Chapter 37
Gio
The late afternoon sun is weak, filtering through the skeletal branches of the oak trees that line the quad. It’s cold, the kind of damp chill that seeps into your bones and promises a harsh winter to come. But walking next to Zoe, I don’t feel it.
She’s a furnace in her leather jacket, her hand tucked into the back pocket of my jeans, a proprietary claim that feels more real than any contract my father ever signed.
We’re not talking. The silence between us is comfortable, filled with the unspoken victory of the last twenty-four hours.
My disinheritance. Her internship. The locker room.
It’s a new foundation, built on rubble and sex and something terrifyingly close to peace.
I’m turning us toward the path that leads back to my dorm when I see him.
Rylan. He’s leaning against the trunk of a massive oak, one booted foot propped against the bark, trying for a casual, indifferent pose.
A tight, coiled rage radiates off him. White knuckles clamp around the strap of his backpack.
Those eyes are locked on us—more specifically, on Zoe’s hand in my pocket.
My entire body goes rigid. Every instinct I have screams at me to push Zoe behind me, to close the distance, to wipe that smug, entitled look off his face with my fists.
I stop walking, planting my feet. Zoe’s hand tenses in my pocket, but she doesn’t pull away.
She just turns with me, a solid, silent presence at my side.
Rylan pushes off the tree, moving to block our path. He’s looking directly at Zoe, a venomous smirk twisting his lips.
“Zoe,” he says, his voice deceptively light. “Slumming it, I see. Or is this just… charity work? Making sure the poor little rich boy doesn’t starve now that Daddy’s cut him off?”
His insult lands weak, a child’s taunt. I feel the old fire lick at my ribs, but I shove it down. I stand there, a wall of muscle and indifference.
Zoe shifts slightly, her chin lifting. “At least he doesn’t have to pay someone to pretend to be his friend, Rylan. How’s that working out for you?”
Rylan’s smirk vanishes, replaced by a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred. He takes a step toward her, his voice dropping to a low, ugly whisper.
“You think you’re special? You think this changes anything? He’ll get bored of you. He always does. And when he’s done, you’ll be just another piece of damaged trash he leaves behind. I’ll make sure of it.”
The world narrows to a single point. The red haze descends.
But before I can move, I feel Zoe’s hand squeeze my ass through the denim of my jeans. It’s a small, sharp pressure. A reminder. My focus snaps back to the feel of her hand. To the trust in that single, silent gesture.
She’s asking me to be better.
The rage cools, solidifying into something cold, hard, and infinitely more dangerous.
I take a single, deliberate step forward, moving Zoe slightly behind me with the motion.
I look at him. I let him see the absolute nothingness in my eyes.
There’s no anger there for him to feed on.
No heat. No ego. Just a cold, empty void.
It’s the look of a man who has already lost everything and has nothing left to lose.
Rylan actually flinches. He takes an involuntary step back, his bravado crumbling in the face of a threat he doesn’t understand.
I hold his gaze for another three seconds. Then, I look through him as if he’s not there, my focus shifting to the path ahead.
I take Zoe’s hand, pull it from my pocket, and lace our fingers together.
“Come on,” I say, my voice completely normal. “Let’s go home.”
We walk around him, leaving him standing there, impotent and seething in the middle of the path.
The phone buzzes against the desk, a harsh, jagged sound that finally breaks the silence I’ve been sitting in for hours. I pick it up.
“Yeah.”
“You stupid, ungrateful little shit,” my father snarls, no greeting, just vitriol down the line. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The board is already calling. The donors are threatening to pull out. You were supposed to protect Rylan!” He’s sentencing.
“I finished a war,” I say, my voice flat.
“I don’t give a fuck about the war!” he screams. “I care about the name! I care about the money! You’re cut off, Gio. Do you hear me? The trust is gone. The lawyers are dropping you. You’re on your own.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. He’s waiting for it.
Panic. Bargaining. An apology.
My gaze drifts around the room. Expensive furniture. Tech. Clothes hanging in the closet. Every piece of it bought and paid for with silence and compliance.
“You listening to me?” he demands.
“Not impressed,” I say.
“You think this is a joke? You think you can survive out there without me? You’re nothing without the name.”
“Rylan started rumors, Dad.” The calm in my voice surprises even me. “He tried to destroy me. I defended myself.”
“He’s your cousin!”
