumbling out of the building with a smug grin, Roman adjusts his pants while Eden wipes her mouth, her lips curling in satisfaction. I don’t give him the chance to speak. Waving him down, I close the distance between us.

"So," I whisper, forcing myself to block out Ana’s muffled cries. "Should I assume Cole and Walker are with you too?" My voice is sharp, venomous.

Jake chuckles, the sound crawling under my skin. "They should be here soon," he says easily. "Sadly, your lover’s little escapade fucked over more than just you and me. I figured we should all get a chance to say our proper goodbyes."

I stop in front of Roman, who instantly picks up on my urgency. Eden takes the hint, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping away. Without a word, I switch the call to speaker, letting Roman in on the conversation.

"Where are you taking her?" I demand, my grip tightening around the phone.

"Somewhere you’ll never find the body," Jake sighs, as if he’s already bored. "Though, with this snow coming in, she might stay fresh enough for an open-casket funeral."

Ana’s breath hitches. "M-my parents," she whimpers. "My-"

"They’re fine, right, Noah?" Jake taunts.

My eyes scan the crowd frantically until I spot her parents. They’re smiling, completely unaware, as Will laughs with a group of old coworkers.

"They’re safe, Princess," I whisper, forcing calm into my voice. "And you will be too. I’m coming for you-"

"Lying to the lady, Noah?" Jake cackles. "God, you really are one pathetic fucking liar."

Roman doesn’t hesitate. Scrolling through his phone, he fires off a barrage of texts, his eyes locked in hyper-focus. Then, finally, he speaks.

"Jake Antonov," Roman says smoothly. "You’ve really gone and made a mess of things, haven’t you?"

The line goes dead silent.

Only Ana’s agonized sobs fill the void.

Then...

"R-Roman Briar," Jake whispers.

Did… did Jake just stutter?

"Oh, don’t go quiet now, kid. You were doing so well hurling threats at Noah." Roman’s voice is smooth, deadly. "Tell me, how long did you plan to creep under my nose? Hmm? Bringing my wife’s name into your petty quarrels…"

His tone darkens, the weight of his words pressing like a blade against flesh. "I’ve cut out men’s tongues for far less. You should know by now, only one man says my wife’s name, and that’s me. Tread carefully. The next thing you say determines how slowly I kill you."

Cold. Unforgiving. The Roman Briar standing before me now is the kind of man who could make even the most ruthless tremble.

"So… my brother has involved himself in Catalyst," Jake sneers, though his bravado wavers. "Is Echo with you too-"

"Echo is where he needs to be," Roman smirks. "In the shadows, lurking, waiting to take down men far worse than you."

Ana’s cries grow louder, slicing through the moment like a blade. I feel Roman stiffen beside me. Even his cold, calculating exterior fractures under the sound.

"You’ve already banged her up, Jake," Roman says, voice low with restrained fury. "Which, honestly, you’ll be lucky if your brother doesn’t slit your throat the second he sees you-"

"Sees me?" Jake scoffs. "There’s no way you, or anyone else, is going to get to Ana in time. Her phone is with Noah. Her body is already damaged-"

With me?

My stomach turns.

I don’t have her damn phone.

"Maybe she can try and outrun us in the woods," Jake sighs mockingly. "But with the snow already coming down, I’d say what you hear now is the last you’ll ever hear of Anastasia Burns."

Something inside me snaps.

I yank the phone from Roman’s hand. "Listen here, you sick fuck. If you lay another finger on her-"

"You’ll what?" Jake laughs, pure malice dripping from every word. "Avenge her?" He tsks. "Once Walker and Cole have had their fun with her, I’ll make sure what happens next is… smooth. Painless." His voice drops into something dark and final. "It’s a pity you used Roman Briar to betray me. Hopefully, after tonight, you’ll learn what happens when you cross blood-"

"Jake-"

"Goodbye now."

Ana’s screams escalate. My blood turns to ice.

"Jake, fucking wait-"

The line goes dead.

My world tilts.

A surge of pure rage explodes through me, and I drive my fist into the rough bark of a tree settled next to me. A few heads turn, but I don’t care. My hands rake through my hair, my pulse hammering as Roman stays glued to his phone, fingers moving rapidly.

"What the hell could be so important?" I snap, my voice low and edged with frustration.

"My men got a lead on Walker and Cole’s car," Roman mutters, still typing. "They’re trying to pin down where it went after it left the lot. Jake was smart, he used them as a diversion so he could slip away with Ana."

My stomach twists.

Her phone.

She said I had her phone.

Frantically, I scroll through my screen, tapping into Find My iPhone. My heart pounds as I pray there’s a reason Jake said that. That Ana left me a way to find her.

Roman finally looks up. "What the hell are you doing now?"

"Jake said I had Ana’s phone," I murmur, my fingers shaking as I navigate the app. "I don’t. But she must’ve hidden it somewhere, knowing he was going to try something-"

The tracking map loads. My breath catches.

"Her phone is in the car with them," I whisper.

The dot moves, creeping closer and closer toward the outskirts of Spokehaven.

A chill runs down my spine.

The wooded area beyond Spokehaven, secluded, untouched, meant for future developments, far away from the public. The perfect place to make someone disappear.

Roman leans in, eyes locking onto my screen, narrowing as he pieces it together.

"My men say it looks like Cole and Walker ditched their car and ran into the woods," Roman says, his tone dark, calculated. "They must be trying to meet up with Jake, to finish what they started."

A cold dread coils in my gut. Time is slipping away. Every second we waste puts Ana closer to whatever twisted fate Jake has planned for her.

"We have to get there," I snap, urgency lacing my words. "Your men won’t make it in time. They don’t have her location-"

"I know," Roman murmurs, his voice dangerously quiet.

Controlled. Precise. Lethal.

With an ease that speaks to years of experience, he pulls out his Glock. The metallic click of the magazine sliding free echoes between us. He counts the bullets with a practiced flick of his fingers, his face void of anything but steely focus. Satisfied, he pops the mag back in, pulls back the slide, and chambers a round.

Then, without a word, he reaches down, retrieving a smaller gun from an ankle holster. He extends it to me, grip first—a silent offering, a gesture that seals our course of action.

No hesitation. No questions. Just cold, relentless determination.

His own weapon disappears back beneath his jacket as he tilts his head slightly, smirking.

"Care for a drive?" His tone is light, but his eyes burn with something darker, something merciless.

I take the pistol, its weight solid in my hands, its meaning heavier. Tucking it securely into my waistband, I let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Lead the fucking way."

We stride toward the parking lot, each step propelling us closer to the inevitable confrontation. The crowd hums with chatter, laughter, and the blissful ignorance of people who have no idea what’s unfolding.

For the briefest second, my gaze locks with Will’s across the sea of bodies. His expression is tight, unreadable, but I don’t have time to decipher it.

Adrenaline thrums in my veins, pulsing with a singular purpose.

There is no room for doubt. No room for failure.

There is only one thing that matters now.

Finding Jake.

Saving Ana.

And making them all pay.

Chapter 35

Anastasia

Wrists bound, I stare down the barrel of the gun Jake has pointed at me, his free hand gripping the wheel as he drives us further from the university, further into the night. The dense forest ahead looms closer, its dark silhouette stretching endlessly against the horizon. My throat goes dry.

He still hasn’t noticed my phone.

Pain radiates from the dagger lodged deep in my thigh, my skin searing with every shift of the car. Blood soaks into my dress, warm and sticky, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins is the only thing keeping me from slipping into unconsciousness.

"You know," Jake muses, his tone almost casual, "I'm almost impressed Noah was able to score you. I mean, I know he’s good-looking, but could he really be pleasing you so well that you willingly threw your life away for him?"

Still reeling from the blow Jake landed across my face earlier, I taste dried blood on my lips. My heart hammers against my ribcage, but I lift my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze.

