Chapter Thirty-Five
A few days later, Anabelle lay sprawled across her bed, staring up at the ceiling without really seeing it.
She’d come straight here after her exam, barely saying a word to anyone.
The moment it ended, the pressure in her chest had become too much to ignore.
Too much had been happening lately, too many eyes watching her, too many emotions that weren’t sitting neatly in place, too much information piling on top of everything else she was still trying to process.
Her mind felt loud, chaotic, like it hadn’t had a moment of real quiet in days.
She was just starting to drift, caught somewhere between exhaustion and spiraling thoughts, when the soft chime of her email notification broke through the haze. Instinctively, her heart jumped. She rolled onto her side and grabbed her phone before she could talk herself out of it.
Week Two Examination Results.
Her stomach dropped. “Fuckkk,” she whispered, dragging in a shaky breath. “Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. You can do this.”
She hesitated for a split second, then opened the email. Her eyes skimmed once. Then froze. Then widened.
“What the...” She bolted upright in bed. “Fuck. Ninety-two percent? Ninety-fucking-two? What the actual fuck?”
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she reread it, just to be sure her brain wasn’t playing tricks on her. It was still there. Clear as day.
92%.
A laugh burst out of her, sharp and disbelieving, half hysteria and half pure relief.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head.
She had been certain she’d barely scraped a pass this time.
Ether Structure and Mechanisms alone had nearly made her combust in the middle of the exam hall...
she could still feel the panic clawing up her spine as her thoughts raced faster than her control.
One wrong slip and she might’ve actually blown the test paper to pieces.
And that wasn’t even counting the spells.
Gods. The Casters and Fae faction lessons had filled her head with foreign letters, looping symbols, and words that felt wrong in her mouth, sharp and unfamiliar.
She’d memorized them, sure, but it had felt like cramming an entire language into her skull in a matter of days.
Mate bonds she’d felt confident about. That class had unsettled her, yes, but she’d understood it.
This, though? She stared at the screen again, chest tight with something dangerously close to tears. “I wasn’t expecting this,” she murmured, voice soft now. Not even close.
For the rest of the day, she decided, she was staying right where she was. In her room. In her bed. Wrapped in quiet and distance and the small, fragile bubble of calm she’d managed to build around herself.
She didn’t move much, just layed there, mind drifting between relief and disbelief...until a few hours later when a sharp knock sounded at her door, followed immediately by a far-too-familiar voice.
“HEY!!! Come on, Ani! You promised! Now let us in there to get ready, or I’m going to tell everyone you don’t keep your promises!”
Anabelle groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. Of course Polly wouldn’t forget. Of course.
“Ugh,” she muttered, voice muffled. Then louder, resigned, “Come on in. It’s open.”
Her door creaked as it swung inward, and just like that, the quiet she’d been clinging to slipped away, replaced by the warmth, noise, and the inevitability of people who refused to let her disappear for too long.
They descended on her room like a coordinated assault.
Polly was already halfway inside Anabelle’s closet before Ani had even fully sat up, hangers clattering as she rummaged with purpose.
Agatha hovered near the bed, arms crossed, eyes sharp and appraising in a way that made Anabelle instantly suspicious.
“Oh no,” Anabelle muttered. “I don’t like that look.”
“This?” Polly said brightly, yanking a dress free from the depths of the closet and holding it up. “This is the look of destiny.”
Ani’s stomach sank. The dress was black, of course it was, but not the safe kind of black. It was matte and sleek, cut to hug every curve like it had been designed with intent. Thick straps crisscrossed over the bodice, wrapping around the fabric in a way that felt both structured and unapologetic.
“I...uhm...” Anabelle shook her head immediately. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh come on,” Polly groaned. “You’ll look hot. And it goes perfectly with your whole badass vibe. Just wear it. I’ll even let you off the heels.”
Anabelle narrowed her eyes. “You hate letting people off heels.”
Agatha smirked. “She does. This is serious.”
“You can wear those combat boots you love,” Polly added quickly.
Agatha nodded. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”
Anabelle hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Every instinct she had told her this was a terrible idea. Too much skin. Too much attention. Too much everything. But then Polly gave her that look.
“Fine,” Anabelle sighed. “But if I regret this, I’m haunting you both.”
