The charity auction is in two days. The frat we’re partnering with has already posted about it five times on social media. If anything goes wrong, the blame will land squarely on me.
My thighs tingle. I have masturbated twice to Dmitry after the gala. That’s a record, even for me. Still, my pussy seems to be permanently charged, as if waiting for the sound of his voice, his next command. He was so hot when he caged me against the wall and told me that there would be consequences if I didn’t listen to him.
He’s a true dominant, and he doesn’t even know it. I bet he doesn’t even care about sex, using it as a tool for gratification rather than self-expression.
My phone sits on the table beside the laptop. I keep checking it even though I know it’s useless. Dmitry hasn’t texted sinceFriday. Not a word. Not even a command. I hate that I want him to.
The worst part is that my brain keeps drifting back to him—the way he looked at the gala, the way his hand felt on my back, the quiet danger in his voice. I tell myself it’s just curiosity. But that isn’t true, and the lie makes me restless. I don’t want another man to make me feel small and invisible when he’s done using me. My father is proof enough of how that ends.
I can’t be obsessing over a man who doesn’t even want me.
“Callista!” one of the girls, Tessa, waves a clipboard. “Did you ever confirm the sound system rental?”
My stomach drops. “The what?”
“The sound system. We can’t have an auction without a microphone.”
“Oh, no.” I press my fingers to my temples. “I’ll call them right now.”
“Someone’s distracted,” Jenna sing-songs from the couch. “Must be her new boyfriend keeping her up at night.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
“Yeah,” says Hailey, flipping through her planner. “Whyareyou dating that guy anyway? He’s not in Greek life. He doesn’t even go to our events. He’s not your usual type. You like blondes. He has dark hair and he looks like a nerd. Why would you drop your standards? Plus, he’s… what’s the word…”
“Weird?” Jenna supplies. “Or shady.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
I keep my voice even. “Maybe I like mysterious.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Hailey says. “And there’s talk. His family—” she lowers her voice, as if the walls are listening— “has… you know,connections.”
“Connections?”
“To the mafia,” Jenna says, eyes wide like she’s sharing a ghost story. “Someone told me his brother was involved in some, like, Eastern European crime thing.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, but my pulse spikes. I used to think that was nonsense, but after Dmitry told me that he stalks me, I’m not so sure. He talks about criminal activities like they’re perfectly normal hobbies. Maybe he has lived in a world where that’s normal.
Hailey shrugs. “Even if it’s true, they donate a ton of money to the school. The dean loves them. They say Dmitry was accepted into college even though he didn’t make the cut. He’s a legacy-plus applicant.” She leans forward, faux sympathy dripping from her tone. “Guess it’s smart dating someone who has that kind of influence. Must be nice to never worry about things like tuition or favors.”
The words hit harder than they should. The implication that I’m with someone for the benefits.
It’s the same tone my stepmother used when she’d catch me looking at clothes in a catalog.
You really think expensive things make you special?she’d say.Your father pays for everything you have, and you still walk around like you earned it. You’ll never be more than a pretty little leech, Callista.
My throat burns. I force a smile, but it feels brittle. “I do have to worry about things.”
“Oh, come on,” Jenna says. “We’re not judging. We expectedyouto date someone like him. Loaded. Powerful. With connections that you can use to get attention and shine more socially. You do love being the center of attention. And you’ve been wearing a lot of expensive clothes lately.”
“Yeah, did he buy you those shoes. They’re Dior,” another girl adds, staring at my feet. My shoes are not Dior. They’re cheapshoes I bought at a charity sale. I guess I just make things look expensive by wearing them.
But I hate the silent implication.Gold digger.Social climber.
It sounds the same as it did in my father’s house—people laughing while I’m breaking.
“Ladies.”
