Chapter 1
Aurora
Three months later
I have to make it to class.
“Damn it …” I stand frozen in the middle of this endless parking lot where my brother dropped me off a few minutes ago.
Three months of hiding away in the clinic and at home—I simply can’t be late on my first day back. Especially after every newspaper in the state dubbed me the “Rescued Cinderella.” Screw them! None of them have any idea what that rescue actually cost me.
I break into a jog, weaving between rows of luxury cars—nothing cheap ever parks here.
Caleb means well, but my favorite older brother has zero sense of direction when it comes to Stonehaven.
He should’ve just let me come on my own—Kelsey or Zack could’ve dropped me right at my building.
In the distance, I see the spires of the Gothic buildings, but from here, I can’t make out a single sign, and I’m still stuck in this endless parking lot.
I don’t really know every corner of this place.
Stonehaven isn’t just a campus—it’s a whole autonomous city, ready to swallow you whole.
Dozens of massive buildings, a maze of pathways, private club grounds behind towering iron gates, cafés, sprawling residences … It’s way too easy to get lost here.
Tires screech. I barely manage to jump back from a silver Jaguar that floors it straight toward me.
“Son of a bitch!” I shout after the bastard, and stumble back into an empty parking space. It’s strange that this prime spot isn’t taken …. I guess it just saved me from getting run over on my first day.
Then my luck turns away just as fast.
I trip, and the thin leather strap of my sandals snaps with a sharp crack. My ankle twists at an awkward angle, and I smack the asphalt. My bag slips off my shoulder, spilling its contents across the parking space.
Before I can even reach for my bruised knee, a predatory roar tears through the air. A massive black SUV rockets into the parking spot and slams to a halt.
My heart stops. I flinch back, and it takes me a moment to realize I haven’t been crushed. The massive wheels have stopped mere inches from my legs.
Pain shoots through my ankle, so I grit my teeth and grab the edge of the vibrating hood. Using the sun-warmed metal for support, I manage to get back on my feet as the driver’s door swings open with a heavy thud.
“Didn’t anyone teach you to keep your hands off what isn’t yours?” A low, dangerously vibrating rumble rolls out from inside the car.
Flinching, I yank my hand off the polished bodywork.
“I needed to get up,” I blurt out, turning toward the footsteps.
“You also need to get the hell out of here. Your ass is in my parking spot.”
That voice is low, rough, and ice cold.
I snap my head up. Towering over me is a man.
The first thing that strikes me are his eyes—dark blue, almost black, they stare at me with cold, withering contempt.
His features are sharp, his jaw strong, made even more severe by his tan, which isn’t the golden glow of local beaches or tanning beds.
His skin is the color of scorched bronze.
His tousled blond hair is cut short. Black jeans cling to narrow hips, and white sneakers with gold stripes complete the look.
The outline of solid muscle peeks from the open color of his dark shirt.
Desire Sterling. The local prince. The king of his kingdom, who looks dangerously provoked, like a lion disturbed from its rest.
“I have a problem, in case you’re blind,” I snap back, pointing at my broken sandal.
“If I were blind, you’d already be smeared across the asphalt,” he tosses back.
Glancing at the massive tires that stopped inches from my legs, I swallow hard. Lucky Sterling has devilish reflexes and good brakes. I lean down and carefully feel my ankle—no sprain, fortunately.
I stand before him, awkwardly balancing on one foot, feeling utterly pathetic.
He takes a slow step forward. His dark heavy gaze drops to my heaving chest then slides lower, as if dissecting me: from my ribs to my stomach, and lower still, to where my thighs press together beneath the denim.
When he lifts his eyes higher, I’m hoping he doesn’t notice the pulse throbbing in my neck and the way my lips have gone dry.
My breath stutters. A drop of sweat trails down my spine.
There’s something maddeningly familiar in his cold, predatory gaze—something from my darkest nightmares.
In the past three months, no one has looked at me like that in real life.
Even Zack has changed, eyeing me with pity instead, and I can’t blame him for it.
But Desire feels no pity. He looks at me as if he’s genuinely weighing his options: run me over after all or crush me with his bare hands for being in the way of his perfect parking spot. As if I’m nothing but trash someone forgot to clean off the asphalt.
