19. Alex
Chapter 19
Alex
“ F ive minutes.”
Aubrey stepped into the back room of the mail office first, giving a quick wave of thanks to the student behind the counter before the door clicked shut with a quiet thud behind us.
I turned my head toward Aubrey, but she was already moving toward the pile of packages stacked haphazardly on the wooden tables in front of us.
The faint scent of cardboard and ink filled the air.
“We’ll have to hurry,” I mutter under my breath, glancing at the clock on the far wall.
Aubrey didn’t seem fazed.
“Let’s get to work.”
We moved swiftly, our hands brushing against box after box.
My eyes scan the labels with practiced speed, tossing aside the ones we weren’t looking for.
“Any luck?” Aubrey asked, her voice low as she yanked over another package, only to curse quietly when it wasn’t what we were looking for.
I shook my head, pushing another cardboard box aside.
“Not yet.”
We sifted through package after package, the seconds ticking away in the back of my mind.
But it was hard to focus.
The memory of Bishop had been gnawing at the edges of my thoughts all week.
It had been just a few days since he’d not only tossed me into the fountain but also kissed me—roughly, with that maddening confidence of his.
I couldn’t decide what was worse—the fact that he’d thrown me into that freezing water, or that the kiss had been so intense.
It was hard to ignore how easily it had set my skin on fire.
My thoughts flashed back to the moment when his lips crashed against mine, hard and demanding, like he wasn’t asking for permission but taking what he wanted.
And I loved it. It wasn’t soft or gentle— he wasn’t soft—but that was exactly why it felt so good.
And I hated that I wanted more of it.
But then he showed up at my dorm, just an hour later, knocking with that cocky grin of his.
The second I realized it was him, I didn’t hesitate—I slammed the door right in his face.
No matter what excuse he might have had, he didn’t get to throw me into the fountain and then just walk away like nothing had happened.
Not after everything he’d done to me since I arrived at Altair.
So yeah, I slammed the door, and I didn’t feel bad about it.
As if that wasn’t enough, in the days that followed, things had only gotten worse.
I kept finding torn pages from my botany notebook—the one he’d stolen —scattered all over campus.
First, in the hallway of my dorm, then a day later, on a table in the dining hall, half-hidden under a napkin.
It felt like my shadow was purposely leaving them for me to find.
Then today, I found one stuffed inside a random textbook in the library.
Every time I thought I could get some space from him, these fragments of my stolen notebook kept turning up—each one more infuriating than the last. And then to add to that, each one had a cigarette burn mark somewhere on the page.
He was messing with me—getting in my head.
And it was working.
Every time I found one of those pages, I couldn’t help but think about him, think about that kiss.
My mind would race back to the heat of it, the rush of something I couldn’t deny, and then I’d snap out of it, furious with myself all over again.
I shouldn’t want him.
I really shouldn’t.
But did Bishop care about what I felt?
Of course not. He was still there, stuck in my mind no matter how hard I tried to push him out.
Those notes were his way of punishing me, his way of forcing me to keep thinking about him, to keep him in my head.
Gah! He was doing it again, even now.
I hadn’t even needed a reminder in the form of those notes.
Bishop was still in my head, messing with me when I least expected it.
I clenched my fists, willing myself to pay attention.
I couldn’t let him control my thoughts any longer, not right now.
I shoved the thought aside and forced my attention back to the boxes in front of me.
No more distractions.
Time was running out.
We didn’t have much of it, and what we were looking for was still buried under all this cardboard.
I had to stay focused.
Aubrey and I had come up with this plan the other night outside by the fountain.
I’d asked for her advice because, honestly, who better to talk to than her?
She wasn’t one to judge, especially when it came to something like revenge.
We’d spent time chatting, hashing out the details, and by the time we were done, Aubrey was all in—fired up and ready to go.
The only problem was, we had to wait.
And wait. And wait some more, until we got word that Camden’s monthly package had arrived in the mail.
Luckily, Aubrey had a friend who worked here, so we had our way in.
By the time we’d put everything together that night, I was in a pretty good mood, feeling like things were finally in my favor.
Then, of course, that was when Bishop showed up out of nowhere and ruined everything.
One second, we were laughing, planning out the details, and the next— bam!
—he had me tossed over his shoulder, and I was thrown into that freezing water, gasping for air.
Completely blindsided.
Shit!
