9. IVAN
IVAN
The unanswered texts burn in my pocket. Three missed calls. Four. Five.
I storm through the school entrance, shouldering past the rent-a-cop who tries to block my path with a raised hand and a stammered "Sir, you can't?—"
Can't what? Can't protect what's mine?
I shove past him, my shoulder connecting hard enough that he stumbles sideways. Another administrator materializes—some balding guy in a cheap suit—reaching for my arm.
"Sir, this is a private school function?—"
"Get. Out. Of. My. Way."
The words come out raw, stripped of anything civilized. He takes one look at my face and steps back.
The gymnasium doors burst open under my palms. Music pounds through the speakers, colored lights sweep across dancing bodies packed too close together.
I scan the crowd—curls, curls, where are those dark curls—but she's not here.
None of the swaying couples match her pint-sized frame, none of the laughing groups clustered by the punch table.
My jaw clenches so hard something pops.
I see the exit door to the side open. No.
I turn on my heel and the administrators scramble after me like anxious birds, their protests fading to background noise as I cross the building. Through the far exit, out into the night air where fairy lights hang in the trees and?—
There.
My vision narrows to a single point: Nate, that pretty-boy piece of shit, caging Iris against the brick wall with his body. His hand pins her wrist above her head, his other palm flat against the wall beside her face. She's trapped in the bracket of his arms, her amber eyes wide and wet.
The administrators behind me freeze. Someone gasps.
"Call the cops," I growl without turning, already moving.
My feet eat up the distance. Nate doesn't even register the threat before I grab a fistful of his suit jacket and yank him backward. He stumbles, mouth opening in protest?—
My fist connects with his jaw.
The crack echoes across the courtyard.
He goes down hard, hands flying up too late.
I'm already on him, knee pinning his chest, my knuckles finding his face again and again.
That handsome face, that charming smile that fooled everyone—I wipe it away with each punch.
Blood sprays across the decorative pavers. His nose crumples. His lip splits.
"Stop—" Someone's voice, distant. "You'll kill him?—"
Good.
Another punch. His cheekbone caves under my knuckles. Red spatters my shirt.
"Mr. Adams! The police are coming?—"
Hands grab my shoulders. Multiple sets, pulling me back. I shrug them off once, twice, land one more hit that loosens teeth before they finally haul me upright.
Nate curls on the ground, hands covering his ruined face. His pathetic cock remains exposed, still rigid.
Sirens wail in the distance, growing closer.
Two cops materialize, moving past me toward Nate. One crouches beside him while the other pulls out cuffs. The polite mask Nate wore earlier is gone—now he's just a bleeding kid spitting teeth.
"You're—" He tries to speak, words coming out thick and slurred around his mangled, swollen mouth, completely uncaring that his pathetic dick is still hanging out of his unzipped pants like some grotesque exclamation point to his failed assault.
Blood bubbles between his split lips as he forces out each syllable.
"My parents—they'll fucking destroy you—best lawyers in the state—connections everywhere—you have no idea who you're messing with?—"
His voice cracks on the last word, high and desperate despite the bravado he's trying to project. The threat sounds hollow coming from someone curled up like a broken doll on the cold pavement, his fancy prom suit torn and stained crimson, his once-perfect hair matted with blood and dirt.
I crouch down until we're eye level, let him see exactly how much his threats mean to me.
"Try it."
The cops haul Nate to his feet, his legs buckling as they drag him inside the gymnasium back to the street where the police car might be. His threats dissolve into whimpers, pathetic sounds that grate against my raw nerves.
Then I turn to Iris.
She's still pressed against that brick wall, arms wrapped around herself, mascara tracking down her flushed cheeks. Those wide amber eyes lock on mine, and something inside my chest cracks.
"You okay?"
"I'm—" Her voice catches. "You saved me in time."
I close the distance between us, cupping her face with bruised knuckles. Blood—his blood—smears across her jaw, but I don't care.
"He's not getting away with this." My thumb brushes away her tears. "I'll bury him so deep he'll never see daylight again. Prison, lawsuits, every single charge I can stack. I promise you."
She leans into my palm, trembling.
"I've got you, baby. Nobody touches what's mine."
