Chapter 9

It had been a week since my talk with Damon, but it might as well have been years. Time blurred into one long string of days. The conversation we had in the music room still lingered in my mind, replaying like a loop I couldn't escape. Damon had agreed to help me—he didn't have much of a choice after I played that recording—but beyond that, he gave me nothing. No details, no plan. Just a promise that he would do what needed to be done, whenever that time came.

I hated it. 

I hated the waiting, the uncertainty, the constant gnawing feeling that I was in over my head. But most of all, I hated that I had to trust Damon. A part of me wished I had never walked into that room. That I had left it alone. But there was no going back now.

The days passed in a numbing cycle—studying, pretending Marcus didn't exist, and sneaking around with Atlas. It was the only thing that made any of this bearable. 

Atlas was my only escape.

During class, we'd sit beside each other, his arm resting lazily over the back of my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder in a way that made me forget everything for a little while. His touch was grounding, a quiet reminder that there was still something good in my life, even if it felt like everything else was falling apart.

After class, I'd sit on the sidelines of his practices, watching him from the bench. He was so focused, so intense when he was on the field. It was a side of him I didn't get to see often, and I found myself admiring him more each time I watched. There was something calming about it, just sitting there, being close to him. No pressure. No expectations.

We hit the West Shack a few times, sneaking off between study sessions or after practice. It had become our spot, the place where we could be alone. Most of the time, we ended up making out, caught up in the rush of being together, of feeling something real amid all the chaos. But we never went further than that. I wasn't ready, and he never pushed.

Maybe that was why I clung to him so much. He was the only part of my life that didn't feel like it was spiraling out of control. 

But even with Atlas, there was this constant undercurrent of guilt, pulling me down like a weight I couldn't shake. No matter how hard I tried to forget, to lose myself in him, there was always this lingering feeling that everything was slipping away.

Solana was gone.

Well, not gone. She was still here, still attending classes. But she wasn't here. Not with me. 

I stood in my room, staring at the empty side of it. Her bed, her desk, everything she had brought with her when we first moved in—it was all gone. The room felt hollow like someone had ripped a piece of my life out and left me with nothing but the absence of her.

She had moved into a different dorm. I don't know why that was what broke me. I knew it was coming. After the video of her getting attacked went viral, the school should've expelled her. That's how it usually went. But Solana had made a deal, some kind of compromise with the administration. 

If she kept quiet about the girls who beat her up—if she didn't press charges, didn't make a scene—she could stay. She could keep her scholarship. 

It broke my heart. 

She had to give up everything. Her dignity, her pride, her trust in me. All to stay here. And the worst part was, she didn't even look at me anymore. During chemistry, she would sit on the opposite side of the room, and it was like I didn't exist. 

I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. It hurt in a way I didn't expect. Every time I saw her, it was like a knife in my chest, twisting deeper with every glance she didn't send my way. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to explain everything, tell her that I was sorry for what happened, sorry for letting things get so out of control. But the words stuck in my throat. 

And now, all I had was Atlas. 

He was the only constant in my life. The only thing keeping me from losing it completely. And I clung to that. I clung to him because if I didn't, everything would fall apart. 

I was in the middle of this thought, staring at the empty side of the room, when I heard a knock at the door. My heart jumped, and a brief flutter of hope rose in my chest. Maybe it was Atlas. Maybe he was here to distract me, to make me forget for a little while.

I crossed the room quickly, pulling open the door with a small, relieved smile already forming on my face. But the moment I saw who was standing there, the smile dropped.

It wasn't Atlas.

It was Damon.

He stood there, dressed in his usual uniform, as polished and put together as ever, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I just stared at him, trying to process why he was here, why he had shown up at my door in the middle of the night. I was still in my pajamas, my hair a mess, and feeling completely exposed under his piercing gaze.

"What are you doing here?" The words came out sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. I wasn't in the mood for whatever he was intending. 

Damon raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into that signature snarl that made me want to punch him. "Nice to see you too, Anna."

I folded my arms across my chest, trying to ignore the sudden rush of anxiety swirling in my stomach. "If you're here to threaten me, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."

He tilted his head slightly, studying me with that cold, detached look that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. "I'm not here to threaten you," he said, his voice surprisingly calm. "I'm here to talk."

"About?"