I shoved the thought of my shadow aside, frustrated with myself.
Again.
I had to focus.
I wasn’t here for him.
I was here for Camden— for payback , not to keep getting caught up in the stupid mind games Bishop was playing with me.
“Found it!” Aubrey shouts beside me, then quickly realizes her mistake and whispers it again.
I can’t help but let out a small chuckle as I glance at the name: Camden Lín-Whitlock scrawled across the top, with an international address listed below it.
“He has them shipped in from Japan,” Aubrey adds, casually explaining as I grab a pair of scissors and effortlessly slice open the box.
I pulled out the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and styling gel, stacking them neatly on the table as I sized them up.
Camden had enough hair products to start his own salon.
There was the premium shampoo with all the fancy ingredients, the expensive conditioner, and of course, the sleek gel that looked like it belonged in a high-end barbershop.
I grabbed the shampoo bottle and set the others aside— this was what I needed.
Aubrey, on the other hand, was already deep in her bag, her hands moving with purpose as she rummaged through it.
“Got it,” she said, pulling out a bottle of bright pink hair dye with a triumphant smile.
“Thank you, props department.”
With a quick, confident motion, she poured the entire bottle into the shampoo.
I twisted the cap back on and gave it a good shake.
We resealed the box in perfect sync, like we’d done it a thousand times before.
“Mission accomplished,” I said, flashing her a grin and holding up my hand for a high-five.
Aubrey slapped it with a grin of her own.
Just as we stepped back, the door creaked open, and the student who worked in the mail room poked their head inside.
“Times up,” they called.
Without missing a beat, we grabbed our things and casually place the box back where we’d found it, shooting the student a smile.
Then we breezed around the counter and out of the mail office, mission complete.
“So how soon do you think it’ll be before we see him wandering around campus with neon-colored hair?”
Aubrey chuckled, clearly amused by the thought.
“Whenever he finds the time for a student to fetch it for him, I guess.”
I snorted, shaking my head.
“He’s going to look like a flamingo threw up on him.”
Aubrey burst into laughter.
“He’s going to lose it.”
We both chuckle, the tension of the plan melting away, our little rebellion feeling more and more like a victory with every passing second.
But just as our laughter died down, I heard a familiar voice calling my name.
“ Alex! ”
I whipped around to see Alfie charging toward us, his top hat bouncing, his face lit up with excitement.
“Guess the fun’s over,” I groan, though a smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes fondly, but the truth was, despite his strange quirks and unpredictable nature, Alfie was starting to grow on me.
He had a wild imagination, always concocting one plan after another, and half the time I couldn’t figure out if he was on my side or off in his own world.
Still, when it came down to it, he was a good person.
Maybe a little too much like a spinning top, unpredictable and always in motion, but I had to admit, he was growing on me the more I got to know him.
“What’s up, Alfie?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He grinned, glancing over his shoulder as though he was checking for something.
“Just finished with the board and spotted you two, so I figured I’d come share the good news.”
Aubrey and I had chosen the waterside path behind Altair’s main building, avoiding the more crowded courtyard of students at the front.
Alfie’s grin widened.
“We got approved! Club Bedlam is the official host of the carnival this year!” He bounced excitedly on his toes.
“That’s amazing!” Aubrey beamed, clearly thrilled, while I barely reacted.
Great?
I shifted my weight, unsure how to respond.
Sure, it was big news for Club Bedlam, but I hadn’t exactly been looking forward to joining a school club in the first place.
“Aren’t you excited?” Alfie asked, turning his attention back on me.
I blinked, then forced a small smile.
“Yeah, sure. Excited,” I said, though my tone lacked enthusiasm.
I tried not to make it too obvious that I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy.
“This is so awesome, Alfie!” Aubrey exclaimed.
Alfie’s eyes lit up more, his grin widening.
“You have no idea how much I’ve been planning for this! The tent’s already up, but now it’s time to really take it up a notch!” He bounced on his toes, excitement practically spilling out of him.
“I’m thinking animal-shaped balloons hanging from the rafters, amp up the stage right in the center. Custom games everywhere—ring toss, maybe even a fire element, just to add some drama, we could sell popcorn, cotton candy, maybe have a little photo booth set up in the corner…”
I nodded absentmindedly, half-listening as my gaze drifted to the top of the steps.
Then I froze.
Standing casually and chatting with a couple of faculty members, were two people I hadn’t learned about until recently—my supposed grandparents.