The dress slid on more easily than she expected, the fabric cool against her skin. It hugged her waist, her hips, her thighs, every inch of her, like it belonged there. The straps framed her shoulders and collarbones, and when she turned, she caught sight of the back in the mirror.
“Oh gods,” she whispered.
The back was completely cut out, swooping low, dangerously low, down her spine, stopping just above the curve of her ass.
It was bold. Confident. Nothing like the clothes she usually hid behind.
Those may show a bit of skin, but at least they were tasteful, she would never risk flashing anyone... this though? Dangerously close.
She tugged on her black combat boots next, grounding the whole look in something that still felt like her. She was just reaching for her hair tie, intent on leaving her hair down like always, when Agatha clicked her tongue.
“Uh-uh, babes. Sit.”
“What?” Anabelle protested. “Guys, there’s really no need for—”
“Yes, there is,” Agatha said firmly, already grabbing the curling iron. “We haven’t gone out in forever. We’re doing this in style.”
Anabelle groaned and dropped onto the chair. “Ugh. Fine. Just...please don’t burn it off.”
“We’d never,” Polly said solemnly, though the grin on her face said otherwise.
When they were finally done, Anabelle barely recognized the girl staring back at her. Her hair fell in loose, glossy curls down her back, framing her face in a way that felt softer… and somehow more dangerous. The dress fit like a promise she wasn’t sure she was ready to keep.
When they walked out together. The reaction was immediate. Every single one of them froze.
Rian straight-up stopped mid-step, eyes flicking over her before he visibly adjusted himself, clearing his throat like that would somehow help.
Joshua muttered a long, reverent, “Fuck,” under his breath, not even trying to hide it.
Cameron’s ears went red almost instantly, a flush spreading across his cheeks as his gaze caught and held, stunned.
And Dominik....Dominik’s hands clenched at his sides, jaw tightening as his eyes darkened. “Umm…” he started, like he was about to say something, anything...
“Don’t,” Anabelle cut in quickly, heat rushing to her face. “The dress wasn’t my choice.”
That was when Dominik’s glare snapped past her, sharp, lethal, straight at the twins behind her.
“Oh, leave them, Dom,” Ani said breezily, waving a hand. “It’s a party after all.”
Anabelle blinked, finally taking in the boys properly. They were all dressed differently, but the effect was the same, ridiculously hot. Bad-boy hot.
Dominik wore black, of course, a fitted button-down with the top few buttons undone, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Dark trousers sat on his hips, and the whole look screamed restrained danger.
Rian had gone with a charcoal jacket over a deep burgundy shirt, the contrast making his hazel eyes stand out. The jacket hung open, casual but intentional, like he knew exactly what it did for him. Add in his lip piercing, she nearly salivated at the sight.
Joshua wore leather. Not flashy, just a worn black jacket over a simple tee, paired with dark jeans and boots. Effortless. Cocky. Like trouble you smiled at before it ruined you.
And Cameron, gods, Cameron looked softer but no less devastating. A crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled just enough, paired with black trousers that fit him perfectly. Clean lines. All quiet intensity.
Anabelle swallowed. “Oh,” she murmured faintly. “Right. So… we’re all just pretending this is normal, yeah?”
Polly grinned. “Absolutely not.”
Agatha laughed. “But we’re going anyway.”
???
The place was nothing like the sleek clubs Anabelle had imagined when Polly first said night out.
It was tucked away on the edge of the lower district, an old converted warehouse that still smelled faintly of brick dust and incense.
Strings of warm lights were draped across exposed beams overhead, casting everything in a golden haze.
Rugs layered the concrete floor in mismatched patterns, cushions and low tables scattered around the edges where people lounged with drinks in hand.
Music pulsed through the space, not deafening, but deep and rhythmic, something that vibrated in her chest rather than rattled her bones.
“It’s kind of… perfect,” Anabelle murmured, taking it in.
“Told you,” Polly said smugly. “It was set up years ago by a student who used to go here. Started as a gathering... somewhere safe to let loose. No politics, no factions, no hierarchy. Just people.”
Agatha nodded. “It stuck. Everyone knows about it, but no one talks about it.”
That should’ve been her first warning.
