Chapter 4
GALINA
The word of the day is “flustered”.
As in, “flustered ever since I slept through my alarm for the first time ever and Arianna had to shake me awake so I wasn't late to class”.
So flustered, in fact, that I managed to leave my room at The Atheneum this morning wearing mismatched black underwear and a red bra, which I realize isn’t a big deal to most people but I never do it so it’s throwing off my whole day.
I even forgot to say hi to Long John Slither, the massive, prehistoric snake skeleton that hangs from the vaulted ceiling in the entryway to The Atheneum, which is kind of the Ouroboros mascot and a daily morning ritual for me to greet.
I walked into my Research Methods of Behavioral Science class instead of going to the library for my independent study period, that's how flustered I am.
When Professor Baustis called me on it and asked me why I was there, since my class had covered the material last Friday, I was so mortified that I made up a lie about "wanting to be sure I was fully immersed in it".
I hate lying, especially to professors. But lying was way better than telling the truth. I haven’t told any of my friends, not even Arianna.
Actually, for someone who prides herself on being so truthful all the time, I’ve been on a lying spree since the Para Bellum party last weekend.
I lied to my friends when I found them after stumbling out of the library, the lingering feeling of The Ghost Prince’s hands on my skin. His fingers still twisting and tugging at my nipple. The huge bulge in his pants pulsing against my core.
Ari and Lucia said I looked scared or shaken. Wren, who was hammered by that point, had the most apt observation when she told me I “looked like I’d just seen a ghost”.
If only you knew, girl…
Of course, it was all made even worse by the fact that we’d literally been watching his content earlier that night while getting ready to go out, that video of him holding a knife to his crotch and stroking it like he was jerking off his cock.
…The same cock I rocked on top of later that same night.
Came on.
I mean, Jesus.
Mercifully, I was spared my friends' questions by the reappearance of Yelena, who somehow looked even more freaked out and bedraggled than I did.
At that point, it was clear Wren was super drunk.
So Yelena made her getaway and took our friend home before we could question the haunted look in her eyes.
I mean jeez, you’d think she was the one who’d just been blackmailed by the hottest man on MaskTok into giving him a lap dance.
Blackmailed.
That’s the other word of the day. It’s what I’ve landed on to best describe what happened on Friday at Kingsward Hall.
“Coerced” or “forced” feels a bit strong and makes me feel like a victim in an icky way that doesn’t sit that well with me. “Assaulted” isn’t right, either. Even though I know there’s plenty of examples of victims experiencing orgasm during assaults, that’s not what Friday was, and I know it.
So I’ve decided to call it “blackmailed”.
I don’t know. Maybe that’s just me lying to myself, since I’m on this new lying streak anyway.
I mean, I lied to my friends, then I lied to Papa and Dad last night when I told them I was feeling under the weather and had to skip our usual Sunday night FaceTime appointment—because there was no way I was having a video call with Roman Nikitin and Val Bancroft with visions of coming all over a masked man’s erection still chasing through my head.
Nope.
“Galina!”
I’m just about to walk into my Social Psychology of Deception class when Trevor’s voice behind me makes me cringe.
Shit.
Trevor may or may not have texted me about fifteen times on Friday night to ask if I was at the Para Bellum party yet. I also may or may not have literally ducked behind Ari on the way out of to make sure he didn’t see me.
I force a smile to my face as I turn. Trevor grins widely as he comes to a stop in the hall in front of me.
“Hey, Trevor,” I say pleasantly.
He sighs, running his fingers through his dark hair. Trevor is, objectively speaking, a good-looking guy. But he’s told me multiple times about the “manosphere” podcasts he listens to, which is a major turnoff.
More than that, after the first time he asked me to hang out, I lowkey asked one of Papa’s information guys to run a background check on Trevor. He doesn’t technically have a record, but there’s a not-quite-buried sexual assault allegation made by a girl in Kansas City.
Needless to say, I don’t spend any more time around Trevor than necessary. Hanging out with him the other day was a huge exception to my rule, and only because it was daytime and I needed to sneak my filming stuff into Kingsward.
“Didn’t see you at the party, Galina.”
Mission: success.
“Oh…yeah…” I smile awkwardly. “I was there for a hot second, but then my friend got sick so I took her home.”
Again with the lies. I mean, I’m fine lying to Trevor, but this is getting too easy.