"You’d be surprised what people are willing to do for the ones they love," I hiss, voice hoarse but defiant. "I know that concept is foreign to you-"

The gun cracks against my cheek before I can finish, splitting my skin open with a sharp sting. The metallic taste floods my mouth as fresh blood trails down my face.

"I told you to be careful how you speak to me, Anastasia," Jake warns, his voice sharp as a blade. "That mouth of yours is going to be the fine line between an easy death or a very painful one."

The word death lingers in the air, a ghost pressing against my chest.

I tense. Every ache, every wound suddenly feels irrelevant.

"You’re going to kill me?" I whisper, not sure if I even want the answer.

Jake exhales, as if my question exhausts him. "It was all so simple. Pin the murder on you after we got what we needed from Noah. Use you as leverage. But no, you had to go and give my cold-hearted brother something ridiculous like a conscience." His grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. "So, I had to exhaust my next best option. Get my brother back in line. Cover my people’s asses."

A smirk stretches across his face, chilling and cruel.

"Planning your suicide was the easiest part."

A cold, trembling horror grips my entire body.

"You were drowning in guilt over Levi. Guilt over what you did. Cole tried to talk you down, tried to get you to turn yourself in at the party, but in the end, it was all too much. You took matters into your own hands."

I glare at the gun, my vision blurring as the weight of his words crashes over me.

"You’re going to kill me with it," I whisper. "Aren’t you?"

Jake’s smile widens.

"There we go, Ana. Now you’re getting it."

Fear coils around my throat, strangling me. I turn my gaze outside, watching the snow start to fall, coating the ground in a thin, undisturbed layer. My thoughts spiral, every mistake, every regret flashing before me.

But through it all, one thing stands out. One undeniable truth.

I love Noah.

And now I may never see him again.

Tears slip down my face, burning against the fresh wound on my cheek. Dread suffocates me, the lingering presence of death breathing down my neck.

"And my dad?" My voice shakes. "My mom? Is that why Walker and Cole stayed back? To kill them-"

"Only if you didn’t cooperate, love," Jake says, his tone suddenly clipped. "But you got in the car, didn’t you?" He glances at me through the rearview mirror, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Which means Cole and Walker shouldn’t be far behind us."

His grip on the wheel tightens.

"For this to work, we all need to be there for your suicide."

The finality in his voice sends ice through my veins.

I am running out of time.

"That kid," Jake sighs, shaking his head as he grabs a phone from the side door. The way he says it, so casual and dismissive, sends a chill up my spine.

With a flick of his wrist, he tosses the phone onto the dashboard. My stomach knots as I recognize the childish case.

"That kid could’ve walked away alive that night," Jake mutters, almost thoughtful. Then his voice hardens. "If only he hadn’t recorded my deal."

My breath catches.

"That’s Levi’s phone?" I whisper.

Jake hums in confirmation, tapping his fingers idly against the wheel. "Mhm. After Cole gave him a good tap, Walker and I retrieved it. Incriminating as hell at the time, but now…"

He snatches the phone back up and tosses it into my lap.

"It’s the very thing that’s going to pin his entire death on you."

A sickening weight settles in my stomach. The screen is dark, but even through the glass, I can see it, his dried blood, smeared and flaking along the edges.

I swallow hard, my grip tightening around the device.

"All of this?" I rasp. "All of this because you were scared a child would speak up about your crimes?"

Jake scoffs, his fingers tapping against the wheel again. "The video was incriminating," he says, as if it’s obvious. "That’s why the phone is wiped now. To authorities, it’ll just look like you took a little token to remember your kill."

My vision tunnels.

He’s not just framing me, he’s erasing Levi.

Erasing the truth.

And unless I find a way out of this, no one will ever know what really happened.

"How could you hate your own brother so much," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the hum of the car. "That you were willing to do all of this just to prove a point?"

Jake exhales through his nose, fingers tightening around the steering wheel.

"You clearly know nothing about the kind of man our father was," he murmurs, his tone laced with something dark, something almost resentful. "Our father was ruthless. Always choosing Noah, no matter how hard I tried. You think the scars on his neck were bad?" He lets out a humorless chuckle. "Imagine having them all over your body, simply because you couldn’t keep up with your older brother."

My stomach twists.

"And your mother?" I press, hoping, praying, that there's still some shred of humanity left in him.

Jake’s jaw tenses. His eyes twitch.

"She died… of cancer. I was ten. Noah was fourteen." His voice is quieter now, distant, as if he’s slipping into a memory he doesn’t want to relive. "After that my dad pulled us into the family business. He didn’t know how to cope with the loss." A bitter smirk ghosts across his lips. "My mother was the only woman that man ever truly loved."

"So he turned cold," I whisper.

Jake nods once, fingers drumming against the wheel. "And dragged us down with him."

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle into my bones. There’s something here. A fracture in the mask he wears.

Trying to tap into whatever is left of his humanity, I clear my throat.

"You loved your mother?" I ask, my voice softer now.

Jake’s grip tightens. His lips part slightly before he answers, his voice quieter, rawer.

"Almost as much as my father did," he admits. "Almost as much as Noah."

For a fleeting moment, his gaze flickers, lost in something unspoken, something he won’t allow himself to feel.

But then, just as quickly, he shakes his head, pulling himself back from the edge of that thought. His expression hardens.

"But she’s gone now," he mutters. "And my father’s work still needs to be done."

The moment is over.

And whatever shred of humanity I thought I saw in him vanishes.

"I don’t want to die," I whisper, my breath trembling as it fogs against the icy air.

The words feel foreign, like they belong to someone else. Someone weak. Someone who isn't me.

But they’re mine.

"I don’t want my life to end before it’s even begun," I hiss, my gaze locking onto the road ahead, already slick with ice, already a death trap waiting to be triggered.

Snow falls harder now, thickening into an unforgiving storm. The party is surely inside by now, warm and untouched by the nightmare unfolding here.

I hope my father isn’t feeling ill.

I hope my mother kept those pictures, capturing moments she didn't know were our last.

I hope-

"You don’t get a choice in what happens to you, Ana," Jake mutters, his voice disturbingly even, like he’s discussing something as trivial as the weather. His grip on the wheel is firm, confident, like a man in control of fate itself. "For what it’s worth, I’ll make your death smooth… painless. Whatever Cole and Walker decide to do to you after you’re gone, well-" He exhales, as if he’s already bored with the conversation. "You won’t feel a thing."

My stomach lurches.

This is bad. This is so fucking bad.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough for the memories to rush in. My father’s arms wrapping around me, warm and strong, the scent of his cologne grounding me in safety. My mother’s laughter, the way she’d insist on just one more picture, even after a hundred had been taken.

Noah.

His hands on my skin, his lips against mine. The way he looks at me, like I’m something worth fighting for.

But I won’t get any of that, will I?

I won’t get-

A rustling sound breaks through my spiraling thoughts.

Jake snarls. "What the fuck?"

His hand jerks to his coat pocket. His brows furrow in confusion before his eyes go wide, wilder and more frantic than I've seen.

"What the fuck is this?"

He rips out my phone, his face twisting in disbelief.

His gun falters, just for a moment.

And in that moment, everything in my mind goes silent.

No more thinking. No more waiting.

No more fear.

"You planted this-"

No hesitation.

No mercy.

"Go to hell," I hiss.

With every ounce of strength I have left, I lunge forward, wrenching the wheel toward me. Hard.

Jake’s instincts kick in, his foot slams down on the brake, the car jerking violently. His gun flies from his grip, disappearing somewhere on the floorboard.

The tires skid, too much ice, no traction.

And then-

Everything turns to chaos.

The car lurches sideways, gravity shifting violently. My stomach drops. My pulse spikes. The world tips, then flips.

The first impact is brutal.

