I can’t.
Instead, I do the one thing I’ve learned to do best at Corvus. I lift my chin and start walking. I don’t look at anyone, I don’t slow down. I don’t let them see me bleed.
That doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. Every stare, every whisper, every flicker of movement at the edges of my vision. It crawls over my skin, clings to me, follows me down the campus path.
Then slowly, the shame starts curdling into something else, hardening until there’s nothing soft left in it at all. Just heat. Fury. Determination. The kind of molten, brain-melting rage that scorches away everything else.
This has Ford written all over it. The tacky flyer, the over-the-top humiliation, the setup and the punchline. For the first time in days, I’m not even thinking about the Dollhouse– because the real monster has been here all along, living right down the hall from me, smiling to my face.
And now, he’s about to find out exactly what happens when you push a girl like me too far. A girl with nothing left to lose.
By the time Sutton Hall comes into view, I’m running on pure adrenaline, fists clenched so tight my hands ache, jaw locked hard enough to throb.
I want to hurt something.
No– I want to hurthim.
I’m done hiding, done swallowing it down, done caring what people think.
This isn’t a game anymore.
This is war.
CHAPTER 17
WES
The apartment isdead quiet except for the hollow tap of Ford’s laptop keys and the low drone of Raf’s voice as he flips between phone calls. I’m at the kitchen table, hunched over my sociology textbook, which might as well be written in another language for how much of it is seeping into my brain right now.
Finals are just a couple weeks out. I should be dialed in, cramming until my eyes bleed, but every five minutes I catch myself glancing at Ford or Raf, itching to be in on whatever scheme they’re hatching.
They said they have the shipment situation handled and don’t need my help. Normally, that’d piss me off, but today, I’m grateful for the excuse. Most of the faculty here hands us A’s like candy, but Dr. O’Connell is old-school. He’ll tank my GPA without blinking, and I’m not about to wreck my perfect record playing hero for a girl who won’t even look me in the eye anymore.
So I stay in my seat. Keep my head down. Pretend I’m not listening to every keystroke and every shift in Raf’s tone, trying to piece together what I’m being left out of.
The apartment door slams open hard enough to rattle the walls, and I’m on my feet in an instant, shoulders up and fists clenched.
Ava storms in like a fucking hurricane. Her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, hair windblown, chest rising and falling like she just sprinted all the way here. She kicks the door closed behind her, phone clutched in her hand like she’s about to beat someone to death with it.
“Who did it?” she demands, ripping her backpack off her shoulder and slamming it against the wall. The impact echoes through the apartment as she stalks straight into the living room, murderous eyes zeroed in on Ford.
He doesn’t even flinch. Just tips his chin up, calm as ever, like he’s been waiting for this all fucking day. “Did what?” he asks mildly, fingers still moving over his laptop keys.
Ava stalks up to the recliner, crowding into his space and shoving her phone in his face. “Was it just you?” she snaps, then whips around so fast it’s almost disorienting, eyes cutting to Raf, then me. “Or were you all in on it?”
Raf glances up from the couch, mouth quirking in faint amusement, but he doesn’t say a word. That’s his whole schtick these days– watching, measuring, letting everything play out until he decides it matters.
Ford finally looks at Ava’s phone screen, then back at her, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You got a problem with the party invite, Ava baby?” he drawls, clearly pleased with himself. “Do the graphics not match your aesthetic, or…?”
“I will stab you,” she snarls.
His face lights up, eyes brightening as if he’s thrilled with that suggestion.
“Careful,” he murmurs, grabbing his crotch, “you’re getting Monty all excited.”
Jesus Christ.
I clear my throat to get her attention, stepping in before this escalates further. “Let me see,” I say, hand outstretched.