Trevor frowns. “I thought we were going to hang out. You know…get to know each other better?”
My smile is a flat line.
“Sorry.”
“I think you owe me.”
He’s smiling like he’s joking. But all I can think about is that lingering assault accusation, so the “joke” just creeps me out.
“I don’t know about that,” I say.
He chuckles. “C’mon. Tonight. You and me. Drinks in Hawthorne Hollow.”
Honestly, I love going down the hill from school to the little harbor town. But not with someone like Trevor Cohen.
“Can’t tonight, sorry,” I smile.
“Nope,” he chuckles. “Not taking no for an answer.”
A shiver finger walks down my spine.
“Sorry, but that’s still my answer.”
My pulse spikes when he steps right into my personal space.
“You don't have to be coy or play games with me, Galina,” he grins. “Come on. I’ll pick you up at The Atheneum at seven.”
My brow furrows. “Trevor, I said I can’t tonight. Really.”
“Sure, you can.”
His hand wraps tightly around my forearm.
“Trevor—”
“There you are!”
I’m suddenly physically yanked away from him by a strong hand on my shoulder. I whirl, and I’m surprised to find myself face to face with a dark-haired girl about my height with icy blue eyes.
“I thought we were meeting up outside!” she beams cheerfully at me.
I frown and have just started to open my mouth when she subtly winks at me. Then she glances past me at Trevor.
“Sorry dude, I’m stealing my girl. Later.”
Without another word, she pulls me after her down the hall. When we’re a few yards away, I glance back just in time to see a scowling Trevor huff into the classroom. She spots it too, and immediately lets go of me.
“Sorry. You looked like you needed rescuing.”
I exhale and turn back to her. “Oh my God, you have no idea. Thank you.”
She’s wearing the same blue and black tartan uniform as me and everyone else on campus. But she’s also got her black hair in twin braids held back with silver skull-shaped clips. She’s also wearing a ton of eyeshadow, and lipstick that’s such a dark red it’s almost black.
Suddenly, I realize who she is.
“Oh! Bella, right?”
We’ve never officially met, but I know of Bella Drakos, who’s a cousin of Achilles as well as the Kildare brothers.
She dips her chin. “The same. Galina, yeah?”
“That’s me!” I say what feels a bit too cheerfully for Bella’s Wednesday Addams goth vibe. But she grins back.
“This is Social Psychology of Deception, yeah?” She nods past me at the door to the classroom outside which Trevor just accosted me.
I nod my head. “Yeah. Are you…?” We’re a few weeks into the semester and I’ve never seen her in class before.
“I finally declared a Psychology major,” she shrugs. “I’m going to be playing catchup on a bunch of shit, but…oh well.”
I smile. “I'm happy to share my notes from the first few weeks,” I laugh. “It’s the least I can do as a thanks for rescuing me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I hope that wasn’t your boyfriend or anything. Honestly, he looked like a fucking creep.”
I make a sour face. “Definitely not my boyfriend.”
“Bella.”
We both turn to the deep voice coming from the classroom doorway. I feel a little flush of heat creep into my cheeks when I see Lochlan Kildare glaring at us.
“Try not to be late on your first day?” he grunts at her.
It’s annoying how hot he is. I’ve never been attracted to the jock, “alpha dog” type, which Lochlan is basically the poster-boy for. But ugh. That jawline, those eyes and broad shoulders…
“Same goes for you, Nikitin.” He nods that infuriatingly perfect chin at me. “Tardiness can and will result in points off final grades.”
Bella glances at her cousin with a confused look. “What the fuck are you doing here, Lochie?”
He glowers at her. “It's Lochlan,” he mutters. Then he grins widely. “Surprise, cuz. I’m the TA for your new class.”
Bella groans. “You’re shitting me.”
“Unfortunately, he's not,” I mutter under my breath.
Lochlan makes a dramatic show of ushering us into the classroom as we walk past, like he’s the butler in a British period piece. Bella and I find seats near the front. Lochlan smugly makes his way to his usual spot at the back of the room.
“God, he’s such a dickhead when he wants to be,” Bella huffs as she plops down next to me.
“Your words,” I giggle.
She takes out her phone, so I pull mine out as well to check on my Velvet Villainess account before Professor McGrath starts class. I turn slightly away from Bella before opening the page.
Whoa.
