“Você é lindo,”6he breathes, and I understand. He thinks I’m beautiful, and he takes his time drinking me in, slowing down his frantic movements, only to watch me unravel for him. Dragging his cock from inside, only to slam back in. Over and over. Until he brings me back to the edge, and this time he doesn’t stop until we are both barreling off it. “Você é meu,7” hemurmurs through gritted teeth, as his cock twitches and spills deep inside me.
And like always, he pulls out, without a word, and walks away. My gaze catches his back muscles, watching the light cast shadows on them. This is the part I hate the most: the crash after you take the drug. Once the bliss is gone, all that is left is disgust.
Like clockwork, he steps into the bathroom and gags until he’s spilling his own shame into the toilet bowl. I never stay for this part. By the time he’s done, I’m gone, before the voices of shame can grow any louder. This time is no different; I clean myself the best I can. Take another swig of alcohol for good luck and get the fuck away.
I don’t look back.
Not at the bed. Nor at the man heaving in the bathroom like he’s trying to purge everything he just did to me. My feet move quicker than my mind, walking as fast as I can and far enough so I can breathe again. My clothes are disheveled, not that I bothered fixing them. I can’t even bother to fix myself.
The hallway walls grow closer; they feel endless, and soon I see the light of the red blinking exit sign. I push the door open and breathe in a lungful of night air. The night is quiet, and for a moment, my mind goes still. The reprieve is quickly interrupted by a vibration in my pocket. I groan as I fish out my phone. Looking down at the screen, I’m reminded of the dance that’s days away—the one I’ll be auctioned at.
I bring the phone to my forehead, pressing the device into my flesh with a deep and guttural groan. I’m so fucking tired. I shove the phone back into my pocket and keep walking, cutting across the courtyard and heading towards the dorms. The wind bites at my skin, but I don’t slow down. Not until catching a glimpse of Wyatt coming from the east wing, a grey hoodie pulled up and hands shoved deep into his pocket. His pace is fast and erratic which is unlike him, making me question what he’s up to. I hide between one of the buildings, watching him look around before choosing the path that leads to our dorm. I follow close behind him, making it appear that I didn’t notice he was there when we almost collide into each other.
“Watch it,” he mutters, trying to push past me, but I grab his arm. He jerks away, and that’s when I see it—the stain dancing on the edge of his sleeves. My brows pull together; there’s no mistaking what it is. Sure, it’s faint, but it’s there. Blood, smudged into the cut of the fabric.
“Wyatt.”
He doesn’t answer with words, only a glare.
“What happened?”
His eyes narrow into small slits. “Remember your place, I don’t answer to you.” He smiles as he gently slaps my cheek. “It’s the other way around, Zayden.”
As much as I try not to let this affect me, it does. Wyatt isn’t my friend, that I know, but we got along for the most part. And unlike Ezra, he has never spoken about people's worth. My jaw clenches from anger; something happened… I just hope it wasn’t to Nico.
Wyatt storms off, and I’m left standing in the doorway, my heart finally steady, even as the voices grow stronger. The ones that remind me I’m not enough. The ones that scream that I’m nothing. Maybe Safra was right about something. I’m only here to be used. But I know blood when I see it. And I alsoknow guilt when it disappears behind the bathroom door. A sick feeling blooms in my chest, making my stomach turn, leaving me winded.
Something happened.
And it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world bleeds for it.
1. my prince
2. “That's right, good boy.
3. fuck
4. “Look at what you make me do.”
5. my prince
6. “You are beautiful,”
7. You are mine
Chapter Fifteen
Thiago
My palms are sweaty, my heart ticking away with each step. It’s early, the campus is still mostly asleep—but not my guy. One of the things I love about Teddy—he never sleeps. As always, I pick the lock and let myself inside, with a smile on my face and a double espresso in my hand. His name is like a magic phrase. But instead of saying abracadabra, I simply say, “Ted, my man.”
He groans loudly, his beady eyes on me in a menacing glare.
“Assembly’s today,” I remind him, knowing he doesn’t care. To be fair, neither do I. What I do care about is what is inside the drive I drop on his desk. “I have a job for you.”
He doesn’t ask what I want, he simply picks it up and plugs it in. After a beat of silence and a symphony of clicks from his mouse and keyboard, the melody of moans fills the cramped space. My lips stretch into a wide smile. My fingers pretend that I’m conducting an orchestra of depravity. I allow myself to enjoy this win. You don't get many of those in my world, not unless you play dirty. For once, I can say I’m happy. I really don’t have tomarry Allison. And now I can actually pursue the woman who’ll be a decoy—the perfect shield to keep the illusion of normalcy while I become the snake my father groomed me to be.
The video’s timestamp is clean, and the visual evidence is damning. My bet, Mr. Roberts was recording this to save for when he can sneak away and fuck with the students. As the VP of the school board, this isn’t going to look good on him or the school. Or Allison, for that matter. Ted doesn’t flinch; his eyes remain glued on the screen, his fingers folded into a triangle as he gawks at her bouncing tits.