Chapter 12
Millie
I pad down the hallway, a stack of books under my arm, the other hand reaching for my room key, but I stop in my tracks three doors down.
A groan slips out of my lips, my agitation growing tenfold in the span of two seconds.
God, not again. I’ve had a shitty day as it is, and now there’s an umbrella propped by mine and Abby’s door.
I contemplate pressing my ear to the door to check if she’s really getting fucked for the fourth time this week or if she’s left the signal out by accident.
I decide against it when the first guy who could be inside the room—and Abby—pops into my mind.
Dash.
No way will I risk overhearing my friend fucking my roommate.
I’d never be able to look him in the eye again.
With another huff, I backpedal into the elevator.
Library it is, I guess. I could knock on Noah’s door, but knocking on his door is exactly why I haven’t even started the report that’s due in three days.
Instead of using his space to write, we end up playing chess for hours.
Besides, it’s the first fight night of the year, so Noah will be out, cheering on Creed.
The elevator dings on the ground floor.
A group of senior girls clusters in the entryway, eyes swinging my way, then nonchalantly turning away. I don’t know what their problem with me is, but they’ve collectively decided they don’t like me.
It might be envy. Most girls on campus have a crush on either my brother, Noah, Dash, or Creed, and at least one of them is usually by my side.
The news about Hyde Ward’s mute little sister traveled the campus at lightning speed.
People stare, point fingers, whisper, and my anxiety’s spiraling out of control.
It reminds me of when I returned to school after the incident.
The whispers, mockery, and disdain. The injustice of seeing Evan every day after the humiliation he put me through.
The unwanted attention is fucking scary.
It wouldn’t take much more than basic online skills to uncover my past. A few clicks of the keyboard, a few deep searches, and anyone could find the videos.
They still surface sometimes.
Once something hits the net, it doesn’t disappear. It can’t be erased no matter how much money you throw at it. News outlets and social media sites were full of articles and posts inventing hyperbolic details for views and clicks.
My peers, their parents, local news reporters, and wannabe influencers... everyone had something to say.
During the first few months, a team of lawyers, hackers, and whoever else my parents hired worked around the clock, taking down every picture and video, but the sheer workload was overwhelming. Thankfully, as time passed, people lost interest.
I kept quiet through the backlash. I still haven’t spoken out and don’t plan to. What’s the point? The case was dismissed.
Evan got away with it.
Not enough harm was sent my way, not enough evidence, despite the hours of videos he recorded and uploaded.
And so, anyone could find the recordings and watch Millie Ward look at Evan Hollister like he hung the fucking moon while he belittled every little thing about her behind her back.
Everyone could read the scathing comments... and everyone could see my nervous excitement, the giddiness of my crush, and how much I wanted to give him that night.
For a moment, I’m back in his bedroom, in his queen-sized bed, his deft fingers stripping me out of my cami. I remember his wet, open-mouthed kisses on my neck. I remember his big body pressing me into the mattress, the hard outline of his cock printing against my thigh.
I wanted him more than I’ve ever wanted anything else.
“How long have you been dreaming about me, princess? How long have you wanted me to pop that cherry?”
He took my shorts off, then my bra, his hands gentle on my skin, blue eyes roving my body. He was so fucking careful, kissing my neck and panting praise in my ear.
“Can’t wait to taste that tight little pussy, princess.” He cupped me through my panties, groaning into my cleavage. “Can’t wait to hear you moan for me all nice and sweet. Hold on, let me grab a condom.”
He stalked out of the room, locking himself in the adjacent bathroom.
I thought I heard him say something, but I dismissed it.
I lay on his fresh-smelling sheets, almost naked, my chest rising and falling faster.
I was nervous and excited. The boy I’d been crushing on for two years was going to make love to me. He was going to date me.
So fucking na?ve.
My phone pinged with a text message just then. I ignored it, wringing my fingers and waiting for Evan. Another ping came within seconds, then another, and more still, faster and faster.
With a frown, I plucked the phone from my bag and my stomach dropped to my knees as I read the texts from Holly, my lab partner.
Get out of there, Millie!
It’s a trap.
You need to leave!
He’s streaming this LIVE.
The whole school can see you!
Get out!
Get out!
Get out!
I felt sick, but my mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening.
It seemed so surreal, so abstract to accuse Evan of doing something this vile.
.. but I glanced up toward the shelves of trophies on the other side of the room.
It took me a second to notice the blinking red light, then the camera lens.
Blood drained from my face. Tears sprang to my eyes. I couldn’t breathe, or move, or say a single word. I was paralyzed, staring into the lens.
Evan exited the bathroom, pinching the bridge of his long nose. “Noticed, have you? Took you long enough.”
As if it wasn’t already the worst day of my life, he snatched the camera, pointing it at his face.
“Looks like our experiment is coming to an end, guys. I love you all and I’m here to entertain you but there are limits and...” He turned to me, one eyebrow raised. “You won’t let me fuck you now, right?”
I choked on my sobs, whatever else he was saying was drowned out by the ringing in my ears.
I don’t remember how I got out of there.
I can’t recall getting dressed or leaving.
My next memory is sitting in my bathroom at home, crying so hard I felt like I’d throw up while I watched one video after another.
Evan had recorded us since I began tutoring him for lit.
I nearly choked on my tongue when Miss Harrington suggested it to him. I was so elated I thought my heart would punch through my ribs.
It was happening. He’d finally notice me after I’d been crushing on him for two years, watching him from behind locker doors or from around corners.
I caught glimpses in the hallways and waited for him to pass me so I could get a whiff of his cologne.
I attended every hockey game, watched him play, cheered him on.
It’s embarrassing to admit how many times I daydreamed about him bumping into me. I imagined he’d say something charming. That he’d confess he’s been watching me as long as I’ve been watching him.
And that first day in the library, he did say charming things.
“I didn’t realize you were so cute up close.”
“You’re really pretty, princess. And a pretty tutor makes the student show up and try hard.”
“You’ve got those big librarian eyes. Makes me want to misbehave just to see if you’ll scold me.”
And he kept up the charm. He was a gentleman, the boy-next-door type, caring, smart, polite. Or so I thought until he belittled me for the whole school’s entertainment. He set up a website to upload videos. He did live streams.
Everyone knew... the entire school.
And no one warned me.
I thought I had friends. That I was likable, but the comment sections said something else entirely.
I was too much. Too loud, too eager, too happy.