This new Seraphina is harder. Sharper. And I'm going to break her down until there's nothing left but the parts of her that belong to me.
I watch her walk away, the sway of her hips like a fucking pendulum counting down the seconds until she's looking up at me. She passes through the doorway without looking back, and something in my chest tightens.
The moment the door closes behind her, I step out from the shadows.
Richards turns, and when he sees me, the fucker actually smirks. Like we're sharing some kind of secret. Like he knows what I want to do to Seraphina.
I raise an eyebrow, my face a mask of control while everything inside me burns. “Don't ever touch her again,” I say, my voice so calm it sounds foreign even to my own ears.
The smirk falters, but doesn't disappear. “Mr. Devereux, I didn't realize?—”
“I'm not finished.” I close the distance between us, towering over him. “Don't let your eyes stray in her direction. Don't speak her name. Don't even think about her when you're jerking your pathetic cock at night.”
His face pales, but there's still that hint of defiance in his eyes. Like he thinks his collar protects him.
“If you do,” I continue, “I'll know. And not even Bastian fucking Dubois will be able to save what's left of you.”
Now the smirk is gone completely. Everyone knows Bastian's reputation. The boogeyman of Black Crown Society. The man who makes problems disappear. The mention of his name is enough to make grown men shit themselves.
“She's not yours to protect, Lucien,” he says, trying to sound authoritative but his voice cracks. “She comes here of her own accord.”
I laugh, but there's no humor in it. “You think I don't know what you do to the girls here? The ones who come for 'special confession'?” I lean in closer, close enough to smell the fear starting to seep through his pores. “Seraphina is off-limits. To everyone but me.”
I straighten my tie, smooth down my jacket. “Now, I believe we had a meeting scheduled about the Hargrove acquisition. Unless you'd rather I just kill you now? I do have to get to practice before Coach Fontaine tries to make me do suicides.”
Richards swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing like a buoy in a storm. “The...the paperwork is in my office.”
“Then let's not waste any more time.” I gesture toward the door, watching as he scurries ahead like the rat he is.
Richards' office is a pretentious shithole, full of dark wood and leather-bound books he's probably never read. He fumbles through his desk drawer while I stand there, tapping my foot impatiently.
“Today, Richards.”
“Here.” He finally pulls out a manila folder, hands shaking so badly I almost laugh. “Everything's in order. Your father just needs to sign the final documents.”
I snatch it from him, flipping through the pages. Hargrove Pharmaceuticals. Another acquisition that'll make the Devereux empire even more untouchable. My father's pride and joy.
“Looks good enough,” I say, tucking it under my arm. “Remember what I said about Seraphina.”
“Y-yes, of course.”
I lean in close, enjoying the way he shrinks back. “Good boy.”
The chapel air feels less suffocating when I step back out. I straighten my tie, check my watch. Still time to make it to practice if I hurry. The weight of the folder under my arm reminds me of my father's expectations—always another task, another test of loyalty.
I start whistling as I walk, some tune I can't even name. The campus paths are mostly empty this time of day, everyone either in class or at practice. The whistling echoes off the stone buildings, making me sound like I give a fuck about anything.
I round the corner by the old science building and nearly collide with two figures in my path.
“Fuck's sake, watch where you're—” I stop mid-sentence, my scowl transforming into something almost resembling a smile. “Well, well. If it isn't my favorite pair of assholes.”
Cassian Crowe stands there in his usual black-on-black ensemble, cigarette dangling from his lips, dark hair falling into his eyes. Beside him, Asher Crawford leans against the wall, his golden-boy looks the exact opposite.
“Luci,” Cassian nods, taking a drag. “You look like you're about to murder someone.”
“Might still,” I mutter, adjusting my grip on the folder while rolling my eyes at the dumb nickname.
“Save some for us,” Asher says, pushing off the wall. “If you're planning to make someone disappear, we want in.”