“A liability,” I correct. “And I’m done managing him for you.”
“You ungrateful—”
“Done being the scapegoat for your mistakes and his.” My reflection stares back at me from the glass. “Keep your money. Keep the lawyers. I’m done.”
“You can’t just walk away,” he sputters, arrogance cracking into panic. “I made you! I gave you everything!”
“What you gave me was a leash.” I don’t hesitate. “I’m taking it off.”
The phone comes away from my ear, the red icon tapped without ceremony. The screen goes black.
Silence rushes back in—empty. Clean.
The phone lands on the bed, bouncing once before settling into the pillows. Standing in the middle of the room, my chest expands. A deep breath fills lungs that haven’t felt this unrestricted in years.
Officially poor. Officially free.
The weight that’s been crushing my spine for twenty-two years is gone. My attention shifts to the door, then to the empty space where my future used to be.
“Good riddance,” I say to the room.
The silence in the room feels like a blank canvas. I'm still standing in the middle of the floor, breathing air that doesn't taste like obligation, when the knock comes. It's three sharp raps.
Zoe.
I walk over and pull the door open. Zoe is standing there, framed in the hallway light, and the sight of her hits me like a punch to the solar plexus.
She's wearing that scrap of black fabric she calls a skirt and a jacket that's barely doing its job.
The boots stop my heart. Black leather, thigh-high, leaving a strip of bare skin that makes my mouth water.
"Rough day?" she asks, her voice cool, but her eyes are burning.
"Best day of my life," I say, stepping back to let her in.
Zoe walks past me, the scent of her perfume—something sharp and floral—cutting through the stale dorm air. She spots the phone on the bed, discarded like a weapon after a kill.
Turning to face me, her hands slide into the pockets of her jacket.
"He called," she says.
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And I told him to keep his money."
A slow smile spreads across her face. It's predatory. "Good."
The last of the tension in my chest shatters. I cross the room in two strides, crowding her.
"I don't have anything left," I tell her, gripping her waist, pulling her flush against me. "No trust. No lawyers. No name."
"I know," she says, her hands sliding up my chest, fingernails scraping through the fabric of my t-shirt. "You have me."
The words go straight to my cock.
I claim her mouth, kissing her like I'm starving. It's teeth and tongue and desperation. I taste her, inhale her, trying to get enough of her to fill the hollow spaces where my father's voice used to be. She kisses me back just as hard, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, deeper.
We stumble toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and urgency. I strip off my jacket, letting it fall to the floor. She shrugs out of hers, the leather hitting the ground with a soft thud. My shirt follows, then hers. The air is cool against my skin, but I'm burning up.
I push her onto the mattress. She bounces slightly, her hair fanning out across the duvet. I kick off my shoes and shuck my jeans and boxers in one rough motion, standing naked before her, my cock jutting out, thick and heavy.
She sits up, reaching for the zipper of her skirt. I bat her hands away.
"Let me," I growl.
The clasp gives way under my fingers as the zipper slides down, the fabric peeling off her legs.
She lifts her hips to help me, and the skirt gets tossed aside.
Zoe is wearing nothing but the boots now.
I’ve been fixated on this image for weeks—the sharp contrast of her soft, pale skin against the aggressive black leather.
My gaze drags over her, taking it in: the way the leather hugs her calves, the sharp stiletto heel, the strip of thigh exposed above the cuff. My hand reaches for her ankle, intending to pull the boot off, then stills.
"Leave them," I say, my voice dropping an octave. "I want to see you in them."
She pauses, her hand hovering over the leather. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I say, my eyes raking over her legs. "I want to fuck you in nothing but these boots."
"Fuck," she breathes. "You're perfect."
Dropping to my knees, I shove her legs open, exposing her to me.
The scent of her hits—musky and sweet. My face buries between her thighs, tongue dragging broad, flat strokes up her slit, circling her clit, sucking it into my mouth.
Her cry breaks sharp as her hips buck off the bed, but my arms lock across her thighs, holding her down. She’s devoured like a man possessed.
"Fuck," Zoe gasps, her hands flying to my head, fingers digging into my scalp. "Gio."
"This is mine," I mutter against her, the vibration making her shudder. "This is the only thing that matters."
Another slow lick gathers the wetness pooling there. Her body is already soaking, responding instantly. My tongue thrusts inside her, fucking her with it, drawing out the broken sounds she can’t hold back.