Chapter 5
FIVE
Callista
The Kappa common room smells like espresso and panic. I have three girls arguing over the color of the centerpieces, one complaining that the caterer isn’t answering emails, and a spreadsheet that refuses to balance itself.
The charity auction is in two days. The frat we’re partnering with has already posted about it five times on social media. If anything goes wrong, the blame will land squarely on me.
My thighs tingle. I have masturbated twice to Dmitry after the gala.
That’s a record, even for me. Still, my pussy seems to be permanently charged, as if waiting for the sound of his voice, his next command.
He was so hot when he caged me against the wall and told me that there would be consequences if I didn’t listen to him.
He’s a true dominant, and he doesn’t even know it. I bet he doesn’t even care about sex, using it as a tool for gratification rather than self-expression.
My phone sits on the table beside the laptop. I keep checking it even though I know it’s useless. Dmitry hasn’t texted since Friday. Not a word. Not even a command. I hate that I want him to.
The worst part is that my brain keeps drifting back to him—the way he looked at the gala, the way his hand felt on my back, the quiet danger in his voice.
I tell myself it’s just curiosity. But that isn’t true, and the lie makes me restless.
I don’t want another man to make me feel small and invisible when he’s done using me.
My father is proof enough of how that ends.
I can’t be obsessing over a man who doesn’t even want me.
“Callista!” one of the girls, Tessa, waves a clipboard. “Did you ever confirm the sound system rental?”
My stomach drops. “The what?”
“The sound system. We can’t have an auction without a microphone.”
“Oh, no.” I press my fingers to my temples. “I’ll call them right now.”
“Someone’s distracted,” Jenna sing-songs from the couch. “Must be her new boyfriend keeping her up at night.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
“Yeah,” says Hailey, flipping through her planner. “Why are you dating that guy anyway? He’s not in Greek life. He doesn’t even go to our events. He’s not your usual type. You like blondes. He has dark hair and he looks like a nerd. Why would you drop your standards? Plus, he’s… what’s the word…”
“Weird?” Jenna supplies. “Or shady.”
Laughter ripples through the room.
I keep my voice even. “Maybe I like mysterious.”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Hailey says. “And there’s talk. His family—” she lowers her voice, as if the walls are listening— “has… you know, connections.”
“Connections?”
“To the mafia,” Jenna says, eyes wide like she’s sharing a ghost story. “Someone told me his brother was involved in some, like, Eastern European crime thing.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, but my pulse spikes. I used to think that was nonsense, but after Dmitry told me that he stalks me, I’m not so sure. He talks about criminal activities like they’re perfectly normal hobbies. Maybe he has lived in a world where that’s normal.
Hailey shrugs. “Even if it’s true, they donate a ton of money to the school.
The dean loves them. They say Dmitry was accepted into college even though he didn’t make the cut.
He’s a legacy-plus applicant.” She leans forward, faux sympathy dripping from her tone.
“Guess it’s smart dating someone who has that kind of influence.
Must be nice to never worry about things like tuition or favors. ”
The words hit harder than they should. The implication that I’m with someone for the benefits.
It’s the same tone my stepmother used when she’d catch me looking at clothes in a catalog.
You really think expensive things make you special? she’d say. Your father pays for everything you have, and you still walk around like you earned it. You’ll never be more than a pretty little leech, Callista.
My throat burns. I force a smile, but it feels brittle. “I do have to worry about things.”
“Oh, come on,” Jenna says. “We’re not judging. We expected you to date someone like him. Loaded. Powerful. With connections that you can use to get attention and shine more socially. You do love being the center of attention. And you’ve been wearing a lot of expensive clothes lately.”
“Yeah, did he buy you those shoes. They’re Dior,” another girl adds, staring at my feet. My shoes are not Dior. They’re cheap shoes I bought at a charity sale. I guess I just make things look expensive by wearing them.
But I hate the silent implication. Gold digger. Social climber.
It sounds the same as it did in my father’s house—people laughing while I’m breaking.