"Marcus." 

The name hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt my stomach twist. I hadn't spoken to Marcus in days. I'd been avoiding him, ignoring his texts, and his calls. Every time I thought about him, it was like my brain was short-circuited. The anger, the confusion, the guilt—it all blurred together into one big mess I didn't know how to handle.

I stepped back, leaving the door open as I turned and walked further into the room. Damon followed, closing the door behind him softly. 

"Why now?" I asked, my voice quieter, the sharpness gone. "Why are you talking to me now? After being MIA for a week."

Damon crossed the room, leaning against the edge of my desk with his arms crossed, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert. "I thought I could wait … but we're running out of time."

My pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"

"You wanted to destroy Marcus, right?" Damon's eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk fading from his face. "If … If we're going to do this, you need to be ready. You can't afford to hesitate."

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "I'm not hesitating."

"Good," he said, his voice low, almost predatory. "Because once we start, there's no going back." He reached into his jacket pocket and tossed something in my direction.

It took me a second to realize what it was.

A burner phone.

I caught it midair, my fingers curling around the cheap, black plastic. "What the hell is this?" I asked, turning it over in my hands. It felt weightless, disposable, like something out of a bad spy movie.

"Your only way to contact me," Damon said, his voice as casual as if we were discussing the weather. "My number's already programmed in. You use that phone for everything going forward. Don't call me on your regular one."

I blinked, staring at the burner like it had suddenly grown teeth. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack." He walked further into the room, his eyes scanning my side of it, taking in the mess of textbooks and notebooks scattered across my desk. "We meet every two days, at midnight, in the Classics building. That's the only way this works. In person. No texts, no calls. Use the burner for emergencies."

I felt my pulse quicken. "And why is that?"

Damon looked at me like I'd just asked a stupid question. "Because I don't trust you." He crossed his arms, his smirk nowhere in sight this time. "I don't know if you're recording me if you're working for Marcus, if you've got some other angle. But face-to-face, I can watch you. Make sure you're not pulling something."

I bristled, a surge of anger rising in my chest. "You think I'd betray you after all of this?"

"Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to double-cross me." His voice was steady like he'd had this conversation a hundred times before. "I don't trust anyone. Not fully."

I didn't know whether to be offended or impressed. The fact that he was so careful, so paranoid—it was probably why he looked like he had a stick up his ass all the time. But it also made me feel like I was walking a razor-thin line, one wrong step away from falling off the edge.

"Fine," I said after a beat, shoving the phone into the pocket of my pajama pants. "I get it."

Damon nodded, his posture relaxing slightly. "Good. Now, let's get to the real reason I'm here."

I folded my arms across my chest, bracing myself. 

"The only way this plan works," Damon said, his voice dropping into something colder, more calculated, "is if you get close to Marcus again."

I blinked, not sure if I'd heard him right. "What?"

"You need to be with him. Back on his side. Close enough that he trusts you again." His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. "That's the only way for you to make his life hell."

The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to go off.

I shook my head, my stomach twisting. "No. No way. He's going to know something's off the second I walk back into his life. I've been avoiding him for days. He knows I'm angry after what he did to Solana."

Damon didn't flinch. "Then make him think you've changed your mind."

I stared at him, my heart pounding against my ribs. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"Regain his trust." Damon's tone was so matter-of-fact, that it made me feel like I was being stupid for even asking. "Not as his servant. Not as his ... plaything. But as someone he can rely on. Someone he can confide in. Maybe … someone he cares about."

The thought alone made my skin crawl. Being close to Marcus again, having to pretend like nothing had changed between us—it was the last thing I wanted. Every part of me screamed to run in the opposite direction. But Damon was right. It may be the only way.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "And how do I do that? How do I just walk back into his life and act like I'm not terrified of him?"

"You don't have to pretend you're not scared," Damon said, his voice softening for the first time since he'd arrived. "Use that. Make him think you're vulnerable, that you need him. He loves to be needed."

I felt my hands tremble at my sides, and I clenched them into fists, trying to ground myself. I could do this. I had to do this. But the idea of being close to Marcus again—of being in his orbit, where everything was so tightly controlled and dangerous—made my chest tighten.

I took a breath, steadying myself. "What about Mrs. Margot?"

Damon's expression flickered for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "What about her?"