I blinked, my brain struggling to process what I was seeing.
My grandparents. I hadn’t known they were alive.
For a second, I couldn’t move.
I stared at them, feeling like I was in some kind of daze.
They were just standing there, talking, completely unaware of me.
My mind raced, trying to make sense of the surreal scene unfolding in front of me.
I blinked, trying to make sense of it all.
“Alex?” Aubrey’s voice snapped me out of my daze.
By the time I looked back, my grandparents were gone, slipping inside the building without a second glance.
“I’ll catch up with you later,” I said, heading toward the building where they had disappeared.
As I stepped into the large room, memories immediately flood back—this was the same place where my ranking ceremony took place.
The tables that used to dominate the space are now gone, replaced by rows of evenly spaced chairs.
The vibrant tapestries have been taken down, exposing the bare, cold walls beneath.
Everything else looks just the same—frozen in time, as though nothing’s changed at all.
I take in the familiar faces, and my gaze lands on my grandfather sitting at the center of the long table, with Bishop’s mother beside him.
Chancellor Maxwell is at the far end, her posture as rigid as ever, just like last time.
I spot the other Legacy members around the room, with Sylvester sitting nearby.
Camden and Sutton are off to the side, their attention focused on some quiet discussion.
Sutton’s holding a stack of small cards, and Camden, is scribbling notes in a leather-bound notebook.
I can’t help but notice how out of place I feel in this room.
My eyes flick to Francesca, Bishop’s mother.
She’s definitely the youngest adult in the group, though I can’t figure out why.
My mind begins to wander, trying to piece things together.
Perhaps Bishop’s grandparents are already gone?
She seems to have taken the mantle of matriarch for her family.
I linger at the door for a moment.
What had Alfie been blathering on about again?
Oh right, something about getting approved by the board.
Is that why Sutton and Camden were talking back and forth like they’re prepping for something?
Are they up next? In front of their families?
How hard could it really be for them?
They’re presenting in front of people who already know them, people they’ve probably been around their entire lives.
It didn’t seem like much of a challenge.
Then again, I guess that’s the whole point.
With their families in the room, it’s almost guaranteed they’ll get whatever they want.
No real surprises there.
When your name’s already carved into the Legacy, what’s a few words in front of your relatives?
The board would probably just nod and smile, maybe throw in a token question for show.
It’s practically a done deal.
As I take in the room, I instinctively pull my shoulders back, trying to ignore the strange sensation that seems to creep up on me.
It’s a little too quiet and just as I’m about to breathe it all in, I hear it.
My shadow’s voice.
“Looking for me, troublemaker?”
The words are close—right next to my ear—and I freeze, feeling the warmth of his breath brush against my skin.
My heart skips, and a subtle shiver runs down my neck, making my pulse jump.
Why does it sound like he wants me to be looking for him?
What exactly is he hoping I’ll find?
The thought lingers, but I quickly push it aside.
I don’t turn my head.
I refuse to.
I can’t.
If I do, he’ll be right there—his lips so close.
The kiss we shared before keeps invading my mind, uninvited and persistent.
I’ve been trying not to think about it, but here he is again, reminding me.
I stay still, forcing my breath to steady.
“You wish,” I reply, my voice dripping with sarcasm, my lips barely twitching.
“Keep dreaming.”
Bishop’s chuckle comes immediately, like he expected my response but still found it amusing.
“Trust me,” he says, his voice dropping low, almost gravelly.
“I’ve had plenty of dreams about you. The kind where I get to strip you down and see exactly how you look beneath me.” His words send a shiver down my spine, but I fight to keep my expression neutral.
“Especially after you left those filthy notes in your mailbox for me to find—those detailed descriptions you wrote. They’ve been replaying in my head, over and over. Every. Single. Word.”
I feel a lump form in my throat, but I push it down, forcing myself to stay still.
There’s no way I’ll give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words affect me.
With a cocky smirk, I turn my head just enough to feel his presence lingering behind me, but not enough to let him see how rattled I am.
“You’ll have to wake up from that fantasy first.”
He laughs, that low, dangerous sound that always manages to get under my skin.
I can feel his gaze on me, and I know he’s enjoying this—every single second.
“Don’t worry, little Prescott,” he says, his voice dark and full of amusement.
“You’ll give in eventually. You’ve done it before.”
