Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
REMI
I f someone had told me a month ago that I’d get picked up in a cemetery by a hot guy in a leather jacket—the same guy I’d watched kill a man with his bare hands—I’d have laughed in their face.
If they’d told me five days ago, I’d have called a psychiatrist and had them committed for their own safety.
And yet—here I was. Fresh out of the hottest shower I’d ever taken, in the biggest bathroom I’d ever seen, lying on a massive king-size bed covered in black silk sheets that felt like sin against my skin.
Last night, I was curled up on a stained mattress in a rat infested corner of a filthy shelter, wondering what kind of karmic debt I was paying for in this lifetime.
Now, I was here.
In his world.
A place so far removed from my own, it didn’t feel real.
Life had never been easy for me—especially in high school, where I was a walking target, laughed at for being different. A freak. A nobody.
But in the silence of the night, when I felt alive and the world was asleep, I’d sit with my sketchbook, drawing them the way I saw them.
Ravaged. Broken.
Bleeding out on the floors of the places they thought made them untouchable.
Society could keep its carbon copies. I had no interest in being another clone mass-produced to fit their mold.
I liked being me, even if it meant being an outsider. Even if it meant carving out my place in the shadows. Somehow, this man—whose name I still didn’t know—had reached into the darkest part of me, a place no one had ever touched. Not family. Not friends. No one.
He had.
He’d shown me kindness beyond reason and violence beyond measure. He had let me see death, raw, brutal, and beautiful. And now, his presence set me on fire in a way no one else ever had.
I felt him before I heard him. The doors in this place didn’t creak, and the thick carpet swallowed every trace of sound, but I knew he was there.
His voice came low, rough enough to scrape deliciously along my skin. “I brought you some clean clothes.”
A ripple of goosebumps broke across my body. “Thank you.”
He set the neatly folded pile on the bed beside me, but his gaze didn’t follow. It stayed on me. I could feel it like a touch, watching the beads of water slide from my hair, down my chest, trailing over the towel knotted at my waist.
I cleared my throat. His eyes snapped up, locking onto mine. “I have my own clothes, you know.”
His lips twitched, almost like he found that amusing. “I’m aware. But considering where you’ve been staying, I thought you’d prefer something that didn’t need to be incinerated.”
Cool. Detached. Like he was simply stating a fact. But his eyes… His eyes told a different story. Something burned deep in the dark green depths—a quiet possessiveness, a hunger that hadn’t been there before.
“Have you eaten?” he asked. But before I could answer, he was already continuing. “I was going to order takeout anyway. What do you want?”
My stomach betrayed me, the low growl filling the silence. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a decent meal. The fifty bucks I’d had in my pocket hadn’t gone far after Brielle threw me out, and the shelter barely had enough funding to keep the lights on. Finding a job had been impossible, though Doll said she might have a spot for me soon, once one of her waitresses left to have a baby.
But for now? I was starving.
His voice pulled me back. “Pick anything.”
I hesitated, turning the thought over in my mind. Mom and I hadn’t been able to afford takeout in years, not since her first stroke. If he was offering, I’d take it. Just this once. “Thai sounds good.”
He nodded, already turning for the door, his hand brushing the handle when I blurted, “I feel like I should introduce myself to my, um…”
Rescuer?
Kidnapper?
I still couldn’t decide.
“I’m Remi.”
Something flickered across his face—a flash of amusement, something knowing. “I know.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the weight of his words. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew my name. Not when he’d already known where I was staying. Not when he’d moved my things without my consent.
I exhaled, staring at the pile of clothes.
They smelled like him—smoke, leather, something dark and expensive. The fabric was softer than anything I owned. The black t-shirt clung to my damp skin, molding to my frame, the cotton worn-in but high quality. The black sweatpants sat low on my hips, too big, but the drawstring kept them in place.
The weight of the fabric was unfamiliar, luxurious in a way that felt foreign on my skin. I caught my reflection in the floor-length mirror near the bed and stopped in my tracks. For once, I didn’t look completely out of place, no matter how I felt about my current arrangement.
I looked like I belonged to him. The thought shouldn’t have sent a thrill down my spine. But it did. My fingers ran through my damp hair, pushing it back before I stepped out of the bedroom.
The apartment was nothing like I expected, and yet it fit what I knew of him perfectly. It was dark and elegant. Sleek lines, black and gray everything—the furniture, the walls, the expensive rugs underfoot. It was minimalist but not cold, like a place curated with intent rather than just thrown together. The glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a sprawling view of the city far below, a glittering expanse of lights that seemed a world away from the one I’d been living in.
