Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
HANNAH
It wasn’t a one time thing.
It wasn’t just an evening.
It wasn’t just a night hidden on an island to be locked away forever.
“Can I have a word in private?”
No words were said. Only soft moans and grunts in Mac’s garage on his father’s old Aston Martin. My legs wrapped around Rye, the cold metal a contrast to our hot, panting bodies. Rye has a way of claiming me I’ve never felt before. And it’s devastating.
We went into the week with a plan: find Krystal and convince her to take her father down with the documents I sent the Crowns.
We haven’t had much of a conversation since then.
Not in the campus stairwell where my moans echoed up to the fifth floor.
Not in the rink, my back against the cold glass wall, his hand over my mouth.
Definitely not in the women’s bathroom, the door locked, my chest against the counter with my hair in his grasp.
Is a mistake still a mistake if you keep doing it?
Leaning against the column at the top of the art building, I let a puff of my cigarette out into the afternoon air. While these little moments make my days better, it doesn’t take away from my reality.
Ryung Rowen tried to ruin me.
Sure, we’re working together, but things are far from perfect. I still don’t have an internship, and I’m super behind on classes. Rye is a proven distraction. First, it was trying to regain my crown. Now, it’s… whatever the hell we’re doing.
So, can you really trust him?
“Hannah!” Looking over my shoulder, Chloe calls my name as I make my way down the steps into the quad. “Wait up!” I don’t. She catches up with me anyway, Zurie behind her. “You demolished Professor Hunter in class today.”
Well, that puts a smile on my face. Professor Hunter tried to claim male designers invented high fashion. I argued that women repurposed high fashion as a form of rebellion and made it art. I won.
“It was iconic,” she says. And she’s right. But that doesn’t change anything.
“What do you two want?” Keeping my head high, I continue striding down the halls, my heels clicking with every step.
In honour of the photo from the party getting out, I’ve opted to elevate my wardrobe this week.
That’s the best thing to do in The Hill.
Own it. So I did, sporting a crystal-embellished bralette and matching skirt.
Passing some students, they whisper as Zurie and Chloe follow behind me.
“She’s back.”
“She looks different.”
“Wonder who she’ll ruin next.”
This feels almost normal, the envy reeking off fellow students like cheap perfume.
“Is it true you’re dating Rye?” Chloe asks.
My heels stop, almost at the main building doors. The girls stop with me, giving each other a cheeky smile like they know the truth.
“What on earth would make you ask that?” I ask.
“Well, a lot of things,” Zurie says. “Including this.” She shoves her phone in my face, and I hope my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.
My stomach spins, that headache returning.
How the—
Keep your composure.
It’s a picture of Rye and me in the campus steam room, my arms wrapped around him as he presses me against the glass wall. There’s no denying how into it we are. I told him the island was a mistake, but this picture proves different.
“Ladies,” I say, thinking quickly as they stare at me with wide, bright eyes. “You know I don’t kiss and tell.”
They squeal. “I thought he was undateable!” Chloe exclaims, pulling me back towards the fountain. “Tell me everything. Can he get us into Paris Fashion Week? What about Milan?”
“Wait, who’s better in bed?” Zurie chimes in. “Mac or Rye?”
That’s easy. I open my mouth to answer before I stall. I was with Mac for status, and that helped me stay queen, but Rye? Rye is different. Thinking back to Chloe’s photo, Mac never made me feel like that. Rye is laser-focused. Precise.
Perfect.
“So it’s true,” Marisol’s voice comes from behind me. Turning around, her hands land on her hips. “You’re fucking Rye.”
Some students pause when they hear her words, so I sit down, pulling her with me. Chloe and Zurie follow. “Still have a big mouth, huh, Marisol?”
“Move it along,” Marisol says, shooing the students away with her hands.
They do. No hesitation. No questions. Marisol leans in, shoving a straw into her iced matcha.
“And you’re still a whore.” Marisol’s jealous and while I didn't want that photo to get out, her attitude makes this moment much better.
“Careful,” Chloe warns. “She won’t get us into next year’s shows if you’re mean.”
“Don’t you guys have Krystal for all that now?” I ask.
Chloe shrugs. “She hasn’t been around.” And now they need someone else to leech off.
