Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
HANNAH
Rule number one: Don’t touch Rye Rowen.
Rule number two: Don’t look at Rye Rowen.
Rule number three: Don’t even think about Rye Rowen.
Truth is, I already broke rule number three. Last night and this morning. And he’s not making it any easier.
Ryung: You’re not off the hook
Ryung: Not until I say
Ryung: I’m not done with you
Standing at the edge of the quad, my eyes scan the area. Students scatter across the green grass, the clouds over the domain I let slip from my hands.
“You gonna be alright?” Ember asks. “He’s not on campus today.”
Why does that make my stomach drop?
He might not be on campus, but he’s in my thoughts. He’s in my head. And I can’t stop thinking about him inside me. Two days, and I'm having more withdrawal than when Marisol swore off her mother’s benzos.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, straightening my outfit as I ignore the looks from students around me. I’ve opted for something more subtle today, a Chanel cardigan with matching trousers in grey. Calm. Collected. The details are all there, but they’re subtle.
Unfortunately, dressing down doesn’t stop the whispers.
“Is it true? Did she do it?”
“Doesn’t matter, she’s irrelevant.”
“You sure?” Ember asks. “I can skip my lecture and we can grab a couple of—”
“I’ll be fine,” I repeat with a firm nod. “Promise. Thank you.”
Last night, I told her everything that's happened with Ryung. I thought she’d judge me. I thought she’d think I’m a total mess. Instead, she told me she understood, and we ordered pizza. Pizza! Ember’s loyal to Mac, but she still puts the posse to shame.
Ember nods. “Text me if you need anything?”
“Oh, Hannah.” Chloe approaches us, donning a black ensemble. Pleated skirt. White shirt. Argyle socks. “You’re back.” She pulls off those combat boots, but when my eyes land on that black beret, it’s hard to ignore the squeeze in my chest.
Her eyes move to my head, too, and that twisted look on her face makes my muscles tighten. My hand lifts, reaching for one of the six pink butterfly clips at the front of my hair. She looks at me like they’re pathetic before someone calls her name.
Krystal.
Marisol and Zurie sit next to her on the fountain as Krystal waves Chloe over, completely ignoring my presence.
“You look good, Chloe,” I say, trying to smooth the tension. She adjusts her beret, giving me that look I taught her to. Like no one else matters. Without another word, she moves towards Krystal, nudging my shoulder.
Rye isn’t the only one to make me feel powerless. His sister does too.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Ember says before her arms open wide.
My body stills before she pulls me into a hug, and I don’t know what to do with my arms. It takes a second before I melt into it, my head falling on her shoulder.
She’s always towered over me, her height fit for high-fashion runways.
She pulls back, her hands on each of my arms as she finds my gaze.
“Don’t feed the sheep.” I nod, a smile on my face that disappears as she walks away.
My eyes fall to the group that used to be mine. Marisol, Zurie and Chloe laugh at whatever Krystal says in a dress code way different from mine. It takes a lot to pull my eyes away, but Ember’s right. I have to stop making this about them.
I have to stop making this about him.
I especially have a lot to make up for in finding a new internship. Today, my task is to charm, maybe beg, Professor Williams into giving me a list of reputable fashion houses still accepting applications.
But when I turn to do just that, I break rule number two.
I see him before he sees me, that broad stature sauntering through the early morning crowd.
It's almost biblical the way he parts groups of students wherever he walks. What makes it worse? He looks good. Runway model good. Front of the magazine good. So good it’s easy to remember what it’s like to have his body all over mine.
As usual, he’s in all black like his sister. He cuffs his slacks right where his boots begin, designer shirt tucked into his designer belt. He moves towards the fountain, hands in his pockets, cigarette flipping between his fingers.
I should look away, but I don’t. The longer I stare, the easier it is to think about speaking to him. Touching him. Fucking him.
Like he knows I’m watching, he looks up, his eyes landing on mine.
Shit.
My eyes drop to my phone.
Lowering my head, I move with the crowd of students walking to the arts building, letting my hair cover my face. Maybe he didn’t notice. Maybe refusing to acknowledge his all-consuming presence will help me stick to my rules.
My phone vibrates in my hand, reminding me that class is in five minutes. I check my email to make sure my assignment is all there.
When I look up at the space where he was, he’s not there anymore, leaving a giant gap in the quad as big as the hole in my chest.