“Ladies.”
The voice comes from the doorway.
Dmitry stands there, black coat, dark eyes, every inch of him cutting through the noise. The room falls silent in an instant.
Hailey straightens, trying for charm. “We were just—”
“Talking about me,” he finishes. “I heard.”
Nobody breathes.
He crosses the room slowly, stopping beside me. The energy shifts; the air tightens.
“For the record,” Dmitry says, his voice low but carrying, “Callista isn’t a gold digger. She didn’t chase me. I asked her out.”
The room stills.
“I can see why people talk,” he continues, eyes flicking from one girl to the next. “It’s easy to fill in blanks when you don’t have anything interesting in your own lives.”
Jenna bristles. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know,” he says smoothly. “You just forgot your manners.”
Silence. Embarrassment thickens the air. The girls glance at one another, flushed, caught between fear and fascination.
My heart races. I feel protected. For the first time in my life, it feels like I have someone in my corner.
Someone clearing up the facts, someone defending me against people’s lies.
Setting the record straight and showing people that I’m not defenseless.
That there are people who care about me, too.
Dmitry turns to me. “You ready?”
I nod before I can think. My heart’s still racing, a mix of humiliation and something far more dangerous—pride. He stood up for me. Publicly. No one’s ever done that.
I look at the girls, my voice sharper than I intended. “Next time you’re curious about my relationship, ask me directly. Not when you’re gossiping like bored housewives.”
Their jaws drop.
It feels like breaking the surface after being underwater too long. I’ve never spoken like that, not to anyone.
Dmitry gestures toward the door. “Let’s go.”
I follow him out, every step a strange mix of adrenaline and satisfaction.
When we reach my room, I shut the door behind us. “You didn’t have to humiliate them.”
He looks at me, calm as always. “They humiliated you first.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You didn’t look like it.”
That stings, mostly because it’s true. “You can’t keep swooping in like some dark knight.”
“I’m not a dark knight, I’m you fake boyfriend” he says, and for the first today, I almost smile.
But then his tone changes. “You shouldn’t let people talk about you like that. You’re mine. They should know better.”
The word mine sends a shiver through me. I hate how much power it has.
“Stop saying that,” I whisper.
He takes a step closer. “You don’t want me to stop.”
I wish he were wrong.
The air between us hums with something I can’t name. Then my phone rings.
My stomach plummets when I see the name on the screen.
Dad.
“Oh God,” I whisper. “I can’t—”
I hesitate too long. I bite my lip, hoping that the phone stops ringing. My father wouldn’t call me until he had bad news to deliver and I’m not in the mood for bad news.
Dmitry takes one look at me and snatches the phone from my hand.
“Dmitry, no—”
“Hello,” he says, tone smooth, confident.
I lunge for the phone, mouthing give it back, but he steps out of reach and hits speaker.
“Who is this?” my father’s voice booms through the room, clipped and cold as ever.
“I’m Callista’s boyfriend,” Dmitry says, steady as stone. “Dmitry Antonov.”
I freeze. The room tilts.
My father goes silent for three long, horrifying seconds. “Her what?”
Dmitry doesn’t flinch. “Her boyfriend. It’s nice to finally speak with you, sir. Callista’s busy right now, but if you’d like to leave a message, I’ll pass it on.”
I shake my head violently, mouthing stop it, but he only watches me, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
My father clears his throat. His voice is tight, controlled, the way it gets when he’s forcing himself not to shout.
“Tell her that her stepmother has generously decided to invite her to the party we’re hosting before Selina leaves for art camp in Paris.
Some of our guests were asking about her, and it would be…
impolite if she didn’t make an appearance. ”
I can picture him: sitting in his study, tie loosened, whisky glass sweating in his hand, every word measured and heavy.
“It’s the Sunday after next,” he adds. “Six sharp.”
Dmitry’s tone doesn’t change. “Should I assume I’m invited as well?”