Glass shatters, the windows bursting under pressure. My body slams into the seatbelt, the force knocking the air from my lungs. My head cracks against the headrest, the sharp sting of pain blinding.

We roll.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Metal screams. The car twists and crumples around us.

Then, stillness.

For a moment, I don’t register anything but the deafening ringing in my ears. My own ragged breaths sound miles away.

Hanging upside down, my body sways slightly against the seatbelt, my arms numb, my legs screaming in protest. Blood drips from my forehead, trailing down my face, thick and warm.

Pain pulses everywhere. Sharp. Unforgiving.

Jake isn’t moving.

His head is slumped to the side, a fresh wound bleeding into his hairline. His eyes are shut, his body eerily still.

I don’t know if he’s dead.

I don’t care.

I have one chance.

Just one.

Swallowing the agony threatening to consume me, I reach for my seatbelt, my fingers slipping against the blood coating my hands. I take a deep breath, one last inhale before I commit to what happens next.

Then I press the release.

I plummet onto the shattered ceiling of the car, my leg seizing in agony the moment I hit the ground. A broken cry rips from my throat, but I bite it down.

No time for pain.

No time for anything.

The broken window ahead yawns open, cold air slipping through, a whisper of freedom just within reach.

Stay here… and die.

Or leave.

Fight.

Survive.

I steal one last glance at Jake, his unconscious form barely stirring.

Then, I make my choice.

Run.

Chapter 36

Noah

"What happens if we don’t get to her in time?" The question scrapes against my throat like broken glass, my grip tightening around my phone as I watch her location inch painfully closer. Too close. Too still.

Roman exhales sharply, his fingers clenching the steering wheel like a lifeline. His knuckles are white, his expression carved from stone.

"You can’t think like that. Not in this line of work," he mutters, voice low, controlled, too controlled.

"But Jake doesn’t play games," I snap, my pulse hammering against my ribs. "If he wants to hurt Ana, he will. And now we’re running on borrowed time-"

"If you go into this thinking she’s dead, you won’t think clearly," Roman cuts in, his tone edged with warning. "Jake is toying with you, getting into your head."

If only he knew how much it’s working.

Roman drives as fast as he dares, navigating the slick roads with razor-sharp focus. The tires hiss against patches of ice, but he doesn’t falter, his hands locked on the wheel, his gaze burning into the dark highway ahead.

"How far?" he growls, flipping on the comms to update his men.

"Only a mile or so," I whisper, swallowing hard. "She’s not moving."

I don’t want to think about why.

Roman curses under his breath, his jaw flexing as he presses harder on the gas.

"My men are close behind us," he says, his voice clipped, barely containing his fury. "Some are still combing the woods for Walker and Cole. Eden’s keeping an eye on Ana’s parents and friends, but she said she’s having trouble keeping them all at the school."

I drag a hand through my hair, the weight of this moment pressing down on me like a vice.

"Her dad wanted to follow," Roman adds.

I shake my head, my chest constricting.

"I can’t have him here," I grit out. My stomach twists at the thought of what we might find. "What the hell would happen if we find her and she’s-"

I can’t say it. The word lodges in my throat, suffocating me.

My voice drops to a raw whisper.

"God, it’s my fucking fault she got involved with my family. My fault my past came crashing into her life-"

"Like it or not," Roman says evenly, "your family and Ana were bound to collide. Levi’s death would’ve brought her back to the Antonovs one way or another. Be thankful she met you first and not Jake."

His words hit like a gut punch, but there’s no time to dwell on them. I grip my phone tighter, my entire body trembling with restrained rage.

"How can you be so fucking calm?" I snap, turning on him. "The woman I love might be dead, and you can barely crack an emotion-"

Roman’s gaze flicks toward me, cold and lethal.

"Because emotions get you killed," he says, his voice quiet but firm. "If it were Eden, hell, I’d be just as angry as you. I’d already have every resource at my disposal hunting these fuckers down. But one of us needs to keep our head."

His grip tightens on the wheel.

"Trust me when I say I know how it feels to put someone you love in a dangerous situation. But you losing it now?" His jaw clenches. "That won’t save her."

The silence that follows is deafening.

I suck in a breath, trying to suppress the overwhelming dread clawing at my chest. Ana’s location is just ahead.

And she’s still not moving.

"How do you live this life?" My voice barely rises above a whisper, my throat tight, raw. "How do you do what you do and then go home to Eden with a smile? To your daughter?"

For a moment, Roman doesn’t answer. His grip on the wheel remains firm, his gaze locked on the road ahead, unreadable. Then, finally, the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, barely there before it’s gone again.

"I’m making this world a better place for my girls," he murmurs, exhaling slowly. "Despite the chaos. Despite the madness. They see the world as good, as safe, because of the work I do. Those girls are my life." His voice softens, as if the weight of those words has the power to steady him. "I didn’t know true happiness until I met Eden. And fuck…" He lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, shaking his head. "When I met our daughter… there wasn’t a fire I wouldn’t walk through to keep them safe."

Something in my chest clenches.

"I never gave much thought to the idea of having kids," I admit, my voice quieter now, lost in the hum of the engine.

"Neither did I." Roman scoffs, but there’s something warm beneath it. "But having that part of Eden and myself…" He trails off for a second, his fingers flexing on the wheel. "There’s no way to describe it. I wake up every day wanting to be better...for both of them."

A small, unexpected laugh slips past my lips.

Roman’s eyes flick toward me. "What?" he growls, already suspicious.

I smirk. "Have you considered what you’re going to do when she’s old enough to date?"

Roman doesn’t even hesitate.

"For starters," he hisses, "keep her away from teachers that look like you."

Brutal.

But deserved.

I bark out a laugh. "And?"

"I don’t know." His tone darkens. "None of her boyfriends will live long enough to even shake my hand-"

His words cut off.

Both of us see it at the same time.

The brutal fucking wreckage.

The twisted metal, the glass glittering in the headlights like shattered stars. Smoke still rising in slow, curling tendrils from the flipped Porsche.

My stomach drops.

"It says she’s only a couple hundred feet ahead-"

No.

No. No. No.

Before Roman even has the chance to fully stop the car, I throw the door open and bolt.

My legs burn. My feet skid against the frozen ground. My breath is a vicious rasp in my throat as I sprint toward the wreckage, my hand already drawing my pistol.

Please. Please. Please.

Not her.

Not Ana.

Sliding to a stop in front of the wreckage, my heart hammers against my ribs. My gun is up, my teeth bared, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.

I peer inside the vehicle, my stomach plummeting.

No one’s inside.

Where is she?

The realization slams into me like a freight train, dread clawing at my insides.

The driver’s side is torn apart, glass shattered across the pavement, the air thick with the acrid scent of burnt rubber and gasoline. But no body. No Ana.

Roman jumps out, his own weapon raised as he scans the wreckage. We move quickly, clearing the vehicle, our eyes sweeping the area. And then...

Blood.

A trail of it. Leading into the forest.

"She ran," I whisper, tracking the booted footprints in the dirt. My chest tightens. "Jake went after her."

My legs coil, ready to run, but Roman throws up a hand, blocking me.

"Wait, my men are almost here-"

The gunshot rips through the air.

A single, deafening crack.

Everything Roman was about to say doesn’t fucking matter anymore.

My breath catches, just for a second. Then instinct takes over.

I shove past him, sprinting into the woods.

Branches whip against my face, the cold burning my lungs, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Because if I lose Ana.

If Jake killed her.

I will gladly take his life and end it all.

Because that future.

That life Roman fought for.

I need it.

I want it.

But there is no point to life if Anastasia Burns is not in it.

Chapter 37

Anastasia

Run.

Hide.

Fight.

Dragging myself out through the shattered window of the overturned vehicle, glass slices into my palms, embedding itself in my skin. Pain flashes white-hot through my thigh as the knife lodged deep shifts with every desperate inch I crawl. My breath comes in sharp gasps, fogging in the frigid night air.