It was only a matter of time before these sheep became lost again without some guidance. But my stomach tightens when I think about the other reason they’re giving me attention. Ryung. I can’t be as honest with them about what’s going on. They think we’re dating, but we’re not.
Are we?
“Say sorry, Marisol,” Chloe urges.
Marisol’s jaw opens, looking at Chloe, then at me.
I arch a brow, feeling that power roaring back.
Marisol’s shoulders drop before she mutters, “Sorry.” There’s a lot more she needs to apologize for, but I let her stew as we both sit in this silent reminder that I’m about to be back on top.
“What are we doing tonight then? Are the Crowns still having another Crimson Party?” Chloe’s eyes beam under the sun.
They’re not even shy about using me to get in with the Crowns. After everything, it makes me wonder if that's the only reason they're kissing my ass.
“Hannah.” Right on cue, that voice comes from behind, ricocheting off my bones. “We need to talk.”
“I’m pretty busy,” I respond without turning to him.
“Now, Hannah.”
“Later.” Looking over my shoulder, it’s hard to pull myself away.
Rye wears an oversized suit, a silk shirt buttoned down to his abs.
With a cigarette hanging off his lip, he looks like he’s in a spread for Italian Vogue.
The steam room fresh in my head, it’s easy to want his hands right back on my ass while he pounds me so hard I’m on another planet.
But not now. This moment is mine. “I said I’m busy. ”
A blur of black sweeps by me before a grip comes to my wrist. Firm. Hard. Rye’s chiselled face appears in front of me with a scowl. “It wasn’t a question.”
“And my response wasn’t a suggestion.” I pull back, my feet planted on the ground. It’s no use. My chest slams against his when he pulls me up with one hard tug. My lips land so close to his I can smell the tobacco on his breath.
“If you want to make this harder, we can,” he growls, pulling my hips against his. His lips come closer, and I hate that I try to close the gap before his mouth comes to my ear. “Don’t let me make you lose control in front of your friends.”
It’s hard to stay focused on standing my ground when I can feel the bulge in his pants hardening by the second. “You’re not in as much control as you think, Rowen.”
His eyes narrow. “I thought we had an understanding.”
Glancing around, we’ve drawn a crowd again. In the distance, I spot Dean Patel’s ugly, outdated pantsuit as she speaks with a student near the main entrance.
“Do you think our dean would have an understanding when she sees you with me like this? Do you think she knows you invaded her office?”
He loosens his grip, glancing at Patel as a wash of cold comes over me that I ignore. His eyes back on me, he looks down, like he still thinks he’s above everyone, including me.
“Hannah, enough. We need to talk.” He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “That email you sent. It’s intense.”
My eyes widen. He finally read it. Glancing at the posse still staring at us, I compromise. “Not here. Let’s talk later.”
His scowl hardens. “Now.” Jerk.
“No.” And with a turn of my heel, I head towards the library’s giant wooden doors. Without him.
“Hannah!” He calls after me. “Don’t be a brat!”
I keep going, ignoring looks from students as I move through the quad.
“Hannah!” His voice tells me he’s close. His voice also tells me he’s angry. There’s a bite to my name, but something in me twists when I hear that hint of desperation.
I’m almost at the library, my eyes on the doors.
“Afonso!”
When I reach out a hand to open the door, a firm grip lands around my wrist. It’s strong enough to pull me away before my back slams into something hard. A tree.
Rye appears in front of me, a storm brewing in his gaze. His hands come to either side of my head, pressing his palms against the large tree trunk.
We’re far enough that people won’t see that he has me cornered, the tree blocking us. But we’re not far enough that I can’t still hear the shuffling of students going by. So I keep my voice low.
“The hell is your problem?” I should know that pushing on his chest is useless. I prove my point when he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head.
“You sent me a nuclear email.” I squirm, but his grip tightens. “We need to talk.” He pushes his hip harder into me, my back pressed against the rough wood. It brings me back to the island, the way we melted into each other, but that was different. We’re on campus. We’re on my domain.
“I own you.”
I don’t want people to see me like this.
“Keep your voice down!” I whisper, hearing more students walking by on the other side. “Why can’t you wait? You and your Crowns might own the school, but you don’t own me. Do you get that?”
"Don’t want to push me today, Hannah,” he says, way too loud for my liking.
“I said, keep it down!” Using the end of my heel, I step into the front of his shoe.