The silence that follows stretches like wire. When my father finally speaks, I can hear his teeth grinding. “If you must.”
Then the line goes dead.
I stand frozen for a second before I move. When I do, I tackle him onto the bed. He’s like a wall of bricks. Pushing him onto the bed, flattening him, takes the wind out of my lungs. I sit on top of him so he can’t move, pinning him in place.
I glare at him.
“Are you out of your mind?” I grab my phone back and push him. “You can’t just talk to him like that!”
He’s laughing quietly, the sound low and infuriating. “Relax, princess. He invited me. Also, I love you on top of me.”
I move my ass, but it only grinds against his hard abs. I stay on him, not wanting to move. He said he liked it, and the submissive side of me wants to please him, wants to give him what he likes.
His chest expands and contracts under me. I feel his breaths. And his hand caressing my ass slowly, the kind of slow that makes my pussy water and my breasts feel tingly.
“You pervert!” I scream, unable to admit how much I like it.
“Don’t blame a guy for liking a plump ass on his cock.
” I choke at Dmitry’s filthy language as his hands cup my ass cheeks.
I should be alarmed, but I’m not. His possessive touch feels playful rather than invasive.
My blood heats, flowing slowly to my pussy, making my inner walls throb in time to his breaths. “Why are you so mad?”
“You don’t understand,” I snap. “He’s going to think I’m—” The words knot in my throat. “Like her.”
Dmitry’s brow furrows. “Like who?”
“My mother.” The word tastes bitter. “She cheated on him. All the time. She couldn’t stop herself. He said she was addicted to men. She slept with a new guy every week, even though she was married. She neglected me, left me alone at home.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “When she finally ran away, he looked at me like I was her reflection. Like I’d grow up and become just like her. That’s why I never bring guys home. I can’t give him a reason to think he’s right.”
Dmitry’s gaze softens slightly, though his tone stays level. “You think he’ll see me and assume the worst.”
“He will. He’ll think I’m reckless. Weak. Like her. That I need men to feel good, just like she did.”
He studies me, then shakes his head. “That’s not weakness, Callista. You’re allowed to want connection. A lonely girl like you, whose dad doesn’t care about her, whose step-mom hates her. You’re all alone in the world. You’re exactly the type of person who needs a boyfriend.”
I glare at him. “You don’t get to psychoanalyze me.”
“Then stop making it so easy,” he says, voice dropping lower.
I open my mouth to fire back, but he catches my wrist, tugging me closer until I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“You’re not like her,” he says quietly. “You’re not like your mother at all.”
“How do you know?” I ask, tears welling up in my eyes. Dmitry’s gaze is so sure, like he believes me. Like he knows I’m different. I want to cling to his certainty, to be the woman he thinks I am.
But he doesn’t know that I masturbate to him at night. Or that even now, all I can think about is grinding my pussy against his cock until I orgasm.
“I know.” He brackets my face, pulling me down until our mouths are only inches apart. “I’m your stalker. I know you better than anyone else.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, punching his chest.
“Make me.”
The words hang between us, daring me. I act before I can think.
There’s barely an inch between our lips. It’s the greatest opportunity. I can’t resist.
I lean in and kiss him.
It isn’t soft. It isn’t planned. It’s raw and impulsive and messy, and for a moment, everything else—my father, my mother, the endless pretending—falls away. All that’s left is the sharp rush of finally taking something for myself.
Power pulses through my veins. I kissed him because I wanted it. And there’s no one to judge me for wanting him.
When I pull back, my pulse is wild and my hands are trembling.
Dmitry looks up at me with something unreadable in his eyes—approval, challenge, maybe both.
“You do realize you’ll have to meet my parents in two weeks,” I remind him. “I know you were trying to bully me, but you miscalculated. This ‘fake dating’ thing between us is only so you can get into coveted social circles in college. Now you have to waste your time on my parents.”
“I won’t be wasting my time,” Dmitry replies, squeezing my ass. “Watching you squirm will be worth it.”