Rye in his car flashes in my head, his hands gripping that wheel. My hand on his face. His lips dangerously close to mine. I’ve never felt so naked with him, and not one piece of clothing was off.
Forget about it. Don’t be stupid.
He’ll only ruin me. He’ll only break me. And I’ve lost enough.
Moving towards the main hall of the arts building, it’s not until the door closes behind me that I feel it. A presence.
Looking at my feet, there’s a shadow twice the size of me next to it.
Don’t turn around.
Keeping my pink heels forward, I move down the hall, the shadow moving with me.
The scent of tobacco and leather covers me in a veil that makes my stomach spin but I’m not ignoring my rules anymore. Not now.
He’s too close.
As I move through the hall, the eyes that glance our way aid my suspicion. My pace quickens, but his doesn't. The chatter in the halls muffles, and all I hear are his slow, large strides. Confident. Deliberate.
The sound of a saxophone helps to drown out his menacing pace behind me. Looking ahead, the band moves through the hall, instruments strapped to them.
Perfect.
The sound of horns and the clashing of cymbals gets louder as I make my way right in the middle of the group. Chaotic music pounds on my eardrums, my fingers coming to my ears as I squeeze through the band.
Once I’m through, I make a sharp turn, taking the long way through the school galleries. And just when I think I can take a breath, that scent overtakes me again.
Rye appears at the end of the gallery walkway, blocking my path ahead.
He locks eyes with me like we’re in an old western showdown, forcing me to break rule number two. Again.
“I told you we weren’t done," he says, taking a step forward.
“You also said you’re on my side, but that’s not true, is it?” Looking behind me, I take a step back. Looking ahead, he takes another step forward. “You also said you’d give me time.”
“That’s not what I said.”
When I turn to walk away, I hear quick footsteps behind me before my back hits the wall. His chest pushes against mine, and now I'm breaking rule number one.
I hate the way heat takes over my body again. The way my eyes immediately fall to his lips. “Get off me, Rye.” I have to be strong.
“You know…” His eyes scan my face, the alcohol on his breath telling me he’s way beyond one drink. “Considering who you try to be, it's funny that you break the second someone pushes back.”
“I’m not breaking.” Rule number two is long gone as my eyes narrow into his.
“Then admit you’re avoiding me.”
“I am.”
“Pretending I don’t exist doesn’t change anything.
It only makes you weak.” His words make my jaw tighten, and he sees it, a smirk forming on his face.
“You’re a small dog. All talk until things get hard.
Then you run. The way you parade around with that confidence?
That’s all fake. I know it, and you know it.
And right now, you’re proving that you are. Fake."
“And you’re nothing without a sense of control. Look the hell around you, Rowen. Krystal? She’s running this place now, not you.”
“And your friends are all behind her. I still got The Crowns. You? What about you? I’m the only thing keeping you swimming. You’ll drown without me.”
“I can have everything despite you.” My hands come to his, ignoring the warmth that spreads through me before I place his hands on my ass.
His immediate grip is enough to have my skin on fire.
“Touching this? It’s a privilege.” Bringing my mouth close to his, I let the soft skin on my lip graze his.
“Kissing me is a privilege.” Lifting my leg, I place my heel against his ass, and I don’t miss the growl that escapes him.
“Fucking me is a privilege. And I get to say when that happens. Not you.” With everything I have, I push my hands on his chest. It startles him enough to take a small step back before I slip out from his trap. “I’ll speak to you when I want to.”
Holding my head high, a burst of electricity flows through me, my body shaking as I move quickly down the hall. I fight everything in me not to turn around or look over my shoulder to see his face. I stand my ground, but something weird settles in my chest when he doesn't come after me.
My body burns all the way to class, but I’m hoping one win will lead to another.
Rye can wait. I need a motherfucking internship.
Once I enter the lecture hall, I smile at Professor Williams as I move to my seat. Someone else is in it, and that makes me freeze.
No one ever takes my seat. It’s been the same since I started here.
Fists clenched, I make my way towards it.
Weak? I'll show him weak.
“Hannah Alfonso, please report to Dean Patel’s office immediately.”
My feet stop in my path, and I can feel all the attention in the class turn to me.
“I’ll take your assignment once you're back, Hannah,” Professor Williams says from behind his desk.
My eyes still on my seat, I nod, turning for the door as that glob in my throat thickens.