It dawns on me a beat too late why this spot was empty during rush hour—it belongs to him, and crossing Desire Sterling is practically signing your own death warrant.
The air in my lungs turns to glass. Heat floods my face in a burning wave.
I tuck my hands behind my back. Thank God I’m wearing thick jeans, otherwise he’d see the goosebumps crawling up my legs.
My survival instincts are screaming, telling me to forget the damn notebooks and textbooks and run, even if I’m wearing one sandal.
I hesitate for a different reason—the one I’m terrified to admit even to myself. Deep down, beneath the sticky layers of panic, something sick stirs. A craving for that forgotten feeling … When someone terrifyingly dangerous took absolute control over me, offering a wild illusion of safety.
Short of oxygen, I take a gasping, ragged breath, and my breasts rise toward him again.
Desire shifts his gaze from my tits to two freshmen with gym bags who’ve wandered nearby, and lets out a short grunt.
“You.” He nods at the brunette in the skirt. “Give her your sneakers.”
“What? I don’t need—”
“No one asked you. You’ll put on the sneakers and get the hell out of my spot.”
To my surprise, the girl crouches in front of me, unzips her bag, and pulls out a pair of training sneakers. My gaze snags on her neck—a tight gray choker. Matching the one around her friend’s throat. My bare neck suddenly tingles with a phantom itch.
“Here.”
“You don’t have to …” I begin, but under Desire’s oppressive stare, I take the sneakers.
“Please put them on. Otherwise, I’ll get cut from the Princess Initiation list,” the freshman whispers. After handing me the sneakers, she straightens and gives the man a breathless, fawning smile.
Any gratitude I felt for her evaporates instantly. Why does that coy little smile irritate me so much? She just helped me out.
“Desire, I’ve given her—”
“Gather her things,” he tosses out, not even sparing her a glance. His dark eyes are still fixed on me, undressing me with his gaze, slowly peeling away strips of skin to study what’s underneath with cold curiosity. My breath quickens again. “And you—change your shoes. Now.”
The girls gather my scattered belongings into my bag while I balance on one foot.
Realizing that trying to put on shoes while standing under Desire’s scrutiny is the height of absurdity, I crouch again in front of his radiator grill still warm from the engine.
With clumsy fingers, I pull on the slightly too-big sneakers, toss my broken sandals into the bag, rise, then lean awkwardly on the shoulder one of the girls offers me.
My ankle isn’t sprained, but my legs are shaking.
Why am I trembling so badly? It’s just a university parking lot.
Just some rude rich guy in an expensive car.
This doesn’t even come close to the absolute terror I went through in that basement three months ago. Right?
As soon as we’ve taken a few steps back, Desire slides into the SUV that had been blocking the drive. Like a rabbit frozen before a snake, I watch as the black monster tears off with a predatory roar and slides perfectly into the parking spot.
The heavy door slams shut. He gets out again. His gaze drops to my feet in the sneakers, flicks over my body, and lands on my bare neck. He gives a pointed nod toward the gray chokers on the two freshmen standing frozen nearby.
“At Stonehaven, a bare neck is an invitation to the hunt. Without a collar, your life isn’t worth a cent.”
His crooked, predatory smirk sends an icy chill down my spine … and a throbbing, traitorous heat low in my belly. He stands there for another second—long enough for me to think he’s changed his mind. Then he turns away.
Desire Sterling is a product of absolute impunity and the corrupting power of money. Rumor says he owns no fewer than ten elite cars alone. It’s no wonder he’s used to treating people like things.
The black metal of his SUV gleams flawlessly. The Prince knows how to take care of his toys.
“Give me your number. I’ll return the sneakers tomorrow,” I call out to the freshman, suddenly remembering. My gaze—like theirs—is still fixed on Desire’s retreating back. His six-feet-four frame and two hundred pounds of solid muscle stand out among the colorful student crowd—a lion among prey.
The girl flinches at my words, shaking her head. “He didn’t say I could take them back.”
Both freshmen retreat, fleeing from me as if I were contagious. As if they’re afraid I’ll learn their names, track them down, and force the footwear back.
I’m left alone. “Without a collar, your life isn’t worth a cent.” The words burrow into my brain, pulsing under my skin. Suddenly, I ache—a bone-deep ache—to wrap something tight and secure around my throat. Something iron … What sick, twisted nostalgia is washing over me?