"...My sincerest apologies for how my actions might have hurt everyone." Tristan muttered into the mic, then turned to me. "Especially Myles..."The next day found us in the school hall, standing before a sea of students, their eyes sympathetic as they looked at him. They didn’t show this kind of pity for me. I’d gotten used to that.And Tristan played along, charisma oozing from him, hypnotizing. But I wasn’t fooled. I saw the glint in his eyes when he looked at me, the way he tilted his head, making it seem like he was adjusting his collar, or how he added a purr to his voice, his tone sending a shiver up my spine."We love you, Tristan!" someone screamed from the crowd."Thank you. Really, all of you," he replied, pausing for effect. Then he turned to me again. "Myles, if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I promise..." His voice was smug, almost taunting. "Never to make you my plaything again."Applause broke out, the sound swinging in waves, echoing the confusion poundi
"..." "..." "Listen, I'd take all of your kinks..." "I don't have kinks..." "Let you sniff crack off my ass..." "Hmm, why haven't I thought of that?" "But I won't let you fuck me whenever or however you want." "How about wherever?" "..." He raised a brow. Bloody son of a bitch. We were on his seventh rule, a bunch of words he had strung together to piss me off and some that seemed valid but weird. Like... "Close the door without making a sound, you're enough of a migraine; I can't add noise to it." Or, "This is not a relationship. I'd rather this remain a secret." His voice was stern, no longer the playful tug, so I understood this rule was crucial. Besides, it wasn't like I was so proud of being his latest conquest that I'd whisper it to anyone. Rolling my eyes, I shrugged, "I wish the same." Then his sixth rule: resting his face in his palm, he read out, "You're not allowed to fall in love with me. If that happens, you keep it to yourself. This arrangement shouldn't g
MYLESHe takes my lips like his life depends on it, and I, unable to hold back, moan into his mouth. With him pressed against me, I can feel his heart thudding, quickening.I catch my breath as his fingers slip lower, finding that little spot, the one that makes me go… "Argh... Ha… Ha... wait..." My fingers dig into his sides, unsure if I want to pull him closer or push him away.He chuckles, and soon I feel his wet lips against my ear. "Keep making that sound, and we'll be here till morning."But those fingers are relentless, like they know exactly how to touch every place that sends waves of pleasure through me. Our breaths mingle, caught in a wordless struggle, each daring the other to be the first to let go, until he finally pulls his fingers away.The tension drains from me, but crashes back when he grips my thigh, raising my leg as he presses the tip of his length against me, pushing into that loosened spot."Wait!" I gasp, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to keep steady. "
He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t be at school the next day, or the next, or even the day after that. I wasn’t exactly looking for him—it just seemed weird that Eros was present and he wasn’t. The green organism moved, and I kept my eyes locked on it. Where had he even gone? What exactly does he do?“Boo!” came a voice from behind, and I scrambled away from the microscope, heart thudding in my chest. “Told you, Leo,” Jade snorted. “He’s here, but not with his senses.”Leo sighed, “Yeah. You’re right.”“Now pay up.”We were in the biology lab, lab coats over our regular clothes, and in front of us lay a dissected owl pellet—an experiment long forgotten as Leo counted dollar notes and handed them to a beaming Jade.“You guys are unbelievable,” I huffed, returning to the microscope.“You know what’s unbelievable?” Jade leaned across the table, looking at me dreamily. “That your phone’s been off all day.”With that feigned look, I knew I was in trouble. “Uh, yeah. I had issues wi
"I highlighted the main points from last week’s lectures. You missed quite a bit." She bit into an apple, talking through a full mouth. "But don’t worry, I’ve got you covered." I flipped through her notes and couldn’t help but smile. "Thanks, Nat. Really." She made it so easy to be around her, as if she were bent on proving me wrong about every incorrect assumption I had. Not once did she turn her gaze away from me, and unlike me, she wasn’t conscious of the whispers around us. Slowly, I was getting the hang of it. I carefully set her books aside. "I should be done with them by tomorrow—maybe even before your first class." She waved me off, swallowing. "No, take your time, Myles. I’m not exactly in a hurry to get them back. Besides..." She shrugged. "If I take them, they’ll just sit in my locker untouched." "Noted." I bit into my hamburger, savoring the flavor until it turned to ash in my mouth, noticing she was watching me. "More notes?" I asked through a full mouth. She smiled,
I dashed down the stairs and stopped in front of Diego, ready to pounce at the first wrong word out of his mouth."Where the hell is it?!" I snarled.Diego rose slowly, his movement calm, leisurely, and the men with him followed suit, the table groaning as it scraped across the floor. Their eyes flicked between Diego and me, alert, as though waiting for some unspoken signal.One of them shifted forward, his gaze fixed on me, jaw clenched, but Diego held up a hand. “Stand down!” he gave the man a rough shove. “This one’s stronger than you think.”Realization hit, bitter and fast. These men weren’t here by chance. I was the reason they’d gathered. Every clue the fucker took it. "Diego, where the hell is my money?!"He chuckled, "What money? You don't have any money."I marched up to him, fists clenched, eyes blazing. "Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about! Twenty thousand! Give it back, now!"My stepfather tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Twenty thousand,
