Xavier

Chapter 12: Losing Control

(Xavier's POV )

I should've been satisfied.

She cried.

She broke.

I won.

So why the fuck did I feel like I had lost?

—

After the Fight -

I shoved open the locker room door, the echoes of my footsteps sharp against the tiled floor.

I was still seething.

The way she looked at me.

The way her hands shook when she picked up that stupid wallet.

The way she tried to hold back her tears.

And then—Grayson.

Fucking Grayson.

He had stood in my way.

He had defied me.

For her.

I slammed my locker shut just as the door swung open again.

Grayson.

Because of course.

He strolled in, annoyingly calm, hands in his pockets.

"You need to cool off," he said, voice too damn casual.

I turned slowly, jaw clenched. "You need to stay the fuck out of my business."

Grayson sighed, shaking his head. "Xavier, what the hell is wrong with you?"

I let out a sharp laugh. "You're asking me that?"

"Yeah, I am," he said, crossing his arms. "Because last I checked, humiliating a girl until she cries wasn't your usual brand of entertainment."

I scoffed, stepping forward. "And since when do you play hero, Westwood?"

His jaw ticked. "Since I saw you take things too far."

I clenched my fists. "She deserved it."

"Did she?"

I froze.

Because there was something in his voice—something knowing.

I scowled. "She fucking slapped me, Grayson."

He tilted his head. "Yeah. And you just spent the last two days tearing her apart for it. You sure that's what this is about?"

I stiffened.

A slow smirk curled on his lips.

"Oh, man," he murmured. "You don't even see it, do you?"

I glared. "See what?"

Grayson took a step forward, his eyes flashing with something close to amusement.

"You're obsessed with her," he said simply.

My pulse spiked.

I let out a sharp laugh. "Fuck off, Grayson."

He just grinned. "No, seriously. It's kinda funny to watch."

My blood boiled. "You have five seconds to shut the hell up."

He ignored me.

"You push her," he continued, "because you want a reaction out of her."

I stepped forward, voice dangerously low. "Grayson—"

"And you're pissed at me," he added, smirking harder now, "because I stepped in between you and your new favorite toy."

My hand shot out.

Before I could think, I grabbed his collar and slammed him against the locker.

Hard.

The metal rattled.

Grayson let out a sharp exhale, but his smirk didn't drop.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" he murmured.

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

He laughed. "Oh, but I do."

I shoved him back. "Stay the hell out of my way, Westwood."

Grayson adjusted his collar, exhaling slowly.

Then, he smirked.

"You can keep lying to yourself, Knight," he said, voice mockingly light. "But I see it. And soon? So will she."

I watched as he grabbed his bag and strolled out like nothing happened.

I let out a sharp breath, running a hand through my hair.

What the fuck just happened?

—

Home – A Thought I Shouldn't Have

By the time I got home, I was still pissed.

Still restless.

Still thinking about her.

I tossed my bag onto the couch, running a hand through my hair as I paced the room.

This wasn't normal.

I'd humiliated plenty of people before.

I'd broken people before.

So why the fuck did this feel… different?

I sat down, elbows resting on my knees, head hanging low.

Her face flashed through my mind.

The way she looked at me.

The way her lips trembled when she tried to hold back her tears.

Something tightened in my chest.

I clenched my jaw, shaking my head. No.

I didn't give a fuck.

Not about her.

Not about her stupid tears.

Not about any of it.

This was just another game.

Another girl who needed to learn her place.

And tomorrow?

I'd remind her exactly where she stood.

Even if I had to break her completely.

—