He sat at the kitchen island, one foot propped on the bottom rung of the stool, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just turned my entire existence upside down.
His presence filled the space effortlessly, like he owned it—which he obviously did. But it was more, like he owned everything. This was his castle, and beyond the glass walls was his kingdom.
He looked up as I entered, his proprietary gaze flicking over me, lingering just long enough to make my breath catch. Something dangerous and satisfied curled at the corner of his lips. He liked what he saw, like this was exactly how he’d envisioned me.
Wearing his clothes in his home.
Like I was his.
His eyes told me everything. He wanted to corrupt me. There wasn’t a single part of me that would stop him. It felt like I had stepped willingly into hell—and now, I was dancing with the devil. But I didn’t care.
Because the man staring back at me was every dark thought I had ever had. Every violent fantasy. Every forbidden curiosity. Every inch of me that had ever craved something more .
He tapped the white marble countertop, drawing me back. “The menu is here. Let me know what you want.”
I didn’t even need to look. I just started listing off everything I’d ever tried and loved, the words spilling from my mouth faster than I could process. His thumbs moved over his screen so fast my eyes couldn’t keep up.
“It’ll be here soon.”
He slid off the stool in a single smooth movement, leading me from the kitchen into the lounge area. Like the rest of the penthouse, it was sleek, refined, and dark—shades of black and gray, everything intentional, everything in its place. The furniture was low and modern; the walls were adorned with abstract art that looked expensive and strangely unwelcoming. The glass windows stretched wide, framing the glittering skyline.
He poured me a drink without a word. I took the glass instinctively, feeling the weight of the crystal in my hand, the liquid dark and rich inside. I hesitated when it reached my lips, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”
His shoulders rose and fell in a slow shrug. Then his hands clenched at his sides. That was interesting.
He shook his head once. “No. I prefer to use my hands.” A pause, his lips curving slightly. “Or my blade.”
A normal person would have been horrified. But I wasn’t a normal person, in my own way I understood. I snorted softly, taking a sip as my gaze held his.
Poison was impersonal—a coward’s method. Unpredictable. Uncontrolled. But with his hands? With a blade? I had seen what he could do. Had watched him kill.
It was raw, primal—a monster unleashed. He had fed on the fear, thrived on it even. The moment that man had stopped breathing, he had grown taller, stronger, more alive. I had seen the hunger in his eyes—the power he felt in taking a life.
He was dangerous. Darkness incarnate. There was beauty in his savagery. A stunning, lethal kind of beauty that I wanted to capture and make immortal. I’d never been interested in drawing the living before, but him? I wanted to draw.
Here I was, sitting in his home, wearing his clothes, drinking his whiskey—falling deeper into the abyss. And I wasn’t afraid
“What’s your name?”
I rolled the liquid in my glass, watching how the amber swirled against the cut crystal before sliding my gaze to his. He already knew mine, but I…
“Domino.”
I blinked. “Domino?” I let the name settle on my tongue, savoring the way it tasted—exotic, sharp, filled with mystery, just like him. It felt right. It fit.
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. “Huh. That makes sense.”
His gaze flicked to mine, sharp and assessing. “What do you mean?”
He settled at the opposite end of the couch, angling his body in my direction while still keeping an eye on the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Strategic. He was always aware of his surroundings, always in control.
I leaned back, the damp material of my borrowed shirt cool against my skin. “It means lord. Master.”
He lifted his glass, taking a slow sip. My eyes tracked the movement of his throat, the way his Adam’s apple rolled with each swallow, the controlled way he breathed. Every movement was deliberate. Calculated.
His phone buzzed, breaking the charged silence. He glanced at the screen. “Food’s here.”
I frowned.
I hadn’t heard anyone knock.
As if reading my mind, he added, “No one can enter without my authorization.” He stood, moving toward the private elevator. “I control the elevator.”
Of course, he did. Nothing about this man suggested he’d allow anyone into his world—his space—without permission.
Surreal. That was the only way to describe the rest of the evening.
Domino was a man of few words, but when he spoke, he didn’t waste them. There was something strangely domestic about the way we ate together, plates and cutlery neatly arranged on the marble kitchen island. We ate mostly in silence, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt easy. More than that, it felt right.
I had known him for hours, yet I felt more at ease with him than I had with my own mother.
After dinner, he gave me a tour of the penthouse. The place was palatial, a fortress in the sky. He showed me where I could and couldn’t go, his voice cool and firm.
Then he sent me to bed. “You have orientation in the morning.” His words should have felt dismissive, an order given with finality.