Gritting my teeth, I drag my bound wrists over the jagged shards of the shattered window. Pain flares as the glass bites into my skin, but I press harder, grinding the zip ties against the serrated edges.

Come on. Come on.

The plastic resists, tight and unyielding, digging deeper into my already bruised and swollen flesh. Blood slicks my fingers, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

Snap.

The zip ties give way, splitting apart. My arms jerk forward, freed, though agony pulses through my wrists, skin raw and torn.

No time to dwell.

I flex my fingers, trying to force feeling back into them, my heart pounding with a single, unshakable thought.
Levi’s phone.
I fling it away, choking down the scream rising in my throat. No sound. No hesitation. Every move has to count. Blood drips freely from a gash on my forehead, blurring my vision in streaks of red. My hands tremble as I rip off my heels, throwing them aside. Useless. Slowing me down.
Stumbling, my legs barely hold me upright, but the woods—they're right there. My only chance.
Behind me, Jake groans. A slow, ragged inhale, then a shift of movement. My stomach knots.
He’s waking up.
"Ana," he hisses, voice slurred but laced with fury. “You fucking dumb cunt!”
The snap of his seatbelt unlatching. The scrape of his boots against the crushed metal.
Run.
A vicious scream rips from my throat as I force myself to my feet, yanking at my dress until I tear off a strip of fabric. Shaking fingers wrap it tight above the wound, the makeshift tourniquet barely holding the pain at bay. The knife stays in. I can’t risk pulling it out. Not yet.
I lurch forward, staggering into the snow-covered dirt, my bare feet sinking into the frozen ground. Cold wraps around me, biting deep, but there’s no time to feel it. No time to think.
Branches claw at my arms as I push into the forest, weaving between the trees. My breath is loud...too loud. My pulse pounds, drowning out everything else.
God, what do I do?
How do I signal someone?
Jake has my phone. He’ll know. He’ll know I planted my fucking phone on him, and now he’ll come after me even faster.
But I can’t think about that now.
All that matters is distance. I have to put as much space between us as possible.
Snow clings to my feet, burning against my skin, but I keep moving. The adrenaline won’t last forever. My body will give out soon. But not now.
Not until I’m safe.

Trying to keep a mental note of the direction I took, my blood betrays me, dark crimson splattering against the stark white of the snow.

Jake will follow.

He’ll track the trail with ease. He’ll know exactly where I went, and-

"Look at you."

I freeze. My breath catches.

The voice is smooth, laced with amusement, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it.

Stepping out from behind a tree, Cole emerges, eyes dark, unreadable. The blade in his hand gleams under the thin moonlight.

Fuck.

"Looks like Jake really did a number on her," another voice muses from behind me.

Walker.

I turn my head slightly, enough to see him. He stands with an easy stance, a small pistol resting comfortably in his grip. Not nervous. Not rushed. Both men are calm, confident. Armed.

I am bleeding. Weaponless. Barely standing.

Cole’s eyes flick around the clearing, scanning. "Where’s Jake?"

I force my shoulders to relax, my lips curling into a tired smile. "H-hopefully dead." My voice wavers, but I push through. "Maybe you can join him."

My fingers twitch, hovering near the hilt of the knife still buried in my thigh. Every pulse of pain is a reminder. It’s my only weapon. My only chance.

Cole smirks, but Walker steps in closer, gun angled lazily in my direction. "Now, now, Anastasia," he murmurs. "No need for such cruel talk before your final moments."

I exhale shakily, letting my body sag, throwing on my best look of defeat. My fingers curl tighter around the knife’s handle.

Let’s hope this tourniquet holds.

Walker sighs, shaking his head. "You know, I really did like you at one point. Could've fucked you real nice if you’d let me."

I swallow the revulsion curling in my gut. My eyes flick to his. Calculating. Measuring the distance.

"You know what the problem was with our night together, Walker?" I whisper, watching him take the bait, stepping closer.

Close enough to touch.

His lips twist into a smirk. "What’s that?"

"You fucked up my throat," I sneer. "Seems only fair I return the favor."

Confusion flashes across his face, but it’s already too late.

I strike.

My hand slams into his wrist, forcing the gun downward. Pain erupts as I rip the knife from my leg, my scream raw, vicious. Before Walker can react, I drive the blade forward, slashing deep across his throat.

His eyes go wide.

The gurgle comes next. Wet. Gasping. His hands fly to his neck, but it’s useless. Blood spills through his fingers, hot and dark. His knees buckle. The gun drops.

He crumples.

His body jerks, convulsing, before he slumps forward into the snow, his blood staining the earth beneath him.

I turn, just in time to see Cole lunge.

Falling, I slip on the bloodied ground, barely dodging the knife meant for my back. I scramble, reaching for the gun, but Cole is faster—he kicks it away.

His knife arcs down, the blade narrowly missing my skull as I roll aside.

Walker’s dying gasps rattle behind me, his body twitching in its final moments.

Cole’s breath is ragged, fury dripping from every inch of him. His eyes lock onto Walker’s corpse, horror and rage twisting his features.

"You fucking killed him!" he snarls, staring as his friend’s body stills, the last bit of life draining from his eyes.

"Fuck you!" I snap, clawing at the frozen earth, my nails raking through dirt and stone. Desperation fuels me. I scoop up a handful of debris and hurl it at Cole’s face, gravel and dust striking his skin.

He flinches, just for a second, wiping at his eyes.

"Who knew my life would be ruined just for fucking you," he snarls, his voice sharp with fury.

I barely hear him. My gaze flickers downward, searching frantically. A rock. Sharp. Jagged.

Here goes nothing.

With a burst of movement, I drive the rock into his thigh.

His scream is raw, furious. His knee jerks up in retaliation.

Crack.

Pain explodes across my face as his boot connects. My vision tunnels, stars bursting behind my swollen eye. The impact sends me sprawling, my breath hitching, choking on the blood pooling in my mouth.

Cole staggers, cursing, his fingers clawing at the embedded rock. With a sickening grunt, he rips it free, blood seeping from the wound. His grip tightens around his knife, knuckles white with rage.

I barely have time to react before his hand yanks at my hair, wrenching me toward him. A scream rips from my throat as I claw at his fingers, nails digging into his skin.

It doesn’t matter.

He’s stronger.

His blade presses against my throat, cold steel biting into my skin as he forces me still. My body trembles, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Look," he hisses.

I don’t want to. I know what’s there, but he wrenches my face toward Walker’s lifeless body. The blood pooling beneath him, the vacant stare, the way death has already claimed him.

"Walker won’t be needed to accomplish what I need to do," Cole mutters, his voice eerily calm.

My pulse pounds. What does that mean?

"I can still pin this all on you," he continues, tilting his head, considering. "Make it look like you killed Walker to save your own ass. Everyone will believe it."

My swollen eye refuses to stay open, leaving my vision half-blurred, lopsided. Every part of me aches. The chill of the snow seeps into my skin, numbing me to everything but the fire of survival still burning deep inside me.

I spit blood onto the ground, taking a shuddering breath.

Noah.

"Noah will kill you," I rasp, my voice broken, barely above a whisper.

Cole lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Really?" he sneers. "And where is Noah right now? Hmm?"

I clench my jaw, swallowing back the fear gnawing at my ribs.

I want to believe Noah is close. That he’s looking for me. That he’s coming.

But the truth settles over me like a weight I don’t want to carry.

What if he doesn’t know? What if he hasn’t put that I left my phone behind, that I’m out here, fighting for my life?

Or worse.

What if he’s still at the party?

Oblivious.

Out here, there is no Noah. No savior. No hope. Just Cole. Prowling. Hunting. Waiting for the moment he can steal my final breath.