Opening the app to a gazillion notifications isn’t exactly a surprise when you have as many followers as I do.
But today, there’s easily two gazillion of them.
I click on my dashboard, and my brows shoot up when I see the sky-high engagement numbers of the last few hours.
What the fuck?
The last thing I uploaded was that video I shot in the Kingsward Hall library on Friday night.
Even after what happened later, I was lying awake at like 3am and decided to post it.
Up until this morning, it had the usual engagement numbers in terms of likes and comments and saves.
But now, the numbers on that one post are insane.
I click on it and start scrolling through the newer comments.
Bookgurl95:
GIIIIRRRRRRRLL R U 4 REAL??!
Lindseyisabookslut:
OMG wtf is happening right now?!?!
KarenCollins1987:
Is this real life????
MommaofthreeDC:
Luckiest. Woman. EVERRRR!!
MaddieReadsReviews:
Babes I literally vision boarded this. You’re welcome.
Paige_reads_another_page:
SO f&$^ing hot!!!!
What the fuck.
There are hundreds of comments like this. But then I start seeing other ones that are tagging one particular username over and over.
A username that sends a ripple down my spine and straight to my core as I see it in comment after comment.
ChapterThirtyNine:
@The_Ghost_Prince LOVE YOU!!!
CryingOverFictionalMen:
@The_Ghost_Prince OMG please do an Onlyfans
morallygraygirlie:
Hands off, bitches. @The_Ghost_Prince is my boo <3 <3 <3
PTAandPaperbacks:
@The_Ghost_Prince I would crawl over broken glass to suck your soul out of your D in front of my husband LMAO
amanda_r:
OMG @The_Ghost_Prince are you two a couple for real?!?!?
My pulse begins to hammer in my ears. A prickle creeps over my skin.
Then, finally, I spot the source of this insanity, and my heart skips a beat.
The_Ghost_Prince:
loved watching you dance for me in person the other night, baby @VelvetVillainess
My whole reality glitches.
What. The. Fuck.
I read the comment on my video again, swallowing heavily as my eyes track every word.
At first, I want to feel thoroughly creeped out, maybe even violated. Not only did Friday night happen, now he’s following me on social media.
And that taps at something else that’s been smoldering in the back of my head since the other night.
He knows who I am. Like, my real identity. It’s partly why I’ve been keeping to myself, barely leaving The Atheneum, making up an excuse why I couldn’t talk to Papa and Dad.
I’ve been scared.
Scared that he’s going to use that knowledge to track me down.
To be there when I step into the shower, or lurking under my bed waiting for me to fall asleep. But he hasn’t chosen to come at the real me as his first shot across the bow.
He’s gone after the online me.
Villainess me.
And in a weird way, that’s created an even more complicated problem.
Velvet Villainess, slightly slutty minx that she is, would have screenshotted and reposted this already.
But I, Galina Nikitin, sitting in the front row of Professor McGrath’s Social Psychology of Deception class with my heart climbing into my throat, am unsettled by it.
I’m making a responsible, real-world decision to recognize this as terrifying.
And yet, I keep rereading it.
“Loved watching you dance for me in person the other night, baby.”
It’s creepy, I tell myself. It’s creepy as fuck. Given what I do in my free time, I’ve had iffy interactions with fans before. Trust me. And because of that, I’ve read almost everything out there on parasocial dynamics.
I read the comment four more times.
That’s when I realize something that sends a heated ripple through my core.
He might be making the comment on Velvet Villainess’s video and tagging her in his comment. But he’s not actually talking to Velvet Villainess.
He’s talking to me.
I jump when a hand raps heavily on the desk in front of me. I quickly slam my phone to my chest and jerk my gaze up, frowning when I lock eyes with a smug looking Lochlan.
“Professor McGrath will be here any second,” he says in a bored, authoritative tone. “How about we save playing on our phones for after class, Ms. Nikitin?”
My face turns crimson as he smirks at me.
He didn’t see.
No. There’s no way he saw anything.
“Sorry,” I mumble, my face throbbing.
“Such a dickhead, Lochie,” Bella mutters, giving him the finger.
“Lochlan,” he grunts, leaving.
I swallow as I turn off my phone and slide it into my bag hanging off my chair.
It appears that my masked blackmailer has become my stalker. And I am deeply worried that I'm not nearly as terrified by that as I should be.