He can rot in fucking hell.
I am done with him… completely.
I will not give him another second of my time, another ounce of attention.Not a single fucking inch.He can keep his smirks and bets and cheap arrogance for girls who mistake noise for confidence.I am not one of them.I never was.
He is a fuckboy who treats people as entertainment.I am not built that way.I’m someone who works for what I want.I earn it and don’t play games with bodies or hearts simply for dominance.
And it hits me.
The assessment.
The one I am partnered with him on.
I let out a breath that tastes bitter.
Fucking perfect.Another thing I will have to endure with my head high and my temper locked down tight.I will survive it, though, because I will not sink to his level.
And if he so much as breathes the wrong way in my direction and fucks with my life… God help him, because I am done playing nice.
Chapter 4
Reece
There’sabuzzcrawlingunder my skin the moment she walks in, the kind that makes it hard to sit still.Chin held high.Shoulders back.That red skirt brushes her thighs with each step, riding just enough to make my teeth grit.I can’t stop tracking the sway of her hips, the quiet confidence in how she owns the room without asking permission.
Fuck.
My body reacts before my brain catches up.My dick goes hard, standing to attention as if it thinks this is a game it wants in on.I shift in my chair, annoyed at myself for letting her do this to me without even trying.
She doesn’t look at me.Not once.No glance, not even a flicker of irritation.
She walks straight past, eyes ahead, treating me as if I’m nothing more than a desk she has to work around.
That’s the fucking part that gets under my skin.
I’ve made girls lose their shit over me.Cry in bathrooms.Blow up my phone.Show up places they weren’t invited just to see if I’d notice them.
I know how to provoke, to push until they snap.But this… quiet dismissal or being stripped of my presence and reduced to nothing.It fucking burns.
I want her to be mad.I was counting on it, honestly.After what she overheard at that party—the crap Jace and I were saying—I expected fury.That quick flash in her eyes tells me I’ve got under her skin.I know how to handle anger.I thrive on it.Hate is easy.It shows she’s paying attention and means I still matter enough to make her angry.
But this?
This calm indifference feels wrong.
She moves through the room as if she has already won, as if the power I believed I had over her has slipped away the moment she decided I wasn’t worth the bother.There’s no tension in her shoulders, no stiffness in her stance.She isn’t braced for a fight.She isn’t waiting for me to poke the wound again.
She’s already moved on.
And that terrifies me more than her temper ever could.
My fingers curl around the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening as I hold on a second too long.The grin I wear for everyone else slides into place out of habit, but it doesn’t sit right.It’s hollow.As if it belongs to the version of me she refuses to see anymore.I’m not built for this waiting game.I don’t chase reactions.I get them, provoke them.I own the fallout.
Lola drops into the seat beside her in a rush of movement and noise, already leaning in, already whispering before her bag even hits the floor.Sam tilts her head, enough to listen, lashes lowering, attention pulled somewhere that isn’t me.Her mouth twitches, and my focus locks on it like a target.
I remember that mouth.That party all those years ago, and the way the world seemed to shrink to her standing in front of me.Kissing her cracked something open that night.It burned its way straight into my chest.It set a standard I never intended to keep chasing, but here I am.
I remember the feeling of her, the way she froze for half a second before kissing me back.No matter how many mouths I’ve had since, no matter how many chicks I’ve fucked, nothing ever hits the same.