The automated voice repeated, "The number you're trying to call is switched off, please try again later..." I let the phone drop, leaning back against the wooden pew chairs as my gaze lifted to the rink. Just in time, I saw George slam the puck hard into the post, then spit, his eyes landing on me with a silent challenge. The rivalry was a quiet one, as though we were in some sort of silent competition. Days ago, I might have thrown him a grin, but now I was too busy glaring at my phone, waiting for it to ring... any ring. Just like Eros had said—still no sign or word from Myles. It had been five days since he’d vanished and four days since his phone had gone dead. Yet I kept calling, dialing the same number over and over, hoping each time he might finally pick up. A shadow fell over me. I looked up to see Coach Daniel settling beside me. Slowly, I turned my phone screen down and looked out at the rink. "I thought you’d jump right back into the rink once you were back." He began,
I leaned against the door, heart racing with a mixture of dread and frustration. "Shit," I whispered, feeling the sweat dampen my shirt and the bandage beneath. "Shit!"He knocked again.I held my breath, wishing more than ever that I hadn’t come to the door, hoping he’d just go away. A chill seeped through me, filling every part of me with unease. How did he even find this place?Another knock.I glanced through the peephole. He was still standing there, massaging his temples, his face unreadable. I winced, remembering his rules about noise.I pressed my back against the door, reminding myself those rules only mattered in *his* place, not here."Myles," his voice filtered through the cracks in the door. "Open up, Myles."I turned back to the door, replacing my fear with frustration, twisted the knob, and pulled it open again, coming face-to-face with the smirking figure in front of me."I was about to come in through the window," he said.I glared. "What the hell are you doing here?
**DOMENICO** [Third Person]Above the restaurant, behind the glass walls, Domenico sat on a sofa, watching his nephew stand behind the boy. A boy he'd seen in pictures, but now here, in the flesh.His hands clenched into fists against the arm of the chair, his pulse pounding with heat racing through his veins. What were the odds? “He still isn’t picking up,” Connor’s voice broke the silence, drawing closer. Domenico could feel the concern in his tone. “You shouldn’t have come here yourself.” Domenico stood, running a hand through his hair, trying to blink away what he'd just seen. So much for a fucking transactional relationship. He poured himself a drink, raised the glass to his lips—and then hurled it across the room. Rage clouded his gaze as the glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards beneath the blood-red lights above. He knew. He always knew when something was going wrong, when all his hard work teetered on the edge of ruin. The boy—Myles, or whatever the fu
**MYLES**"...If you think that's good, then you need to try this," Jake said when he was suddenly surrounded by three suited men, who loomed over him. "You'll need to come with us, sir," one of the men recited. "You're being detained for identity theft." My frown mirrored Jake's as I looked up at the men, who seemed to be closing in on our table with every second. "Uh," Jake began, an uncertain wry smile on his face as he looked from me to the men, "Is this a joke?" He laughed again. "It’s a joke, right?" The men didn’t look like they were joking. "Sir, we'd like for you to step outside." Jake’s laughter faded as he realized the suited men weren’t playing around. He glanced at me, his face contorting with confusion, then back at the men, who had stepped closer, their presence suffocating the space between us. "Woah." Jake rose quietly, as if careful not to draw attention, though it was already too late. "What identity theft? You don’t even know my name." "Jake Carter,"
"So?" Jake raised an expectant brow, his eyes alight with anticipation. "You like it?" I chewed the venison, savoring the burst of flavor on my tongue, even as discomfort churned in my stomach. Swallowing, I glanced up. "You really gonna ask that about every dish I try?" Jake smiled sheepishly. "Maybe I just want everything to be perfect for you." Before I could answer, his hand reached out, covering mine. "I'm so glad you're here." Was I? Glad to be here? Not when I could feel Tristan’s gaze boring into me—suffocating tension thickened the air, heavy enough to slice with a knife. My stomach twisted. Our table was positioned just right—or wrong—so if I turned my head even slightly, I’d see him. And Tristan wasn’t making it easy to ignore. Like now. His eyes locked onto mine, unrelenting, before dropping to Jake's hand over mine. The glare that followed could’ve frozen hell over. I pulled my gaze back to Jake, forcing a smile. I didn’t want to be here. Being this close to Trist
For the rest of the week, Tristan didn’t so much as breathe in my direction. It probably had something to do with the fact that I avoided both the rink and the canteen. Instead, I spent most of my days in the chemistry lab. Nat was always around, and whenever she was, most of our experiments ended up blowing up in our faces. We laughed until our stomachs hurt, quickly cleaning up the mess before the teachers noticed. The sharp smell of chemicals clung to our clothes as we left the lab, giggling like kids who had just gotten away with a prank. At home, the silence felt heavier than usual. Mum was out more often, and even when she was around, she seemed distant. Whenever I caught her, she smelled like scented candles. With all this free time, I buried myself in reading. My phone stayed silent—so unlike it usually was. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jade was okay. Friday arrived too quickly, knocking me off my feet. Every breath felt heavier as I reminded myself: It’s just a date. No
**JADE** "...It's one-two, two, one-two, three! And spin! Jade, Jade McCoy, what is up with you today?!" The coach yelled. I had no clue, but suddenly, the gown felt too tight—so tight I struggled for air instead of skating. Then came the gunfire, suddenly piercing my thoughts, leaving me gasping, panting, and almost tripping. It's Monday, and I can't concentrate. I almost died in an intense gun chase, and they wouldn’t know it. I fainted in the car. Listening to Eros banter with the person on the other end made my stomach churn. It told me everything I needed to know: *They had come for him*. He was used to this. As I fainted, I wondered why he never pulled out a gun—for I damn well knew he had one. I woke up in his house, still fully dressed, on a bed that smelled like him. He lived big—I listened to the quiet house—and alone, too. I snatched my coat, ready to race out of wherever this place was. But opening the door, there he was, drying his wet hands with a towel.
