Octavia
The main building appears ahead. I take the steps two at a time, trying to put distance between us, but he reaches the door first and holds it open. I brush past him without a word.
He follows.
“No manners at all,” I hear him say.
“Not where you’re concerned,” I reply.
I take another flight of stairs and finally reach my classroom. I head straight for my seat, drop my bag, pull out my sketchbook, pencils, and charcoal, then set my coffee on the desk.
Markev sits down beside me, which now appears to be his seat.
At first, I tried changing places in every class. I also tried getting him to move. Neither worked. All it earned me was a trip to the dean, which is absurd in itself.
The lecturer enters, gives a brief overview of today’s project, then settles at his desk.
I start working immediately, my pencil moving across the page as my focus narrows to the task in front of me.
A strand of hair slips forward, and before I can brush it back, Markev’s fingers do it for me, his knuckles grazing my cheek.
I freeze.
I turn my head slowly in his direction.
His icy eyes are fixed on mine. He leans closer, his presence crowding my space until there is barely room to breathe. I catch the scent of cigarettes and warm spice.
He lowers his mouth to my ear.
“Your concentration face,” he murmurs. “That thing you do with your lip, the way you bite it. It’s my favourite.
” He pauses for a moment. “You’re so damn kissable and…
cute.” He scoffs, clearly unimpressed that the word even left his mouth.
“It makes me want to ruin it. Have your focus solely on me.”
A traitorous pull gathers low in my stomach, and I curse myself for it.
I don’t move.
Again, I don’t think I’m breathing.
He lingers there, so close my skin seems to hum, as though I’ve been pulled into a current I never stepped into willingly.
Push him away!
A throat clears, and I look up. The interruption makes Markev pull back and turn toward the sound.
“Octavia?” It’s Ricardo, one of the students. “I… uh… could I borrow some charcoal?” he asks. “I forgot mine.”
Before I can answer, Markev moves.
His chair slams back as he stands, grabbing Ricardo by the collar and hauling him up so fast his feet barely touch the ground.
“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Markev snarls, “talking to my woman?”
The room falls dead silent. Even the scratch of pencils stops, though everyone keeps their eyes glued to their work, no one daring to look up, not foolish to draw the attention of this psycho’s wrath.
The lecturer stares pointedly at his desk, earbuds in, pretending not to see a thing.
Ricardo shakes his head frantically. “I… I’m sorry—”
“Do you have a death wish?” The psycho mutters.
Ricardo’s eyes are wild as he shakes his head again.
“Then why,” Markev says, tightening his grip, “did you think you could talk to her?”
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Ricardo says.
Markev shoves him back hard, and he hits the floor.
He straightens and lets his eyes scan the room.
“Next time,” he says coldly, “anyone who dares speak to my girl dies.”
His attention drops back to Ricardo.
He adds, “There will be consequences, regardless of the fact that I’m letting you walk away.”
Ricardo scrambles to his feet, looking as though he might be sick.
“Run,” Markev says, a cruel smile forming.
Ricardo doesn’t hesitate.
When the psycho sits back down beside me, as the room remains frozen.
I grip my pencil until my fingers ache.
And somehow, against my will, every nerve in my body still burns where he touched me.
“That was quite the performance,” I say lightly.
I don’t look at him at first. I keep sketching, pretending my pulse isn’t going off the rails.
“Necessary,” he replies. “Absolutely necessary.”
I finally turn, lifting one brow. “Did you really need to mark your territory?”
His mouth twitches.
“I need people to understand you’re mine.” He considers it briefly. “I suppose I could always tattoo my name on you.”
I recoil slightly. “Never.”
He leans in anyway, crowding my space. His tongue brushes my cheek. My skin breaks out in goosebumps, and self-loathing follows close behind.
“You are mine, gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Whether you like it or not.”
I laugh, but it’s dismissive. “Delusional. One kiss doesn’t mean anything. It was a lapse in judgement. It won’t happen again.”
“It meant everything,” he says, a crazed look on his face.
I scoff. “Please. It wasn’t even that good. Or memorable.”
His eyes change instantly, going pitch black, and a shiver runs through me.
I wish it were fear.
His hand comes up fast, gripping the back of my neck, his fingers threading into my hair as he pulls me to him.
His mouth crashes into mine before I can react.
The kiss is violent, claiming, and punishing. His teeth catch my lower lip, biting down so hard that I taste blood. His tongue presses insistently, and my body betrays me once more.
He pulls away abruptly.
My chest is heaving.
Only then do I realise the room is empty, class is over, and it’s too quiet for my liking, because when things go silent, my badly wired brain starts to misbehave.
I grab my things, shoving them into my bag, my hands shaking. My heart is racing, my skin feels too tight, every nerve stretched thin.
As I straighten, ready to leave, he stops me.
He bends down and whispers. “I’ve got the solution.”
I frown. “For people to know you’re mine,” he continues. “I’ll marry you.”
He smirks. “A ring so big on your finger they’ll see it from miles away.”
His eyes stay on me. “My last name.”
It feels as though he’s poured gasoline over me and struck a match.
I swallow hard, barely holding back the nausea clawing its way up my throat.
I manage to hold it until I reach the nearest bathroom, but the moment the stall door swings shut, I’m throwing up and slipping into a void I’m not sure I’ll come back from.