“So you’ve been reporting back to Daddy.”
The words landed like a slap.
“No,” I burst out. “Not... not like that. I didn’t tell him anything—”
“But you were supposed to.” His calm cut deeper than fury. “That’s what you’re saying, right? That’s why you’re here. Not because I needed help. Not because you gave a shit about me. Because your father told you to spy on me.”
My stomach dropped, a rush of shame heating my cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”
“It’sexactlylike that.”
The steel in his tone was worse than rage. Because rage I could have met with fire. This? This was ice, and it froze me to the spot.
I wanted to reach for him, to make him see that even though I’d been asked to do it, I hadn’t. Not really. And that it had turned into... whatever we were now, that wasus. But the wall was already rising in his eyes, brick by brick, shutting me out.
He moved a step to the side, just far enough that the workbench was no longer at his back, but the space between us felt like a chasm, my chest clenched with the sharp, undeniable truth.
I’d just lost him. Or at least, that’s how it felt when he movedaway. Dante never moved away from me.
He watched me, and I knew he wasn’t done.
“Tell me,Savvy,” he said, his voice smooth as glass and sharp as broken shards. “What exactly were you supposed to tell him? How many notes did you keep for Daddy about me?”
My nickname on his lips — one I still hadn’t given him permission to use — hit different now. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t pushing in that flirtatious way he had. It was heavy with scorn.
“I don’t,” I whispered, my fists tightening at my sides. “I haven’t told him a single thing about you, except that you wouldn’t need a lot of tutoring.”
His laugh was short and humorless. “So you’re a shitty spy, then?”
“That’s not what this is!” My voice broke out of me louder than I meant, bouncing hard off the metal and glass of the shed walls. “I didn’t ask for this, Dante! I got assigned to you because you’re in danger of failing a class thatIdo well in.That’swhat tutoring is. You get taught by someone who knows whatthey’re doing. You’re the first athlete I’ve ever had. Trust me, I didn’t want to be the person in charge of making sure the star quarterback didn’t flunk out of the program!”
His jaw flexed, but his eyes stayed locked on me. “But you did it anyway.”
“Yes,” I snapped, because the truth stung worse than the lie. “Because I’m atutor. Because he’s my father, and when the Dean of Wrighton University asks you to do something, you don’t exactly get to say no. Especially not when you’re his daughter.” I took a deep breath. “But Iwasn’tdoing it! I was here, you were in bars, or at training, or in bed—”
The words hung there, raw, and I hated how desperate I sounded.
For a second — just a second — his expression shifted, like the steel cracked and something else flickered underneath. Then it was gone, replaced by that cold mask again.
“Is that what last night was?” he said finally. “Part of the project to keep QB10 in line, make sure he can still throw touchdowns for Daddy’s donors.”
“That’s not fair.” My throat tightened. “That’s not who I am, and you know it.”
His lip curled in an ugly sneer; it didn’t belong on his face.
“Do I?” His voice dropped lower, quieter, somehow even sharper. “Because I don’t know what’s real with you. Not the tutoring. Not the smart little smiles. Not the way you look at me like you want me.” He shook his head in disgust. “Not the way you spread your legs and say,fuck me.”
Heat rushed to my face. “That’s not—”
“Itis,” he interrupted, stepping closer again, as if challenging my defiance. “You fucking used me. You used me to placate your father. You used me to hide your art project. You fucked me just to what? Say fuck off to your dad?” He looked down at mewith ice-cold rage. “Fuck you, Sav. You’re nothing but a heartless bitch.”
He turned away from me, heading to the door. His strides were angry and determined, hurrying to put distance between us.
“That’s not true!” I knew I was screaming; I didn’t care. “It’s not like that! I wouldneverdo that!”
He froze. His hand was already on the door, fingers flexing against the handle, but his shoulders tightened instead of moving forward.
Slowly, he turned back to me. The rage hadn’t left his eyes, but something else bled into it — something darker, hungrier.