"She's … closer to Marcus than anyone," I said, my mind racing. "He's obsessed with her. That's how this ordeal started, when he found out she was with someone—with you—he was losing his mind. He's afraid of people finding out—"

"Of our parents finding out," Damon cuts in. "It would ruin our families and the school's reputation. They'd kill him for it. He knows that."

"What if we could get her to ... I don't know, tell us something? Something we don't already know?"

Damon let out a low hum, considering it. "She's a tough nut to crack. Cunning. Her husband is at a conglomerate. I met him once in my home manor—quite the asshole. Margot is a housewife and she works at the school as a side. She isn't just a random teacher, she has connections. Plus … our history with her is deeper than you think."

I raise a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Damon said slowly, "She's known us since we were boys. Marcus has always been obsessed with her. She knew that, and she used that to her advantage. She's smart, seduced him, and made him feel like he was something he could never be. All for security … just in case her despicable husband divorces her."

I frowned, trying to piece together what he was saying. "So, you're telling me she's using him?"

"In a way, yeah. But she's too careful to make any moves that would expose her. You try to manipulate her, and she'll sniff it out in a second. We … we almost slept together, but when I tried to interrogate her she stopped … told me to leave."

I shut my eyes, not wanting to imagine that. "So … have you guys—"

"No," he hisses, disgusted. "I wouldn't fuck a woman twice my age let alone a groomer."

I sighed. At least Marcus's brother wasn't as insane as him.

If Margot was just in it for herself, there had to be something she wanted. Something I could use to get her on my side, or at least get her to open up.

"I could still try," I said, feeling a strange surge of energy building in my chest. "Maybe I can get her to talk. See if she lets something slip." After all, I doubt she knows that I know about her and Marcus. I'm certain he never told her who ran out of that classroom that day.

Damon studied me for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's risky. But if you think you can pull it off, give it a shot."

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope. For the first time in days, I felt like I had some kind of control over this mess. Like maybe there was a way out, a way to take Marcus down without completely losing myself in the process. Maybe even get Solana back and be with Atlas without overbearing guilt.

But even as that hope flared, it was overshadowed by the gnawing dread in the pit of my stomach. I was going to have to face Marcus tomorrow. I was going to have to look him in the eye and pretend that I wanted him. That I wasn't planning to betray him.

And the truth was, I wasn't sure I could do it.

Damon must have sensed my hesitation because he pushed off the desk and crossed the room toward the door. "Think it over," he said, his hand on the doorknob. "I'm not gonna help if you aren't all in. You said you wanted to kill—"

"I didn't mean kill kill," I repute.

He nods. "I know. But once we do this, and if the truth goes out and my parents, the school, and the world, learn about what he did … he may already be dead."

I swallowed, nodding once. "I know."

He gave me one last look before slipping out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

The second he was gone, I collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. My heart was still racing, adrenaline buzzing through my veins, but it wasn't enough to drown out the fear creeping up my spine.

I reached for my phone, the real one, and opened my messages. There was only one person I needed to text.

Anna: Meet me in the Velvet Room tomorrow.

As soon as I hit send, I felt a chill settle over me. Tomorrow, I would face Marcus. Tomorrow, I would step back into the lion's den.

—

The morning light streamed through the window, soft but sharp, cutting through the uneasy fog that hung over me. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my heart racing, my fingers trembling as I tied my hair back into a tight ponytail. My eyes, now a shade lighter thanks to the colored contacts I'd slipped in, stared back at me—wider, more alert, but not calm. Today, I needed to be presentable, even if I wasn't showing up to class.

I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a message to Atlas, fingers shaking slightly as I hit send.

Anna: Sick today. Won't be in class.

It didn't take long for his response to pop up.

Atlas: Feel better. Need notes?

I didn't reply, just locked my phone and tossed it onto the bed. Atlas was the least of my worries right now. The hours dragged on, time crawling forward as I sat in my dorm, waiting for the right moment. Study hall—when most of the students would be tucked away in the library or hidden behind their laptops, deep into their assignments. When I could slip away unnoticed.

As I walked through the campus, the crisp autumn air biting at my skin, I made sure no one was watching. My heart hammered in my chest with every step, the familiar dread building in the pit of my stomach. The world felt like it was closing in on me as I approached the building. I took a deep breath, glancing around one last time before pushing the door open and slipping inside, pulling it shut behind me.