I don’t react, forcing myself to stay calm, even as the heat in his words presses against me.
His tone shifts, almost smug, as he adds, “I can be patient. I always get what I want in the end.”
His words hang in the air like a promise—or maybe a threat—but either way, it’s clear he’s not letting this go.
The most unsettling part?
I’m not sure I even want him to.
“Hey, I was just coming to find you,” Sylvester says as he jogs up beside Bishop, his tone cheerful.
“They’re about to begin.” He turns to me, his smile widening.
“You look good, Alex. Almost as if you’ve been thinking about me.”
The words hang between us, playful but undeniably flirty.
I catch the subtle hint of a grin pulling at his lips.
“Is that so?” I reply, my voice sweet, with a hint of sarcasm.
“I’m flattered. I don’t know if I should be worried or impressed by how much you think about yourself, Sylvester.”
He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then I catch it, a soft, barely audible snort from beside me.
Bishop. It’s so faint, so unexpected, I almost think I imagined it.
But no, it’s definitely there.
The sound of an almost imperceptible chuckle.
I quickly glance at him, but his expression is back to that cold mask he wears, though the faint trace of amusement still lingers.
He actually snorted ?
Sylvester’s grin falters slightly, unsure whether to be offended or intrigued, but I can’t help it, I smirk back.
Not because it’s ridiculous, but because of that tiny crack in Bishop’s armor.
Something about it flips a switch in my stomach, a feeling that’s different from the usual heat he stirs in me.
Bishop doesn’t react to my look.
Instead, he just gives me a quick, dismissive glance before turning to Sylvester.
“C’mon, let’s go,” he mutters, already starting to walk to their seats.
Sylvester arches an eyebrow.
“You know, Alex,” he says casually, “if you don’t want to keep standing around back here, you could always join us.”
Bishop shoots a brief, sharp look at Sylvester, but it’s already too late.
The suggestion is out there.
Before I can even process it, Bishop cuts through the moment, his tone biting.
“Don’t let Sylvester flatter you, Prescott. That wasn’t an invitation from all of us.”
The words hit harder than I expect, and the playful atmosphere from just seconds ago evaporates in an instant.
My grin fades, replaced by a sharp, defensive edge.
I stand a little taller, forcing my voice to sound unaffected, answering Sylvester.
“No thanks. My club’s already been approved.”
But as I speak, my mind races, confused by the sudden flip-flop in Bishop’s behavior.
One moment, he’s playful, teasing, and the next, he’s cold, dismissive, and cruel.
I know how he sees me—I’ve always known—but for some reason, his harsh words hurt more today than they ever have before.
He’s playing with me, pushing and pulling, and I’m not sure why it stings now when it never did before.
Sylvester doesn’t miss a beat.
“You sure?” he asks me, his tone light but with a hint of mischief.
“It’s not every day someone gets the privilege of my company.”
He steps closer, and this time, I can’t ignore the way his body language shifts, taking up more space.
His smile is charming but somehow challenging.
I glance at Bishop briefly, but the look on his face is enough to make me pause.
His jaw is tight, and his hands are clenched at his sides, almost like he’s holding himself back from saying something…
or doing something. His irritation is so visible, it’s almost electric.
And something inside me clicks.
If I leave now, if I walk away from this, I know it’ll give Bishop exactly what he wants.
I’ll be the one to back down, and he’ll feel in control.
I hold my ground, letting the silence hang in the air just long enough.
I can’t quite explain why, but the thought of staying here—of staying right where Bishop doesn’t want me—ignites a flicker of defiance in me.
So I stay. I fold my arms across my chest and force a small smile, not looking at him directly.
“You know, now that you mention it,” I say coolly, glancing at Sylvester.
“I think I will stick around a little longer.”
Bishop’s gaze snaps to me instantly, his eyes thinned with visible anger.
His posture stiffens further, his body taut.
Without a word, I step past them both, walking deliberately towards the row I noticed Sylvester sitting in earlier.
I can feel their eyes on me, but I don’t let it faze me.
With each step, I can almost hear Bishop’s breath becoming sharper, though I don’t look back.
I take my seat in the row, my back straight, and my eyes forward.
The seat beside me is empty, but I’m not left waiting long.
Moments later, Sylvester slides into the seat next to me, a smug grin still playing on his lips.
I hear the quiet scrape of chairs being moved as Bishop takes the seat beside Sylvester, but he doesn’t look at me.