His blood slicks the back of my neck, hot and sticky, dripping from the wound in his thigh. The knife presses firmer against my throat, the cold edge biting into my skin. A slow, deliberate pressure. A warning. A promise. My pulse hammers against the blade, a silent plea for mercy that I know will go unanswered.

Cole leans in, his breath searing against my ear, laced with the scent of copper and sweat. His voice is a rasping taunt, cruel and intimate.

“It’s just me and you, Anastasia,” he growls, twisting his fingers deeper into my hair, wrenching my head back so I’m forced to look at the sky.

My breath comes in shallow bursts, my body trembling, but not from the cold. From the memory. The nightmare replaying itself in vivid clarity.

“Just like before,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear, making my stomach turn. “Just like that night.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop his words from slicing through me.

“No Noah to protect you.” His grip tightens, his nails digging into my scalp. “No one to hear you scream as I cut that throat-”

“No one to hear you die,” I whisper, the words slipping from my lips like a vow.

His grip falters for half a second...just enough.

With a sharp inhale, I jab my fingers into the gaping wound on his thigh. Hard.

Cole howls, his entire body jerking. My fingers dig deeper, twisting, spreading the torn muscle apart like I’m peeling open a rotten fruit. His flesh gives way, wet and slick beneath my nails.

The knife clatters from his grip.

I don’t hesitate. I throw all of my weight backward, sending us both careening to the ground. The impact rattles through me, my ribs slamming against his chest, but there’s no time to recover. Cole is fast.

His arm snakes around my throat in a vice grip.

The air vanishes from my lungs.

No. No. No.

Panic explodes inside me as he squeezes, his entire body pressing down, suffocating me beneath his weight. I flail, my fingers clawing at the cold, unforgiving earth, desperate to find something, anything, to anchor me. My vision flickers, dark spots forming at the edges.

“You little fucking bitch,” he snarls, his voice strained, enraged, manic. Blood vessels burst in my eyes from the pressure, pain splintering through my skull.

“I will savor killing you,” he hisses, his breath hot against my temple. His free hand gropes blindly, searching.

Something cold brushes against my fingertips.

A knife. His knife.

My fingers fumble, shaking, slipping against the razor-sharp edge. A sting. Blood beads on my skin as I clutch the hilt.

“I will do what I please with your body after you’re dead,” he spits.

My lungs burn. My head is swimming. Blackness crawls in from the edges, licking at my consciousness.

I can’t-

No. I won’t.

Cole’s voice is a distant echo now, a cruel phantom in the night.

“Here lies Anastasia Burns,” he whispers, his laughter curdling my stomach. “Forever remembered as the killer of Levi Trace-”

I strike.

The knife buries deep, silencing him mid-sentence.

The sickening crunch of metal splitting bone vibrates up my arm. The wet, nauseating squelch of steel puncturing brain matter.

Cole stiffens beneath me. A strangled gurgle escapes his lips, his body convulsing, spasming as his grip slackens.

I shove myself away, gasping, heaving, scrambling backward on shaking limbs.

My vision clears just enough to see what I’ve done.

Cole lies motionless, eyes bloodshot and staring, mouth frozen in a silent scream. The knife juts from the side of his skull, embedded deep, blood pooling beneath him like spilled ink.

His chest doesn’t rise.

Doesn’t fall.

It’s over.

But the shaking doesn’t stop. The air still tastes of blood and fear. And as I stare down at him, my breath rasping in my throat, I realize the worst part isn’t that I killed him.

It’s that I don’t feel a single ounce of regret.

Surrounded by the lifeless bodies of Cole and Walker, the fight in me starts to flicker, dimming like a candle drowning in wax. My body drags itself across the frozen earth, every nerve screaming, every breath a ragged gasp. The cold bites deep, seeping into my bones, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I need a phone. One of them has to have a phone.

Walker’s corpse is stiff beneath my trembling hands. His blood has already cooled, his skin clammy, but I don’t hesitate. I rip off his shoes, my numb fingers barely managing to peel the damp socks from his dead feet. They’re still warm. I shove them onto my own frozen toes, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat. His suit coat is next. It reeks of sweat and cologne, but I pull it around me, wrapping myself in stolen warmth.

The tremors in my hands worsen as I search his pockets, my breath a shuddering mess. Then, finally, plastic against my fingertips. My pulse stutters. A phone.

Fumbling, I yank it free, my fingers slick with dirt and blood as I bring it up, trying desperately to unlock it. The screen stays dark. Face ID.

No.

My gut twists, panic clawing at my ribs. My hands shake so badly I almost drop the damn thing. Frantic, I grip Walker’s lifeless face, trying to angle it toward the screen. His head lolls back unnaturally, his jaw slack. My stomach churns.

Then-

“Jesus Christ.”

The voice slams into me like a bullet.

My head snaps up.

Jake.

We lock eyes.

His Glock is already aimed at my chest, unwavering, steady. A deep gash runs across his hairline, blood trickling down the side of his face, staining his shirt collar. The wreck left its mark on him, but not enough to stop him. Not enough to make him hesitate.

My vision swims, too blurry to make out his full expression, but I don’t need clarity to know the truth.

He’s going to kill me.

I try to run. My body barely lifts off the ground before my injured leg buckles, sending me crashing down. A sharp cry rips from my throat as pain jolts through me, my lungs seizing against the freezing air.

Jake’s laughter slices through the night, cruel and hollow.

“You fucking monster,” he breathes, shaking his head. His lip curls in something between amusement and disgust. “Maybe you would’ve made it in Noah’s world.”

Noah.

My fingers clutch the necklace at my throat, the one Noah gave me, the metal burning against my skin. Tears well in my eyes, spilling over before I can stop them.

Jake smiles. Cold. Empty.

“How unfortunate.”

His gaze darkens.

“Too bad you picked the wrong brother.”

His finger tightens on the trigger.

The gunshot explodes.

Pain rips through me.

The world tilts, and the ground rushes up to meet me.

Darkness swallows me whole.

Chapter 38

Anastasia

The bullet slices through the air, grazing my arm before embedding itself into the tree behind me with a sharp, splintering crack.

A sharp sting flares up, warmth spreading as blood seeps down my skin in thin, winding rivulets. My hand clamps down over the wound, another one to add to the growing collection.

But I barely feel it.

My body is weak. My mind is slipping, fighting to stay conscious, to stay in the moment.

I can't black out. Not now.

A slow, mocking chuckle cuts through the night.

"Had to make sure this thing worked," Jake sneers, wiping at the blood streaming down his face from the gash on his forehead. It drips down his cheek, staining his collar, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He steps around Walker’s lifeless body like it’s nothing more than a piece of debris in his path. Without hesitation, he kicks it over, letting out an amused scoff.

"You really are something else, aren’t you, Anastasia?" he muses, his tone almost fascinated. "I’ll admit, grabbing the wheel, that was bold. Didn’t expect that. But brutally murdering Cole and Walker?" He lets out a low whistle. "It’s almost like you want to be remembered as a ruthless killer."

A laugh bubbles from my lips. Weak at first. Quiet. Then it builds, shaking through me, growing louder, wilder, until it’s full-blown, breathless hysteria.

Tears sting my eyes, mingling with the pain searing through my body. My ribs feel like they’re being crushed under the weight of it all.

I grit my teeth. Breathe. Swallow down the agony.

"I went down fighting," I whisper, voice hoarse but firm. "That much you can acknowledge."

Jake tilts his head, considering me with something almost like admiration. Almost.

"One hell of a fight," he concedes with a smirk.

Then, he lifts the gun.

The barrel levels with my forehead.

He smiles.

"I’ll make sure your obituary is beautiful."

This is it.

The end.

My fingers curl around the necklace at my throat—the one Noah gave me. The metal is warm against my skin, a last reminder of the life I almost had. The life that could have been.

I close my eyes.

And whisper the only thing that matters.

"I love you, Noah."

Then the shot rings through the air.