The Velvet Room was quiet. Too quiet. 

I scanned the space and saw him—Marcus—standing by the window, his back to me, hands folded neatly behind him. His posture was rigid, his gaze fixed on the quad outside, like some detached observer watching over his domain. He didn't move when I entered and didn't acknowledge me right away. Just stood there, stoic, as though the air in the room belonged to him alone.

The silence felt suffocating.

"Marcus," I whispered, the word barely escaping my throat. But he didn't respond. He just turned his head slightly, enough for me to catch his profile, and that's when I saw it.

That look.

Not anger. Not frustration. No, this was something far worse—a quiet, smoldering look in his eyes that made my blood run cold. A gentle, predatory gaze that told me he knew. He fucking knew.

I felt myself shaking. My legs, my hands, even my breath. I was frozen, rooted in place by the weight of his gaze, my skin prickling with fear.

Marcus finally moved, taking a step toward me, his pace deliberate but not rushed. He kept his distance, though, just enough to let me feel the tension in the air. His voice, when it came, was calm. Almost too calm.

"Ah there you are," he said softly, the words like silk slipping through the quiet. "This is the longest you've gone without speaking to me."

I trembled, my throat dry. "I—I'm sorry," I stammered, though I wasn't sure why I was apologizing.

Marcus didn't react, just tilted his head slightly, studying me. "Are you?" he asked, and this time there was a sharpness in his voice.

I tried to speak, but the words caught in my throat. I shut my eyes, praying for something to come out, but nothing did. My silence filled the room, thickening the air around us.

He didn't get angry. Instead, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that sent chills down my spine. It wasn't kind. It wasn't warm. It was the kind of smile that made you want to run but left you paralyzed in place. 

"Come here," he said, the command soft but undeniable.

Every instinct screamed at me to back away, to run. But my legs moved forward without my permission, taking small, hesitant steps until I was standing inches from him. I bit my lip hard, trying to keep the fear from bubbling up. 

Marcus reached out, his fingers brushing my chin lightly, and tilted my face up so I had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Are you angry?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with something darker.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just stood there, trembling under his touch, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.

He let out a small sigh, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't want to do that," he murmured, his fingers still holding my chin. "But it was necessary. Jack's family, their money—I threatened them with bankruptcy—it was the only way to make him post the video. It didn't take much. Just a few hours of pressure, and everything fell into place."

I swallowed hard, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. His voice was so casual like he was explaining something as trivial as changing the weather. But I could feel the rage simmering beneath my skin, the anger that I'd tried so hard to suppress.

Marcus noticed. His smile deepened, his eyes darkening with something else. "Do you hate me?" he asked, his tone still soft, but there was an edge now, something dangerous lurking beneath.

I didn't answer. I couldn't give him the satisfaction. But my silence only seemed to provoke him more.

His hand shifted, gripping my jaw now, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that I couldn't look away. He forced my gaze back to his, his fingers applying just enough pressure to remind me of the power he held. "Do you hate me, Rag?" he repeated, his voice lower now, more insistent.

I could feel the panic rising in my chest, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. I pressed my thighs together out of habit, but Marcus saw my reaction.

His smile widened, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to my ear. "No?" he asked, his breath hot against my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the word burning on my tongue. "No," I whispered, the lie falling from my lips.

He released me, stepping back with a laugh that sent a shiver down my spine. It was a laugh of triumph, of twisted satisfaction. He knew. He knew how turned on I get when he cornered me, like the sick person I am. And the worst part was, he was happy about it.

Marcus leaned back against the couch, spreading his arms out as if he owned the room as if he owned me. His eyes were still fixed on me, dark and hungry. "Come here," he said again, his voice a little sharper this time.

I obeyed, my legs moving forward on autopilot. I stopped in front of him, my gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet those predatory eyes again.

"Why don't you hate me? Why don't you fight me huh?" he asked.

I'm silent, unable to form the words.

He tilted his head, watching me closely. "Is it because you want to fuck?" His question hung in the air, making my stomach twist with nausea.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. My hands balled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms.

Marcus didn't wait for an answer this time. His smile faded, replaced by something darker, more sinister. His voice was low. "On your knees, Rag."