Good.
The room falls into a tense hush, and just as I settle into my chair, Sutton and Camden rise to present their proposal to the board.
The soft murmur of voices dies down as they move to the front, and Sutton clears her throat before speaking.
“Thank you all for seeing us today,” she begins, her tone smooth and rehearsed.
“We’re excited to present our vision for the upcoming carnival.” She gestures to Camden, who nods and steps forward to add his part to the pitch.
As their idea unfolds, I try my best to focus on their words, but something keeps pulling my attention away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Francesca’s gaze from the front of the room.
Bishop’s mother. She’s watching me intently, her sharp eyes never wavering, much like her son’s.
Her eyes subtly shift between Bishop and me, as if she’s weighing something between us.
But they always return to me.
That constant, unwavering scrutiny makes my skin prickle.
There’s something unnerving about the way she’s watching me, like she can see right through me.
It’s almost as if she knows exactly what’s been going on between her son and me—has she been watching us the entire time?
From the moment Bishop first appeared behind me?
I can feel the weight of her gaze, and it makes me uncomfortable in a way I can’t quite explain.
I glance back at the presentation, but I can still feel her eyes lingering on me, as if she’s trying to read me from across the room.
I don’t like it.
The presentation wraps up with Sutton and Camden beaming, clearly excited about their idea.
Chancellor Maxwell is the last to speak, her vote delayed just a fraction longer than the others.
She looks at the board with hesitation, and then—after a long pause—she finally votes in favor, albeit with a barely perceptible sigh.
The rest of the board follows suit without issue.
Everyone says yes.
Sutton and Camden immediately hug, their excitement palpable as they congratulate each other.
The sight is so predictable.
Of course they get what they want.
No surprise there. Who could possibly stand in the way of Legacy children?
I suppress a scoff, but the urge to let out a sarcastic laugh lingers at the back of my throat.
This is the world they live in.
A world where things are handed to you if your name’s been established long enough.
I take this as my cue to leave.
But just as I turn to go, I’m stopped in my tracks.
“Alexandra.”
I freeze, blinking in surprise.
I turn to see my grandmother standing beside me.
It’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that I even have a grandmother, let alone one who’s here .
Her gaze is steady, not warm, but not cold either.
Though the faint uncertainty in her voice catches me off guard.
“It’s…just Alex,” I correct instinctively, a sharpness to my tone that I can’t quite hide.
I hate when people use my full name, because it always reminds me of my mother.
She used to say it in a way that felt like a heavy, unspoken judgment, a reminder of everything I wasn’t.
“Alexandra” wasn’t a name; it was a sentence, a marker for everything I failed to measure up to in her eyes.
She raises an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin line.
“Just Alex,” she repeats, her tone neither approving nor dismissive.
I can’t help but feel a shift in the air as she stands before me.
It’s strange—this woman is nothing like the kind, gentle figure I’d imagined when I thought of grandmothers.
No soft, smiling face or warm arms that would pull me in for comfort.
There’s no faint smell of baking cookies or homemade pies.
Instead, she’s all sharp angles and unwavering presence, like someone used to commanding attention without having to say much at all.
I wonder if this is what my father’s side of the family is really like—this cold, intimidating, all business, no warmth.
“It’s, uh, nice to meet you,” I mumble, fumbling for something to say.
It feels awkward, the words too light for the situation, too polite.
I try to offer a small smile, but I’m not sure if it’s well-received.
She studies me for a moment, as if measuring something—measuring me .
I almost wish she’d just ask me how I’ve been.
But instead, she says, “I trust your time at Altair has been…comfortable?”
“Something like that,” I reply, still feeling the weight of her gaze on me.
There’s no comfort in it, just an unspoken assessment that feels like I’m under a microscope.
There’s a pause before she speaks again, her voice quiet but carrying a different sort of weight now.
“Your grandfather and I have been discussing this year’s gala. We plan to host it again, as is tradition.”
I nod slowly, unsure where this is going.
“We would be honored if you’d attend,” she continues.
“It would mean a great deal to have you there—publicly rejoining the Prescott family.”
I blink, caught off guard by the suggestion.
“You want me to come to a gala?”
“Yes,” she confirms, her tone as calm as before, though there's a quiet note of expectation beneath it. “We’ve already begun making arrangements. It’s an important event, and your presence would not go unnoticed.”