Noah

Fingers tightening around the grip of my gun, I raise my arms, steadying my aim. My sights lock onto Jake’s head.

He stands with his back to me, his body a human shield, blocking my view of her.

Blood stains the snow around her, stark against the white.

I have to end this.

I have to kill him.

My finger twitches on the trigger-

"Easy now," Roman murmurs beside me, his own gun raised, his voice a low, measured warning. "We need him alive if we’re going to pin all of this on him."

My jaw clenches.

Alive?

Jake doesn’t deserve that.

A quick scan of the area confirms what I already suspected. Roman’s men are in position, their figures blending into the trees, mere shadows against the darkness. They move like ghosts, silent and waiting.

Jake is surrounded.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Roman presses a hand to the earpiece in his ear, his voice barely a whisper.

"Let Noah take the shot. Only move in on my word. Your priority is securing the bodies and alerting local authorities. Should he harm Ana in front of us, beat him senseless, but keep him breathing."

Jake shifts slightly, and for a brief moment, I catch a glimpse of her.

Ana.

Barely moving.

The grip on my gun tightens so hard my knuckles go white, my pulse roaring in my ears. Jake’s gun is still pointed at her head, his finger resting on the trigger like it’s nothing.

Like her life means nothing.

"What are we waiting for?" I whisper, voice raw with restraint.

Roman doesn’t look at me. "You know where to shoot him?"

I glare, saying nothing.

He sighs. "His spine."

I blink.

Roman’s voice is as cold as the night air. "Paralyze the bastard. Make him pay for life in another way."

A slow exhale slips past my lips as I lower my aim, my gun now aligned with the base of Jake’s spine.

A lifetime of suffering. A life spent helpless.

It’s almost poetic.

I hold my breath, my finger tightening on the trigger.

"Breathe," Roman warns. "That’s the only way you’ll make a clean shot."

"I’ll make sure your obituary is beautiful."

Jake sneers, his finger hovering over the trigger, seconds away from doing something he can never undo.

Something I can never undo.

I stare at her—Anastasia.

Bruised. Bleeding. Barely holding on.

Her swollen eyes close, and in a voice so faint, so heartbreakingly final, she whispers the words that break me.

"I love you, Noah."

That’s all it takes.

All it takes for the world to go red.

All it takes to pull the trigger.

The gunshot rips through the air, then another and another.

Three rounds slam into my brother’s back.

Jake staggers, his body convulsing as the impact shreds through him. A choked gasp escapes his lips as he crumples to the ground.

But I’m not done.

I lunge before Roman can give the order, before anyone can stop me.

My boot kicks Jake’s gun away as I straddle him, yanking his broken body onto his back. His mouth gapes open in pain, but I don’t let him speak.

My fist crashes into his jaw. Once. Twice. Again.

Bones crunch beneath my knuckles, his head snapping to the side, blood spitting from his lips. His legs are limp, his eyes wide, panic setting in as he realizes what’s happened.

He can’t move.

I’ve paralyzed him.

A fitting end.

Around me, Roman’s men move in like shadows, working in grim silence. They haul the bodies, stuffing them into black bags, wiping this scene off the earth like it never existed.

"Noah," Roman hisses, stepping closer. "That’s enough, man-"

I shove him off, my fist readying for another blow—

But Roman’s hand catches mine midair.

His grip is iron.

"Noah." His voice is sharp, cutting through the haze. "Ana needs you now."

Ana.

The name pulls me back.

I hear it then, the distant wail of ambulance sirens.

Reality crashes in.

Roman turns to his men. "Get her to safety. We’ll handle this shithead."

But I don’t care about Jake anymore.

I only care about her.

Snapping my head toward Ana, my breath catches.

Her eyes wide despite the swelling.

Her body trembling, covered in bruises and blood.

I don’t think. I just move.

In a second, I’m there, wrapping her in my arms, pulling her against me, my jacket thrown over her fragile frame.

She melts into my chest, her fingers gripping my shirt with what little strength she has left.

"Noah," she sobs, pain thick in her voice, "I thought I was dead-"

I press my lips to her hair, my voice breaking.

"It’s okay, Princess."

But as I look around, the mutilated bodies now being shoved into bags, one thought slams into me.

Did she do that?

That’s my fucking girl.

Tears spill from my eyes, my throat locking up as I hold her tighter.

"God, Ana, I was so fucking scared I lost you," I whisper, my hands cupping her face, my thumb brushing over a fresh cut.

I press my forehead to hers, my breath shaky.

"I love you so fucking much."

Her lips tremble, barely parting, but she finds the strength to kiss me—weak, soft, but there.

Her breath grazes my skin as she whispers, "Please… take me home."

I scoop her up, cradling her battered body against my chest.

She feels weightless.

Too light. Too fragile.

A sharp pang shoots through me as I register just how many wounds cover her. Cuts, bruises, dried blood, evidence of every moment she fought to survive.

She shouldn’t have had to fight.

I run.

Every step sends fire through my legs, but I don’t stop. I won’t stop.

The cold air whips against my face, the night pressing in around us, but I let the flashing ambulance lights guide me forward.

One step. Then another.

Toward safety.

Toward life.

Toward a future I refuse to lose.

Chapter 39

Anastasia

"Watch it," Noah hisses beside me, glaring daggers at the EMT every time I flinch. His fists clench, barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

Perched in the back of the ambulance, Roman speaks in hushed tones to the responding officers as they haul away the bodies. He slides one of them his card, just a brief flash of black and silver, and, like clockwork, both officers immediately shut their mouths and tuck away their notepads. Business as usual.

"He's just doing his job," I whisper, patting Noah’s chest in an attempt to soothe him. The wound in my leg is finally being mended, the sharp sting of antiseptic fading into a dull ache.

"You’ll still need to go to the hospital," the EMT warns, his voice matter-of-fact. "You're lucky a major artery wasn’t nicked."

I nod, exhaling slowly. Lucky. Sure.

"Just let us clear this mess and give you a clear path," the EMT continues, barely sparing us a glance. "Then you and your husband will be on your way."

Noah doesn’t correct him. Instead, he just grins like a drunken fool, his lips twitching with amusement but offering no objection.

Across the road, Noah’s men haul Jake out of the woods, his limp legs dragging through dirt and gravel, leaving a faint trail of blood in his wake. Roman strolls over with his usual easy confidence, sparing Jake only a cursory glance before his men shove him into one of their waiting cars. The cops turn a blind eye, too preoccupied with securing the area, handling the bodies of Walker and Cole like discarded trash.

Roman crouches slightly, voice dipping low as he studies me. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was just beaten and tortured," I mutter, shaking my head.

His lips twitch. "Fair."

Noah, however, is far less amused. "What are you doing with him?" he growls, his narrowed gaze locked onto the car his brother is now in.

Roman straightens, his expression unreadable. "We need more intel," he says simply. "I told you, shooting him wouldn’t be torture enough. Lucky for you, with your new promotion, you’ll get to have all the fun with him."

I blink, turning to Noah, brows raised.

"Promotion?" I laugh, the word foreign on my tongue.

Noah rubs the back of his neck, a slow smile tugging at his lips.

"I put in my resignation at Spokehaven this morning," he admits, watching my reaction. "Roman offered me a job at Catalyst, and I couldn’t refuse."

I blink, glancing between the two men, trying to process what he just said.

"So… you won’t be my teacher anymore?" I tease, a grin playing at my lips.

"No," Noah murmurs, his smile deepening as he leans in. His lips graze mine, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine. "Have any problems with that-"

"Where is my daughter?" my dad’s voice booms, raw with desperation.

"Sir, this is an active crime scene-" one of the officers attempts to interject, but he barely gets the words out.

"Tough," Megan snaps.

My head whips toward the yellow tape just as my family spills out of my dad’s rental. Megan, Elijah, my mother, and my father push past the officers with unwavering determination. Roman lifts a hand, signaling his men to stand down, letting them through without resistance.