Dinner with Jake was surprisingly pleasant. The awkwardness I had expected never arrived. Instead, we talked—about school, books, and random little things that didn’t seem important but filled the silence in a way that made me feel... normal. He wasn’t overbearing, didn’t ask invasive questions. For once, I didn’t feel like I had to guard every word I said.Afterward, we sat on his small couch, our plates balanced on the coffee table, the dim kitchen light spilling into the living room. He owned one of the nicest spots in the neighborhood. Considering how much he worked, I understood why—but I couldn’t fathom how he kept the place so spotless. Like he read my thoughts, he said, “Left home at sixteen, moved to D.C., found a job my first week, loved the pay, and haven’t looked back since.” When I stayed quiet, he shrugged. “I wanted to make it clear—I’m not trying to make you my next dinner or something.” I smiled, comforted by his easygoing tone. “Not that.” My eyes wandered ar
**TRISTAN** "...Get your fucking uncle in order!" Detonations and a feminine scream accompanied the angry order. For Eros to call it a glock, he was in trouble. I groaned, leaving the mini bar, the half-filled glass forgotten for a moment. It was almost two, and here I was, still drinking myself to stupor. "Tristan! Are you there?!" Eros's voice cut through my confusion. The screeching, the gunfire—it was all giving me a headache. "Jesus Christ, man! I'm going to die. Call your fucking uncle!" I massaged the side of my head, walking to the window. "Why do you think it's Nico?" "I don't know..." he snarled. "Maybe because he's been on my case since he found out about the little sessions you have with M..." He stopped himself just in time. I bit back a smile. "Just call your uncle and sort this shit out!" I walked back to the counter, taking the tumbler and listening to its quiet slosh. Picking up the house phone, I punched in the very familiar number. At the first ring,
**TRISTAN** Agreed too quickly—far too quickly for a girl who decided to bestow her attention on him only a month ago. Despite the smirk tugging at my lips, I felt my blood boil. What was wrong with me? I didn't know if I wanted to kill him—tighten my fingers around his throat—or fuck him hard. "You always make bad decisions," I breathed, soaking in the hatred his eyes exuded. "Tell me about it," he retorted. I gripped his waist, nails digging into his skin. He winced and swallowed. He looked so beautiful this way, from the damp waves of his hair down to his toes, and I hated how obvious that was, even as rage coursed through me. And that clear skin... I pressed my fingers deeper into his neck. Give it time—it wouldn't stay that clear. "Come on now," I whispered. "Get on your knees." He drew a deep breath, but he didn’t hesitate, sliding down until he was on the wet floor. Before my arousal, he blushed red but kept his eyes locked on mine. And that... that sent blood
**TRISTAN** *'...I can't stop talking to Natalie.'* My fist clenched on the bar counter as I stared into the golden liquid in my tumbler. That little pain in the ass. How could one fucking person grate so hard on my nerves? What would I have done differently if it were someone else, not those puppy-brown eyes looking at me from across the table? I downed the glass in one frustrated gulp. Maybe, for starters, I wouldn't have had him at my *fucking* table. The bartender refilled my glass before I could call out, his sea blues lingering right on my zipper—a blatant open invitation. Normally, I’d take it. God knows I needed the distraction tonight—anything to silence the voice in my head or the heat crawling under my skin. But for some reason, I wasn’t interested. Grabbing my glass, I left the counter for an empty sofa tucked in the corner of the room. The club buzzed with life—flashing neon lights, bass-heavy music pounding against my skull—but it all blurred into white noise. Ha