What now?
All the way to the office, Rye’s voice plays in my head.
“You’re weak.”
I’ve heard that before, my father flashing in my head.
“Fake.
“You’ll drown without me.”
I’ll show him. I’ll show both of them. I’m an empire on my own.
“Dean Patel will see you immediately,” Priscilla says, her voice stern. She looks at me like she’s still pissed about storming Patel’s office. That only makes my cheeks burn more. Standing tall, I thank her before moving to the office.
Is that with this is about? Is he about to bring me down again?
“Miss Alfonso,” Dean Patel greets. “Thank you for joining us.” But it's hard to keep my head high when I see who’s sitting in front of her desk.
Krystal and her mother, Michelle Nam, turn their heads to the door.
Any relief I felt from standing up to Rye disappears as I take another step into the office.
Krystal has tears in her eyes, but when my eyes lock on her, I don’t miss the small curve of her lip.
Just like her brother’s smirk. Her mother rubs her back, her glare hardening the longer I stand in the doorway.
“I’m so sorry to be seeing you with such disturbing news,” Patel says. “I’ve just received a video from Krystal showcasing an act of vandalism to Nam-Rowen Property.”
The floor tilts. “I-I don’t have any idea what you’re talking ab—”
“I’m sorry, Hannah,” Michelle Nam says with a shrug as blasé as her son. “The school got word.”
Dean Patel pushes her tablet towards the edge of the desk. The same one Ryung had me against. She signals for me to look at the video.
And there’s no going back.
It’s security footage of Michelle Nam’s home studio. Specifically, footage of my lighter held to her fabric, Rye pressed against me.
My mouth dries, my mind flying a million miles per second as I try to grasp the situation.
“I’ve already lost the internship,” I say, my voice cracking. Weak. “I’ve taken ownership, but I can explain what really happened.” Trying to hide how flustered I am is impossible, my face as hot as the footage on her screen.
“I’m sorry, Hannah, but thanks to Krystal, we’ve implemented a zero-tolerance policy that your actions breach.”
“I’ve not been myself.” I glance between Krystal and Michelle before settling my eyes on Dean Patel. “Things have gotten stressfully complicated in my personal life, and it’s made me act out of character.”
“From what I understand from Krystal, this is your character, Miss Alfonso,” Dean Patel says. “All those girls you bullied? You had us fooled.”
“Yes, I know, my past is spotted, but—”
“That’s enough, Hannah,” Dean Patel holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. You’re suspended until further notice.”
“I feel like I’m in a spy movie,” Ember says, the warmth of Mac’s Bugatti doing nothing to calm the shivers rolling through me.
The moonlight shines on the Rowen Estate, fog clouding it like a warning.
I shouldn’t be here.
My chest is tighter than Ember’s grip on the steering wheel, and I haven’t taken a full breath in hours.
I called Ember right after the meeting with Dean Patel and told her the plan.
Mac has a loyal girlfriend, and it shows the way she hardly asked any questions. I don’t know what she told Mac to get his car again but she showed up. She always shows up. That’s saying more than my posse. That’s saying more than Rye. That’s definitely saying more than my parents.
A buzzer sounds, the Rowen’s gate slowly opening in front of us.
“You sure you want to do this?” Ember asks. “I thought Michelle already knew you started the fire. How did you only get suspended for it now?”
“It wasn’t Michelle’s decision,” I reply, my eyes on the dark path leading to the glassy modern home.
“It was the school’s. Michelle didn’t want me to have the internship, but Krystal doesn’t want any chance of me taking over campus.
So, she clearly leaked the video to Dean Patel to stop that from happening. ”
I can’t afford a suspension right now. If any potential internships find out, it’s a huge red flag. I have to fight back. And tonight, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
“The Hill has no chill.” Ember lets out a long sigh. “Is it always like this?”
Turning to Ember, I place my hand on top of hers on the wheel. It’s the only thing that helps to calm the earthquake inside me. “You didn’t have to do this.”
She turns to me, a small smile tugging at the side of her face. “I know.” Then she takes a deep breath, nodding. “You ready?”
I nod, returning my gaze to the path ahead. “Let’s do this.”
My hand becomes steadier than my heart, my chest tighter than this outfit.
This isn’t a relapse. It’s retaliation.
Once again, I’m about to break rule number one.