But instead, they settled in my chest like an anchor. Because somehow, in the chaos of a single night, my entire world had shifted
I woke with a start, heart hammering against my ribs as an alarm screeched through the silence, ripping me from sleep. My sluggish, sleep-heavy limbs fought to move as I reached out, fumbling blindly in the dark for the offending noise.
My hand collided with a phone that wasn’t mine. I snatched it up, silencing the sound with a sharp tap, before collapsing back onto the bed.
It felt like lying on a cloud. The silk sheets whispered over my skin, so different from the scratchy, worn blankets of the shelter. Wrong. Everything about this felt wrong. For a moment, I lay there, disoriented. Out of place. Out of time.
The events of the last twenty-four hours were a tangled mess in my mind. It took the searing heat of the shower to burn away the lingering fog. Water cascaded over me, hammering against the tension wound tight in my muscles, and slowly, my memories bled through the cracks.
Tilly’s voice, filled with regret, telling me the shelter wouldn’t have space for me that night and I’d have to find somewhere else.
Brielle’s rage spitting venom down the payphone. “Get fucking lost!”
Her cold refusal to let me see Mom was like a rusty blade to my heart.
My chest tightened at the thought. Why? The woman I’d spoken to before all of this had been... different. Not kind, exactly, but not this—this cruel, calculated gatekeeper who suddenly held my mom hostage. The fact I’d have to wait for Arti to let Doll know when Brielle and Brock had left the home so I could visit her was just another weight dragging me down.
The cemetery.
How my whole body had ached, every muscle strained as I walked across town to the cemetery. The only thing that calmed my tattered soul was the beauty of the weathered tombstones lost to nature’s ruin. It was the place I always returned to when the outside world felt too much. The only place where I felt seen. Among the dead, I found solace. They understood the fragility of existence, the thin thread we all dangled from.
And then—Domino.
A storm in human form. A force I hadn’t expected, hadn’t seen coming, but somehow, everything had changed the moment he’d sat at my table in Denny’s days before, and I’d been left spiralling ever since. Last night, he grounded me. He saw me. All of me and without question helped. I didn’t understand why, yet, but I’m sure in time it would become clear.
I exhaled sharply, shutting off the water. There was no use dwelling on it now. I was where I was. I’d just have to wait and see what today held. I dried off quickly with a fluffy black towel and slipped on my clothes. They had been cleaned, folded, and left on a chair for me when I exited the bathroom. Amongst them was an item that didn’t belong to me; I smirked as I held it, knowing full well it was Domino’s.
I pulled the black hoodie over my head anyway. The fabric swallowed me whole. His scent hit me instantly—smoke, leather, and something darker, something sharp that lingered beneath it. Blood.
I breathed it in. I shouldn’t have liked it as much as I did.
The apartment was silent as I stepped into the kitchen, the white marble glowing faintly in the morning light. A steaming mug of coffee waited for me on the counter, next to a note.
I scanned the neatly written words:
I had business to attend to for my father. I have organized my driver to take you to Devereux’s campus for your orientation. Juno will be waiting for you downstairs as soon as you’re ready.
I frowned, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
How is this my life?
And more importantly, why did he think he could make decisions for me without asking?
Half of me bristled at the thought, a sharp sense of defiance rising in my chest. No one controlled me. No one told me where to go or what to do.
And yet…
The other half of me—the one that had spent years fighting to survive alone—liked it. That, for once, someone had thought ahead. Had made sure I wasn’t abandoned, scrambling for a plan.
Even though he wasn’t here, I felt him. Watching over me. Not in an overbearing way, not in a way that smothered, but as if his presence lingered in the very walls. As if he was never really far away.
I took a sip of the coffee. Scalding hot, rich, and just bitter enough to wake me up properly. I downed it quickly, grabbed my things, and stepped into the sleek, mirrored elevator. The descent was smooth, silent.
When the doors slid open, the doorman—Tommy, according to his name tag—greeted me with a warm nod. “Morning, Remi.”
I blinked. He knew my name. The casual familiarity in his voice caught me off guard, but before I could question it, he gestured toward the front of the building, where a luxurious black car idled at the curb.
“Juno’s waiting for you. Oh, and Mr. DeMarco left this for you.” He handed me a keycard.”You’ll need this to access the building and the elevator when you come and go.”
I turned the card over in my hand, its weight settling in my palm.
“That’s highly unusual,” Tommy added, a knowing look in his eyes.
I didn’t ask what he meant. I already knew.
