Chapter 4
Four
Blair
The rest of my classes that day passed in a blur.
Words from professors drifted past me like fog. All I could think about was him and the sting of his knife nicking my skin. The way my tights had torn and that stupid, callous smirk of his that promised more carnage.
My jaw clenched every time I replayed his arrogant look in my head.
Everyone, including the professor, had witnessed what he did, but no one defended me. Instead, they’d cowered, as if he were an untouchable god they feared and worshipped.
But didn’t they know that all gods eventually fell?
Prometheus had been chained. Atlas condemned to carry the heavens on his back. Ares shamed.
Even the divine eventually answered for their sins.
What was worse, was that the asshole who’d cut my hair looked like a Greek god. One who belonged in a painting that’d sell at auction for millions.
I hated how symmetrical his face was. It was almost unnatural, too perfect for a living, breathing person. Frowning, I resented how I found such a horrid man attractive. But beauty wasn’t the only thing I saw when looking at him.
Something dark and predatory lurked behind his brown eyes.
He was a devil dressed up as the man of your dreams.
During my next lecture, while the professor rambled, I pulled my phone out and searched what he’d said to me before leaving the lecture hall.
“Alla prossima, ratta.”
Until next time, rat.
A chill crawled down my spine.
The way he’d said those words to me wasn’t friendly.
They’d left his lips like a threat. A promise.
I debated closing out of the search results and booking an Uber to get the hell out of here.
For the rest of the day, people avoided me, and I knew it was because of the gossip around my new haircut.
Classmates looked away from me or turned in the opposite direction. No one sat beside me in class. I heard whispers behind my back.
I tried asking a few classmates his name, but no one answered.
One girl pretended she hadn’t heard me and scurried away. Another guy literally trembled, as if saying his name would summon a demon.
When lunch finally came, I brought my food to the library to avoid another run-in with him.
And by food, I meant a stale, half-crushed granola bar.
A gold plate labeled Somnus Library was on the wall before I walked in.
As I moved deeper into the library, I looked around in awe.
Sunlight streamed through the arched windows.
The space was breathtaking with two stories of carved wooden bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling.
There were hundreds of books—newer titles, along with some with spines so worn that you couldn’t make out their titles.
It felt more like a fairy-tale castle than a library in a weird-ass university.
I climbed the staircase to the second floor and found a small study table tucked in a corner. The farthest away from anyone.
After setting down my bag, I pulled out my notebook and unwrapped my granola bar. The bar instantly crumbled in my fingers, making a mess.
I’d just taken a bite when a voice spoke from across the table.
“They call them the Night Sons.”
My hand flew to my throat as I coughed, choking on my bite, and crumbs scratched my throat.
A short guy, wearing the same crisp Saint Vale uniform, sat across from me.
His blond hair was swept back, perfectly styled, like he’d just stepped off Wall Street. For some reason, he reminded me of crooked wealth, like the kind that’d eventually run for office, then get a felony for insider trading.
He gave me a bright, calculated smile.
“Excuse me?” I croaked, grabbing my water bottle and taking a sip.
“The guy who cut your hair,” he said. “He’s a Night Son.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “And what does that mean exactly?”
“The Night Sons are the secret society that runs Saint Vale.”
“Okay,” I drawled slowly. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
Honestly, it kind of did.
Men like the one who cut my hair fed on fear. Thrived on it. Devoured it like it was their favorite carb.
And the fact that he belonged to some secret society that supposedly ran the university made things even scarier.
The guy scratched his clean-shaven cheek, though I noticed there was a fresh nick, like he’d cut himself this morning. “It should scare you more than anything.”
I scoffed, faking indifference. “I’ve attended enough universities to know exactly who the guy who cut my hair is.
That prep-school jerk will peak early. Give him a few more years, and he’ll have a receding hairline and erectile dysfunction before he hits thirty.
Men like him aren’t a rarity, particularly in this tax bracket. ”
He shook his head violently. “Enzo Marchetti is a rarity.”
Enzo. The name of my tormentor.
His name hit me like a warning label of poison after you took a drink of it.
“He’s not some prep-school jerk,” he continued. “He’s fucking crazy.” His voice lowered a notch. “Your haircut? Child’s play compared to what he has planned for you. You need to watch your back here.”
Fear shot through me.