"I need to see my daughter-" my dad’s voice falters as his gaze locks onto mine.

Then his face crumbles.

"Oh, my God," he bellows.

His feet barely touch the ground as he runs toward me, nearly slipping on the ice. Noah keeps his grip on me, steadying me just as my father reaches us. His arms wrap around me with desperate force, pulling me close. Pain lances through me, but I bite it down, letting him hold me.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Ana," he groans, his voice breaking. "What the hell happened? We saw it on the news, Cole and Walker, they-" His breath shudders. "They killed some kid and kidnapped you to drag you into it-"

I flick a glance at Roman. He meets my eyes and offers a knowing smile.

Of course. He’s already leaked the story.

Roman fucking Briar, handling one disaster after another like a master puppeteer.

"Dad, I’m fine," I whisper, though the words feel flimsy even to me. "I’m okay-"

"Oh, honey," my mom sobs, crashing into the hug. "We were so damn worried."

Megan and Elijah aren’t far behind. "Let us in!" they cry, throwing their arms around me with enough force to knock the wind from my lungs.

"Guys-" I gasp, wincing. "Still injured-"

They ease up instantly, but my dad refuses to let go.

Noah, ever the tactician, clears his throat. "Why don’t you three give Roman’s men a few statements?" he suggests, his voice calm but firm. "You all knew Cole or Walker."

Roman nods, smoothly stepping in. "This way, folks," he says with an easy smile, guiding Megan, Elijah, and my mom toward his men. In seconds, it’s just Noah, my father, and me.

"What happened?" my father asks, his voice rough with concern. He barely spares a glance at how close Noah and I are, his focus locked entirely on me.

Does he know?

I inhale deeply, bracing myself. "Cole… he did some messed-up things in high school," I admit, the words heavy on my tongue. "And Walker, he knew. He used it against him, exploited it."

Noah nods in quiet agreement, staying silent, keeping Jake’s name out of it.

My father’s jaw tightens. "Why didn’t you tell me? That they were blackmailing you-"

"You were sick, Dad," I whisper, my throat tightening. "I could barely process it myself, and the last thing I wanted to do was make you worry."

My father sucks in a sharp breath, his face crumpling. "Worry about you?" he gasps, his voice raw. "That’s all a father does." His breath shudders, his eyes glistening. "But…" He swallows hard, then shifts his gaze to Noah. "It seems like you had someone in your corner this whole time."

A small, knowing smile tugs at my lips. I glance at Noah just as my dad squeezes my hand.

"Noah!" Roman’s voice cuts through the moment. "Get over here, I need something."

Noah gives my back a gentle rub before stepping away. "I’ll be right back," he murmurs before turning to my dad. "Mr. Burns." He offers his hand.

My father accepts the handshake, his grip firm. They exchange a silent nod before Noah excuses himself, disappearing toward Roman.

I wait until he’s out of earshot, my pulse steady but my mind racing.

"You know?" I whisper, searching my father’s face.

His lips twitch into a small smile as he lifts his shoulders in an easy shrug.

"I have eyes," he says simply.

"How long?" I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

My father exhales, running a hand over his face. "Pretty much since the first time I saw you two interact," he admits.

"Are you angry with me?" I prod, searching his face for any trace of resentment.

He hesitates, then looks me dead in the eyes. "Ana, can I tell you something? Something you cannot repeat to anyone...not even Noah?"

I press my lips together and nod, waiting.

His gaze flickers, his expression unreadable. "There’s a reason I’m standing here right now. Alive."

A chill runs down my spine. "Okay…" I trail off, glancing toward Roman and Noah, who are deep in conversation as law enforcement starts to clear out.

My father swallows hard. "I told your mother the money for my treatment came from an inheritance my father left behind."

"But?" I press, my pulse quickening.

He exhales sharply. "That wasn’t true," he confesses. "A man came to me in the hospital. Said all my affairs would be handled. Anonymously, all my debts were paid. The doctors were fired and replaced with some of the best cancer specialists in the country." He pauses, his hands trembling at his sides. "At the time I was too sick to question it. Chemo had wrecked me, I could barely think straight. But tonight… when I saw Noah, I finally put it together. The reason his voice sounded so familiar."

I freeze.

My father grips my hand. "Noah was the man who came to my hospital room," he whispers. "He was the man who saved my life."

A stunned breath catches in my throat as I turn to look at Noah.

"W-when did this happen?" I ask, my voice unsteady.

"About two months ago-" my father starts, but his voice fades into the background.

Even after everything.
The words he threw at me.
The act he played.

He was in my corner.

Helping my father survive.

Helping him live.

"That’s when I knew," my father’s voice filters back in, steady and sure, "that something deeper was happening."

I turn to him, my breath catching as he continues.

"That’s when I realized, and one glance was all it took to see what was between you and Noah. So, no, Ana," he whispers, his voice thick with meaning. "I’m not mad. If a love that strong is real, I won’t be the one to squander it."

"Noah is resigning-"

"I know," my dad says before I can finish. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips. "I did the same when I knew I wanted your mother."

Stunned, I stare at him, searching his face for any trace of hesitation. There’s none.

"We’re ready to transport her, sir," an EMT says quietly, interrupting the moment.

My dad nods, already stepping back. "I’ll meet you at the hospital with your friends," he says, offering no clarity on his last statement.

Then he turns, waving Noah over. "They’re ready to take her."

Noah excuses himself from his conversation with Roman and strides over without hesitation.

"Sir?" he asks, glancing between me and my father. "Are you sure you don’t want to ride with her?"

My father exhales, his eyes settling on Noah with something softer than approval, something closer to trust.

"No," he says simply. "You’ve got her now."

And with that, he steps away, slipping into the car with the others, leaving me in Noah’s hands.

Noah helps me into the ambulance, settling beside me as the EMTs shut the doors.

"You have a lot of explaining to do," I murmur, eyeing him suspiciously. "Did you know my dad was my mom’s professor?"

Looking suddenly guilty, Noah tugs at his collar.

"Can you blame the man?" he smirks. "Burns women."

A breathless laugh slips from my lips despite myself. I shake my head, then curl my fingers into his shirt, pulling him closer.

"Come here, Ackerman," I whisper, grinning as I kiss him, straining against the rails of the gurney.

He meets me halfway, his lips slow, careful, like he’s memorizing the shape of me. My breath ghosts his skin, the warmth of him sinking into me.

"I love you," I whisper against his lips.

Noah smiles, his forehead pressing to mine. "I love you, Anastasia."

"Ma’am, you really shouldn’t-"

The EMT stops mid-sentence. One look at Noah’s sharp, unwavering gaze, and he wisely shuts his mouth.

I don’t let go.

I don’t let the moment slip away.

Instead, I hold on, kissing him like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

Chapter 40

Anastasia

One year later.

"I've got to be the first girl in history to be engaged to her ex-professor before finishing school," I laugh, twirling the massive sparkler on my left hand. The diamond catches the warm glow of the Briar's living room, winking at me like it’s in on the joke.

Eden reaches for my hand, inspecting the ring with an approving smirk. Her daughter, Eve, sits at the coffee table, completely absorbed in coloring what I assume is a portrait of me.

I take a slow sip of wine, letting the rich taste linger as my gaze sweeps across the Briars’ home, equal parts elegant and secure, a sanctuary wrapped in wealth and quiet power.

Eden lifts her glass, taking a generous drink before grinning. “Noah really doesn’t hold back, does he?” she muses. “Liquidating your family's empire, forging a new path for Catalyst every day... it definitely has its perks.”

Through the glass doors leading to the backyard, Noah and Roman stand near the grill, deep in murmured conversation, their glasses of scotch reflecting the last streaks of sunlight. They stare at the sizzling meat like their combined focus might cook it faster.

"Done!" Eve announces suddenly, thrusting her drawing inches from my face.