Her small hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer as she finally lets herself break against my chest.
I unlock the front door, guiding Iris inside with a hand at the small of her back. She moves like a ghost, hollow-eyed and quiet, still wearing that beautiful dress that's now wrinkled and stained with tears.
"This isn't how high school was supposed to end." Her voice cracks. "My prom... it was supposed to be?—"
"Come with me."
I take her hand, lead her through the house and up the stairs. She follows without resistance, trusting me completely even now.
When I push open the balcony doors, her breath catches.
Fairy lights I strung up this evening drape across the railing, casting warm pools of gold across the wood planks.
A small table sits in the center, white cloth, two place settings, candles flickering despite the breeze.
Covered dishes wait, still warm from Uber Eats who came an hour ago.
My phone sits propped on the ledge, bluetooth speaker queued to the playlist I made last week.
"Ivan..." Iris stares, those amber eyes wide and glistening. "What is this? How did you—when did you?—"
"When you told me Nate asked you to prom," I pull out her chair, wait for her to sit. "I couldn't stand the idea of him dancing with you while I stayed in the car. So I figured if school policy won't let me be your date there, I'd bring prom here."
She sinks into the chair, fingers touching the edge of the table like she's afraid it might disappear. A tear spills down her cheek, but this time it's different—softer, sweeter.
"You prepared all this? For me?"
"Just for you." I round the table, hit play on the music. Something slow and romantic fills the air. "The food, the lights, everything."
She looks up at me.
"This is the high school experience you deserve, baby."
I lift the silver covers from the plates—pasta carbonara, garlic bread, her favorite Caesar salad. "Eat first. You need something in your stomach."
"I'm not hungry."
"Iris." I meet her eyes across the candlelight. "Please."
She picks up her fork with trembling fingers, twirls pasta around the tines without bringing it to her lips. After a long moment, she takes a small bite, then another. Color begins seeping back into her face.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the music washing over us, the fairy lights casting shadows across her features. She's picking at the salad when she finally speaks.
"How did you know?" Her voice comes out barely above a whisper. "That I was in danger?"
I set down my fork, lean back in my chair. The memory of that search still makes my jaw clench.
"After I dropped you both off, I parked a few blocks away. Sat there stewing about him touching you, dancing with you." I drag a hand through my hair. "Something about him bothered me from the beginning. The way he looked at you. So I pulled out my phone and started digging."
Her fork stills halfway to her mouth. "Digging?"
"His full name, his family, where he transferred from.
" The anger rises fresh in my chest. "Took a while to find the articles.
Sexual assault allegations at his old school.
A girl at a party. His parents threw money at the problem until it disappeared—paid off the family, buried the police report, got him transferred in your school where no one knew his history. "
Iris's face goes pale again. "Oh my god."
"I read those articles while sitting in that parking lot." I lean forward, elbows on the table. "Then I looked at the clock. Realized it had been over an hour since I'd heard from you."
"You called?—"
"Three times. Texted twice." My hands curl into fists on the tablecloth. "Nothing. You always answer, baby. Always. Even when you're mad at me, even when we're fighting, you answer."
She sets down her fork, tears pooling in her eyes again. "I didn't hear my phone. He took me outside, said he wanted to show me something, and then?—"
"I know." I reach across the table, cover her hand with mine. "When you didn't respond, I didn't think. Just ran. Barged through the gymnasium, then you know what happened next."
"You saved me." Fresh tears spill down her cheeks. "If you hadn't been suspicious, if you hadn't searched, if you hadn't come?—"
"Don't." I stand, move around the table, pull her up into my arms. "Don't think about what could have happened. You're safe. You're here. That's all that matters."
She buries her face against my chest, shoulders shaking. "I'm sorry. I should have listened to you. Should have trusted your instincts instead of?—"
"Shh." I press my lips to the top of her head, breathe in the scent of her hair. "This isn't your fault. None of it."
I hold her until her breathing steadies, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat gradually slow against my chest. The trembling in her shoulders eases, her grip on my shirt loosening from desperate clutching to something softer, more trusting.
I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, studying the amber depths that still shimmer with unshed tears but no longer hold that wild, panicked edge that had me ready to tear the world apart.