He adjusted the cuff of his blazer, deliberately showing off his gold diamond watch.
I forced a polite smile, thankful he’d at least had the guts to provide a name. “Thank you for the warning. Is this a club they just started? Do they meet on Thursdays?”
He unfortunately didn’t share my sense of humor or return the smile.
“The Night Sons existed before the university. They created the society to protect the university’s secrets.
To keep powerful families safe from outsiders.
Every year, new members are recruited.” He cleared his throat.
“And every generation becomes more ruthless than the last. Now, it’s nothing but sadistic rituals, like who can be the most brutal. ”
The more he explained, the more his tone changed.
It sounded like envy, like he desperately wanted to be one, but had never been invited.
“How does one join the Night Sons?” I asked, tapping my nails against the wooden table.
He drew his shoulders back. “Only the Sons know that. What I do know is that all of them come from bloodlines of powerful families. Royalty, politicians, drug lords, and the Mafia.”
“Mafia?” I snorted. “Didn’t they wipe out the mob, like, decades ago?”
He scoffed. “The Mafia never died. They just got better at hiding. They pay the right people to pretend they disappeared and then sent their heirs here.”
The crumbs of the granola bar threatened to make their way up.
“Which powerful bloodline is Enzo?” I asked, taking another drink of water. “Royalty? Mafia? Drug lord?”
“His father is one of the most feared Mafia bosses alive. And believe me, Enzo inherited every ounce of his father’s viciousness. He makes the devil look like a saint.”
I slowly capped my water. “Why are you telling me this, then? If he and this … society are as dangerous as you say, shouldn’t you be too afraid to warn me?”
He paused, scanned the library, and crept closer. I wrinkled my nose at his strong aftershave. It smelled like he’d bathed in it.
“Every year, the Night Sons select a Fawn—their prey, if you will,” he explained, then nodded in my direction. “It looks like Enzo chose you this year.”
A shiver ran through me, and I wrapped my arms around myself.
With a low voice and zero sarcasm, I asked, “What do they do to these Fawns?”
“They wear them down until they break. They manipulate, isolate, and torment them. Break them piece by piece until nothing is left.” He closed his eyes, his voice lowering as he reopened them. “Last year, Enzo chose my sister, Clarissa, as his Fawn.”
That fact hit me like ice water.
“I’m doing this because I wish someone had warned her.” He rubbed his palms over his eyes. “Consequences or not.”
“Clarissa?” I repeated slowly. “Daphne’s old roommate?”
He pulled back and nodded. “Enzo caused her death. But no one will do anything about it. Not Arisono. Not the administration. Not even the police.”
My thoughts flashed back to him cutting my hair and how no one had stood up for me. Yep, it checked out to none of them having spines.
Before I could ask another question, a book fell from a shelf. I shot upright, shoving my chair back, ready for Enzo to arrive, knife in hand.
The guy jumped to his feet, looking in every direction. “Be careful, Blair.” His gaze held mine. “No one at Saint Vale is who they pretend to be.”
After my last class, I gave myself a small tour of the university.
Students passed me and again acted as if I didn’t exist, but I didn’t mind. I wanted the quiet and space to breathe and think.
I needed to process the fact that some random guy in a secret society had cut my hair in front of an entire classroom and chosen me as his.
Saint Vale was old but meticulously cared for. The stone walls carried nearly a century of history, but there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. No cobwebs in the corners. The tall windows shone, smudge-free.
Whoever had built the university didn’t make education their main goal. It had been built to impress and lure in the wealthy. And apparently, the psychotic.
The first floor housed the library, administrative offices, and lecture halls. A gym and pool took up the rest of the space on the opposite side.
The second floor was quieter with dorms that extended from the staircase, branching into corridors like webs. The east wing’s dorms were all accessible, but when I wandered toward the west wing, I found tall, locked wrought-iron gates blocking the corridor. It was the same on the third floor.
That reminded me of what Daphne had said about some students having their own wings.
Every hall had a Latin name, like mine.
All dark, morbid phrases that promised gloom.
Sunshine didn’t exist in this place.
I was also learning that predators ran these halls, not the administrators.
So far, Daphne was the nicest person I’d met, which was a plus. I’d spend more time with her than anyone else here, given that we shared a room.
When I returned to my dorm, it was around eight. Almost curfew.