After a full night’s sleep, the city seemed less like a cold, unyielding beast and more like something I could learn to navigate. The towering skyscrapers stretched into the sky, their sleek glass and steel reflecting the muted light. Modern architecture clashed with the past—colonial buildings with ornate facades stood stubbornly among the urban giants, remnants of an older world refusing to be swallowed whole.
The sky was a wash of endless gray. The sun barely broke through, teasing the city with fleeting glimpses before vanishing again behind thick clouds. But I didn’t mind. I liked the way the diffused light softened the hard edges of the world, casting long shadows and revealing details that might have been lost under the glare of a harsh sun.
Juno was stoic and silent as he watched me through the rearview mirror, maneuvering the car through the city streets, weaving seamlessly through traffic before pushing out into the suburbs and beyond.
The change was stark. The wealth here wasn’t just obvious—it was obscene. The farther we got from the city, the larger the houses grew, morphing into sprawling mansions tucked behind private forests instead of fences. The kind of homes that didn’t just scream money but old money, the kind that had been passed down through generations.
Devereux University was in another world entirely. The road leading to it stretched into a long, tree-lined avenue, the thick canopy above weaving a tunnel of shadows and filtered light. The air felt different here—cleaner, quieter, carrying an almost eerie stillness.
I caught my first glimpse of the university through the gaps in the trees, and something in my chest tightened. It was breathtaking.
The main building was straight out of a gothic dream—black limestone, its dark facade rising with towering spires and sharp-arched stained glass. It looked like it had been plucked from another era, its history etched into every weathered stone.
My fingers twitched for my sketchbook. It was the kind of structure that demanded to be studied, drawn, and captured. Every intricate detail, every whisper of time, carved into its walls. A place like this had stories.
I’d bet money there was a graveyard somewhere on campus. There had to be. The haunting elegance of Devereux wrapped around me like a second skin. It felt right.
At the entrance, a group of student volunteers stood waiting, their smiles practiced and professional. The welcome committee wasted no time, dividing us into groups based on our chosen courses.
A leaflet was shoved into my hands by a tall, sharp-featured guy who introduced himself as Dorian.
“The campus is sprawling,” he announced, his voice crisp and efficient. “You’ll get lost if you don’t pay attention. Devereux is fully self-sufficient—students rarely leave during the semester. And if you wander too far, you’ll find yourself in Hollow Pines National Park.”
I glanced at the edges of the property where the towering trees loomed, their dense foliage shifting with the wind. The thought of an entire forest bordering the campus was both intriguing and unsettling.
“Oh, shit, fuck. Watch out!”
Something slammed into my back with the force of a freight train. My breath left me in a sharp gasp as I hit the ground, knees sinking into the cold, damp earth. A skateboard clattered against the asphalt in front of me, spinning to a stop near my hand.
“Shit, dude! I’m so sorry!”
The voice was frantic, dripping with genuine regret. A second later, a hand appeared in front of me, offering to pull me up. I took it, brushing myself off as I straightened—and froze. I found myself staring into the most angelic face I had ever seen.
Bright shaggy blond hair framed his sharp cheekbones and full lips, his skin sun-kissed and flawless, his grin easy and utterly unapologetic. Michaelangelo could have carved him from stone.
“It’s no problem,” I muttered, pushing my hair back from my face, suddenly hyper-aware that half the group was sneering at us or trying to suppress their laughter.
The blond guy—a walking Greek statue—was completely unfazed.
“I’m so sorry, my dude. I was running late and was carrying too much speed.” He shrugged, his skateboard now tucked under his arm like an extension of himself. He had the kind of energy that radiated pure chaos.
He held out a hand again, this time for an actual introduction. “I’m Kyran.”
My lips twitched despite myself. Something about him was disarming. “Remi.”
His grin widened. “This is gonna be awesome.” He shouldered his backpack, the skateboard now strapped to it, as he fell into step beside me. “What are you studying?”
“Oh, um… Forensic anthropology.”
His eyes lit up. “No shit? Really?”
I blinked. “Uh… yeah?”
He grinned, nudging me lightly with his elbow. “Me too, my dude.”
Before I could process that, Dorian cleared his throat, loud enough to silence the murmurs around us.
“Gentlemen, if you’ve finished conversing,” he said, his expression pinched with irritation, “perhaps we can begin the tour? Your courses start next week, and I suggest you pay attention.”
Kyran leaned toward me, voice low. “Who shoved a stick up his ass?”
I snorted, barely containing my laughter as we followed Dorian up the stone steps. Massive oak doors loomed ahead, their dark wood carved with intricate patterns. They looked more suited to a cathedral than a university. I had a feeling Devereux was going to be nothing like an ordinary university. And I wasn’t sure if that excited me—or terrified me.