Chapter 1 #3
“But you know that’s what they all think. Because you let them believe that you’re one of them. I suppose you want to fit in, to be popular.”
I bite my lip. I’m doing all this for the sake of my future business, but he doesn’t need to know that. The last thing I want is to give him more leverage.
“Is it a crime to want to be popular? I work hard for it. Also, how do you know about my Dad?”
He tilts his head. “I’ve heard things. And you don’t act like a girl who comes from money. You’re way too cautious and too much of a people pleaser. You see, real wealthy people are all entitled assholes like me.”
His smile is sharp with teeth. His canines shimmer under the light, making him look like an actual monster.
He takes his phone from his pocket, unlocks it with a thumbprint, and taps twice. He holds up the screen.
A photograph of me crying, and another one of the two of us in the mirror, his mouth on mine, my fists curled in his shirt like I planned to rip it, my wet lashes spiked. He must have taken it when my eyes were closed.
Panic punches the air from my lungs.
My voice is very calm. “Delete it.”
“I will,” he says, and my stomach drops even as a weird relief hits. “After you repay me.”
I swallow. He watches the movement like it’s interesting. “Repay you how?”
He slips the phone away, as if that part is finished. “You’re going to be my girlfriend.”
The laugh that leaves me is ugly and real. “Absolutely not.”
“Don’t get so prissy. I’m not asking you out for real,” he adds, generous, like he’s offering a discount. “You’ll be my fake girlfriend.”
I step back. He doesn’t pursue; he doesn’t have to. His attention follows like heat.
“And why,” I ask, crisp, “would Dmitry Antonov need a fake girlfriend?”
He considers me, the calculation back like a mask.
“I need access. To the places you go, the people you meet, and the people you have influence over. You are everywhere, and you know everyone worth knowing. People trust you; they want to be around you. You are a key that opens everything on this campus.”
I should be flattered, but I feel like I don’t deserve these compliments.
“So this is a business arrangement. I guess you want to be popular, too.”
A tiny lift of one shoulder. “If that helps you sleep.”
He doesn’t look like he’s doing this for social clout.
What could he want by using my connections?
Is he also trying to get himself acquainted with rich people because he wants to use them to start his own business?
I mean, that makes sense, given how ambitious and driven he is.
He’s good at accounting. Being an accountant to the rich and famous would be highly lucrative.
But deep in my gut, I wonder if the reason is far more sinister. If he’s really a part of the mafia, and he just wants to sell drugs to unsuspecting college kids.
“And if I say no?”
He glances at the door. The private smile is back, the one that never reaches his eyes. “Then I suppose I will be very upset. And very talkative.”
I breathe in, slow. Then I breathe out and compose myself.
Terms. I need terms. I was raised on contracts and consequences. If I’m going to survive him, I will not do it on my knees in the dark.
“I have my rules,” I say.
“Spit them out,” he allows. “I’ll decide if they’re worth following.”
“You don’t touch me.” I square my shoulders, trying to show that I’m not someone who backs down easily. “You don’t humiliate me in front of people.”
“You do that well enough yourself,” he says, and when I bristle, he adds, quietly, “And I don’t want to touch you any more than you want to touch me. But if we’re going to convince people that you’re my girlfriend, I’ll have to show some affection.”
It shouldn’t steady me. It does. I crave his next touch like I crave oxygen.
Even here in this small space where I should feel claustrophobic, his presence is like a rock that I’m clinging to.
I feel cocooned by his dark energy, as if he’s secretly protecting me even as he threatens to ruin my social life and future plans.
“We keep it clean at official events.” I swallow.
“Define clean.”
I heat. “You know what I mean.”
A rasp. “I do. Which is why I’m going to enjoy reminding you that what you mean and what you want are not always the same thing.”
“Dmitry.”
He looks at my mouth when I say his name, as if I’ve given him something. “Callista.”
I lift my chin. “And you delete the photo.”
“When you show up for me Friday night and introduce me to all the people in your circle that I’m interested in,” he says. “Wear the black dress on your third hanger. The one with the low back. Hair down.”
My jaw hangs open in shock. “You’ve been in my closet? Are you stalking me?”
“Yes, and yes.” He doesn’t even flinch at my question.
His response is flippant. Nonchalant. Like stalking and going through a girl’s closet are regular hobbies college-aged guys have.
“I didn’t come here on a whim. I have been collecting information on you for a long time, Callista.
I know a lot about you. Your secrets, your shame, your pain, the things about your family you never tell anyone. ”
Every word sends a new spiral of fear into my bloodstream. I take back every good word I said about Dmitry Antonov. He’s not a good guy. He’s not my knight in a shining armor.
He’s a bully. He’s a villain. He’s a fucking stalker. But none of that stops my pussy from gushing for him.
Dmitry steps aside, granting me space like a benevolent tyrant. “Five minutes,” he reminds me, opening the door a crack, listening. The hallway is a hive again. He glances back at me, eyes dark and bright at once. “Smile, princess.”
“I am not your princess.”
His mouth curves. “Not yet.”
He slips out, the lock catching softly after him. The room expands around me like it was waiting to exhale.
I stare at the girl in the mirror. The kiss is still on my mouth, a flush I can’t powder away.
I fix my mascara, press cold water to my wrists, reapply lipstick, twist one stray hair back into its place.
The face I make is flawless. The girl behind it is in trouble.
First, my dad cut me off. Now I am being bullied by a guy with connections to organized crime.
Still, I tell myself I can use this to my advantage.
I can make Dmitry fund me, buy me the things I used to buy with my Dad’s money.
If he’s a bully, I can be a gold digger, too.
Five minutes later, I descend the stairs into a house that loves me because I never fail. Lila swoops in, eyes bright and nosy. “Where did you disappear to?”
I give her what she wants. “Kissing my boyfriend in the bathroom. I guess the rumors haven’t spread yet.”
“Oh my god, are you really dating Dmitry Antonov?” They giggle like they’d been waiting for that word.
I decide I could use this fake dating scheme to my advantage.
I always get hit on by guys. Having a boyfriend who comes from an actually rich family could give me advantages.
I’ll feel like less of an imposter with him backing me.
I’m going to use him, too. He’s not the only one who’ll benefit from our arrangement.
In the far corner, Dmitry watches the room like a man who already owns the deed. Our eyes meet for a brief second. He touches two fingers to his mouth and then to his phone.
Promise. Threat. Contract.
I glide into the center of my party and make it a stage again. I am the perfect hostess. I am the perfect lie. And in forty-eight hours, I am going to be Dmitry Antonov’s perfect girlfriend.
On paper. In public.
Everywhere he decides.