I blink at it. It’s... creative to say the least—an exaggerated version of me, complete with what looks like a black scribble for my wrecked hair the night her father, Noah, and I finished an operation.

"Wow," I gasp, dramatically placing a hand over my heart. "This has to be a picture. There's no way it's just a drawing," I say, grinning.

Eve shakes her head, her brown curls bouncing with the movement. "Drew it. Right here." She taps the table for emphasis. "I made one of Uncle Noah too!"

She lifts another picture, somehow even worse than mine, and I nearly snort wine out of my nose.

"You should show him," I suggest, barely containing my amusement. I can already picture Noah’s reaction, the way he'll struggle to keep a straight face under Roman’s watchful glare.

Eve’s eyes light up. "Roger that!" She takes off toward the patio, her small hands gripping the masterpiece like a prized possession.

Eden chuckles, swirling the wine in her glass. "That was cruel. You know he won’t crack in front of Roman."

We watch as Eve tugs on Noah’s shirt. He glances down, then lifts her effortlessly into his arms. "What you got there, kiddo?"

Eve beams, holding up the drawing. "It's you! I did one of Aunt Ana too."

Noah’s expression flickers, his usual confidence slipping just for a second. He plasters on an uneasy grin. "What do you think?" Eve asks, tilting her head.

Roman takes a slow sip of his drink. "Yeah, Noah," he says, voice low and knowing. "What do you think?"

Noah's forced smile widens as he examines the masterpiece. "Looks exactly like me," he says with a theatrical nod. "You’re truly a master of your craft. I never would’ve thought to put my ear there."

Eve giggles as Noah sets her down. She turns to Roman expectantly, and he already knows what to do. Scooping her up, he presses loud, exaggerated kisses to her cheek as she squeals in delight, clinging to him.

Noah watches them for a moment before glancing my way.

Eden lifts her glass to her lips, speaking just loud enough for me to hear. "He wants them, you know," she murmurs. "Noah, I mean."

Swirling my drink, I let out a slow sigh.

"Explain to me how I’m supposed to juggle undercover work for Catalyst, finish school, and raise a child?" I ask, raising a brow.

When Roman first approached me with the offer to go undercover, I laughed in his face. The fact that I’d buried bodies a year ago had apparently earned me his admiration, proof that I had the fight in me. So I changed my major from English to Criminal Justice. The idea of putting corrupt, filthy people behind bars called to me in a way I never expected.

Once I graduate, I’ll be working alongside Noah and Roman—something Noah is still trying to come to terms with.

"After you graduate, silly," Eden says with a knowing smile. "I’m telling you, kids change you. Roman never thought he wanted them, especially with Catalyst being what it is. But the moment he met Eve..." She trails off, eyes softening as she watches her husband and daughter. "Everything changed."

I follow her gaze. Noah kneels beside Eve as she chatters on, animated and full of life. Roman stands close, hands casually tucked in his pockets, yet his expression gives him away. He’d burn the world for that little girl.

A strange pull tugs at my chest. Maybe that’s a future I want…

Before the thought can fully form, the front door bursts open.

"I know you said to bring sides," Aiden, Eden’s brother, announces as he stumbles inside, balancing what looks like an elaborate dessert. "But Zoey went overboard."

Right on cue, Zoey bounces in behind him, arms overloaded with shopping bags. Her face practically glows as she grins at us.

"This baby is hungry for… well, everything," she laughs, rubbing her small but unmistakable baby bump.

"Ana!" Zoey beams, eyes lighting up the moment she spots me. "I’m so happy you’re here-"

"Aunt Zoey!" Eve shrieks, skidding across the hardwood floors. "I made something for you!"

Eden groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. "God, I gotta stop this. Zoey cannot hold her tongue now that she’s pregnant."

Roman and Noah join us inside, greeting Aiden and Zoey with effortless familiarity, the group slipping into easy conversation. Laughter hums through the house, warmth filling every corner of the room.

Then, just as I start to relax, I feel him.

Noah creeps up behind me, his hands ghosting over my waist before his lips brush the sensitive skin of my neck. His voice is low, meant only for me.

"Come with me for a minute," he murmurs, the heat in his tone making my pulse stutter. "You look too good in that dress."

Before I can respond, he’s already guiding me away, turning down a quiet hallway.

The moment the guest bathroom door closes behind us, his hands are on me in an instant.

Noah’s lips trail along my neck, the heat of his breath sending shivers down my spine. His hands slide under my dress, dragging the fabric higher, fingertips grazing my skin with deliberate, torturous slowness.

I pull him closer, pressing my lips to his, biting down gently on his lower lip. He groans, the sound vibrating through me, making my heart race.

His voice is a whisper against my skin. "What were you and Eden talking about, pretty girl?"

He kisses the spot on my neck that always makes my knees weak, his touch unraveling me piece by piece.

"Eve," I murmur, smiling. "Eden thinks you want one."

His lips still. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, searching. His voice is quieter now, more serious.

"Would that be so crazy?"

I take him in, every piece of him, the man who once held his demons so tightly they nearly consumed him. The man who loves me with a fire that burns through every shadow I’ve ever known.

I shake my head slowly. "I have no idea how to be a mother-"

"Not now," Noah growls, his mouth skimming my jawline again. "But one day."

The thought lingers between us, unspoken possibilities crackling like electricity in the air.

"You, me, a little baby," he whispers. "Giving them the life I never had."

He holds me closer, and for the first time in a long time, I feel whole.

"And until then?" I whisper, a teasing smile on my lips.

Noah grins, his hands tightening around my waist. "Until then," he growls, "we can have plenty of practice."

Just as he pulls me in, a voice cuts through the moment like a blade.

"Echo, fucking slow down."

Roman’s voice drifts under the door, sharp and commanding.

Noah and I freeze.

Echo.

Our boss.

Silently, we fix our clothes, the haze between us instantly replaced with something heavier. Something darker.

Stepping back into the room, I instinctively reach for Noah’s hand, anchoring myself to him as I lean into his chest. All eyes are locked on Roman’s phone, the speaker filling the space with a sound I’ve never heard from Echo before.

Fear.

"R-Roman," Echo stammers, his usually smooth, unshakable voice rough and panicked.

Roman straightens, his entire body going rigid.

"Echo-"

"I fucked up."

Silence.

A suffocating silence that stretches and coils, thick with the weight of whatever comes next.

No one was prepared for the words that followed.

Acknowledgements

Here we are again—another journey through the Shadows of Darkness universe comes to an end. Book two is in your hands, and I bet you were all excited to see Roman and Eden again, hmm?

When I first started this series, I told myself it would only be three books, but honestly? I’m having way too much fun. Femme on femme, anyone? And that note?? Who’s ready to finally see Echo after all this time?

But before we dive into what’s next, I want to take a moment to thank the incredible people who helped bring this book to life.

To Kira, my wonderful editor—thank you for helping me shape my stories into something magical. Without you, I'd probably be in a puddle of tears. You’ve been such a gift with each book, and I love you dearly.

To Jazzy—my best friend, my rock. You go above and beyond for me in every way, and I can’t tell you how much that means.

To all my girls at Indie Forge—your constant support lifts me up every single day. I love you all endlessly.

To Angie, my amazing agent—thank you for believing in me every step of the way. Your faith in my work keeps me going.

To my husband—thank you for standing by my side and supporting this dream of mine. I love you now and forever.

To my dad—your support means everything to me, and I’m so grateful for your encouragement.

To Rachel and Ben—my two rocks in this new town of mine. This move was a whirlwind, but having you both in my corner made all the difference. Love you so, so much.

And finally—to my incredible readers. You make this dream possible. Your love for these dark, twisted stories fuels my passion, and I’m forever grateful.

Love you all endlessly. Now… time to write some more dark and deliciously twisted tales.

-Katerina St Clair