The night blurred faster than she expected. Someone pressed a drink into her hand before she could even sit down. Then another. Polly and Agatha flanked her like co-conspirators, laughing every time Anabelle tried to protest.
“I don’t normally drink like this,” she insisted weakly.
“You do tonight,” Polly said cheerfully. “Celebrate your brain. Celebrate surviving mate-bond lectures without combusting.”
Anabelle snorted, and drank anyways. The warmth spread quickly. Too quickly. Her limbs grew loose, her thoughts fuzzy around the edges, anxiety softening into something buoyant and light. She laughed louder than usual. Smiled easier. Let herself exist without overthinking every breath.
She didn’t miss the way they watched her.
Joshua leaned against a pillar, eyes tracking her constantly, his jaw tight every time someone stood too close.
Cameron hovered nearby, protective without smothering, his gaze warm and unreadable.
Dominik stayed back, arms crossed, posture rigid, like he was holding himself in check by sheer force of will.
Rian, on the other hand, grinned like he was waiting for chaos.
When the music shifted into something faster, something that demanded movement, Anabelle swayed without thinking.
“Oh no,” Cameron said, amused. “She’s getting ideas.”
“Dance with me,” Anabelle declared, pointing between Rian and Cameron. “Both of you. Right now.”
Rian laughed. “Careful, Ani. You’re convincing me.”
“Please,” she said, batting her lashes dramatically. “For science.”
Cameron hesitated only a second before nodding. “Alright. But if you fall, I’m catching you.”
The dance floor was packed but fluid, bodies moving together in easy rhythm.
Anabelle danced between them, laughing as Rian spun her, Cameron steadying her when she stumbled. Music wrapped around them, heat and motion and sound blurring into something euphoric.
For a little while, she forgot everything, exams, bonds, expectations, eyes watching her every move.
When the song ended, she was breathless and dizzy.
“I need the bathroom,” she said then proceeded to wave them off following her. “ Just stay, I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t make it all the way there, three steps away from the door, a hand grabbed her wrist. Another slid over her hip, fingers digging in possessively.
“Well, hello there,” a voice slurred in her ear. “Been watching you all night.”
Her stomach dropped.
“Let go,” she snapped, trying to pull away, but the grip tightened, fingers wandering somewhere they absolutely didn’t belong.
“Come on,” he said, breath hot and sour. “Don’t pretend you didn’t want the attention.”
Panic flared sharp and sudden. Her thoughts were already spiralling.
She tried to pull that familiar feeling deep in her chest, tried to visualise her intent, but she couldn’t make any spell work.
Nothing was happening, just as she contemplated screaming or calling for one of the guys, a movement took the wind off her.
The man flew back with a grunt as a fist connected with his jaw, the sound sickeningly solid. He hit the floor hard, scrambling back as Joshua loomed over him, eyes blazing.
“Touch her again,” Joshua growled, voice deadly calm, “and I’ll break every bone in your hand.”
The room went silent around them.
Rian was at Anabelle’s side instantly, hands gentle but firm, pulling her back into his chest to steady her. Cameron hovered close, protective and furious. Dominik stood just behind her, presence like a wall: solid, unyielding, terrifyingly controlled.
“We’re leaving,” Dominik said, no room for argument.
She barely remembered the walk home.
Only the way Dominik’s hand stayed at her back the entire time. The way Joshua kept glancing over his shoulder. The way no one spoke, like sound itself might shatter her.
Once inside the suite, the tension broke.
Dominik guided her gently to the couch, crouching in front of her. His hands were warm, steady as he checked her wrists, her shoulders, careful, reverent.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head, throat tight. “Just… shaken.”
He nodded, disappearing briefly before returning with water and a blanket. He wrapped it around her shoulders with meticulous care, like she was something precious, something fragile.
“Drink,” he said softly.
She did.
The others lingered for a moment, Joshua’s eyes still dark with fury, Cameron’s full of concern, Rian unusually subdued, before Dominik met their gazes and gave a small nod.
“I’ve got her.”
They left her with him.
Dominik sat beside her, close but not crowding, his presence anchoring. He brushed a curl back from her face, slow and careful.
“You’re safe,” he murmured. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”
She believed it.