A gala? They want me to attend?
Something flickers in my mind—the article I’d seen back in the Vault. There’d been a photo of Bishop’s mother, standing beside my father. What had they called it again? The Annual Prescott Gala? I don’t ask if it’s the same one, but the name echoes in my head now, threading the past and present together in an unsettling way.
“Why?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
She doesn’t flinch at the question. “To acknowledge your place here,” she says simply. “To welcome you properly. You’re a Prescott, after all.”
She pauses, then adds, “Your grandfather and I have already taken steps to ensure your dormitory building is brought up to standard. It seems it had been left in rather poor condition.”
I frown, unsure what she’s getting at.
“We weren’t aware of the extent of the damage,” she says, a touch of something close to apology in her voice—though it vanishes quickly. “Bishop brought it to our attention. He said it wasn’t…reflective of what we would want associated with the Prescott name.”
Something twists in my chest at that. Bishop? Why would he say anything? Why now? Had they really not known how rundown the place was? Or had they known and just didn’t care—until it mattered?
Her words send a strange chill through me. I want to ask her more questions—what does that even mean, really? But something in the way she holds herself tells me that it’s not an invitation to be questioned. It’s an order, and that’s the end of it.
I stand there for a moment, trying to process everything, her cold eyes unwavering. “I see,” I mutter, not sure if I really do or not. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” I say, my voice firm and direct, not leaving room for negotiation.
Her expression tightens, and for the briefest moment, I can see frustration flicker in her eyes. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can say a word, Bishop steps in, his presence looming behind me.
Without warning, he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him in a move so sudden, so possessive, that I nearly stumble. The warmth of his body against mine sends an unexpected jolt through me, and I can’t help but feel the weight of it, even as I try to stay composed.
His voice is confident, almost too smooth, when he speaks. “What Prescott means is that she’s just not fond of big events.” He shoots me a pointed look, one that’s teasing and just a little too possessive. “She’ll be there. Don’t worry about it.”
I can feel his hand at my waist, still pressing me into him, and it’s far too intimate for comfort. Or at least, it should be. I swallow hard, trying not to let the warmth in his touch get to me.
For a moment, there’s silence. Then, my grandmother’s eyes pinch slightly as she assesses the situation. There’s no softness in her expression, but she seems pleased with Bishop’s intervention. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She doesn’t speak, but the satisfaction in her gaze is unmistakable.
I feel the weight of his possessiveness, his arm snug around my waist, and despite myself, I like it more than I should. It’s a bold, assertive move, and it stirs something inside me—something tells me Bishop knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows exactly how to get under my skin.
I try to pull back slightly, but Bishop’s arm stays firmly around my waist, as if daring me to make a move.
Finally, my grandmother just nods stiffly. “Very well, then. We’ll see you both there.” The emphasis she places on both doesn’t go unnoticed.
She turns and walks away, her heels clicking against the floor, but her words linger in the air. A part of me feels a strange weight settle over me, a burden I didn’t ask for. I realize I’ve been standing there, caught between Bishop’s arm and the lingering presence of my grandmother, and I make the decision to break the spell.
It takes more strength than it should to pull away from him, the heat of his touch still burning through my skin. I straighten up, trying to ignore the way my blood spikes as I place a bit of distance between us.
“I’m not going to that party,” I state firmly, meeting his gaze with cool resolve.
Bishop doesn’t even flinch. He just stands there, his arm slowly dropping from my waist, his eyes watching me like he’s cataloging every movement I make. It’s like my refusal didn’t even register to him.
“Of course you will, because you’ll do exactly what’s been asked of you,” he says, his tone rougher now, dripping with intent. “You’ll show up, be polite, and maybe if you’re good enough…I’ll give you exactly what we both know you really want. The thing you keep pretending you don’t.”
The words slam into me, my breath catching in my throat. Even though I know I should push back, I can’t fight the rush running through me. There’s no mistaking it now—he’s not playing. Bishop isn’t just making a suggestion; he’s laying it all out, and it’s clear as day—he wants me.
His signature smirk deepens, his eyes slowly trailing down to my lips, as if he can already taste them. That flicker of dark hunger in his gaze sends a jolt straight to my core. The weight of his attention pulls me in, and I hate myself for how much I like it.
I can feel the tension thickening between us, like it’s only a matter of time before I’m wrapped up in him, tangled in something I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk away from.