AURORA #2
He's standing too close. Deliberately invading my space the way Evander does, but where Evander's proximity feels threatening, dangerous, Lucius's feels... calculated. Like he's testing something.
Or like he's trying to provoke someone.
"Dance with me," he says suddenly.
"No."
"Come on." He reaches for my hand. "Just one dance. I promise I won't bite. Unless you want me to."
Iris stands up abruptly. "She said no, Whitcroft."
He doesn't even look at her. Just keeps his eyes locked on mine, that playful smile never wavering.
And then I realize what he's doing.
He's not actually interested in me. This isn't about attraction or genuine charm. This is about Evander.
He's deliberately flirting with me—right here where Evander can see—because he knows exactly how Evander will react.
This is a game. And I'm the fucking piece they're fighting over.
Rage flares hot and bright in my chest.
"Get away from my table," I say quietly.
Lucius's smile widens. "Make me."
"I said—"
"She said get away from her table."
The voice comes from directly behind Lucius. Cold. Controlled. Absolutely lethal.
Evander.
Lucius's expression doesn't change, but I see the satisfaction flash in his eyes. He got exactly what he wanted.
He turns slowly, still holding that infuriating smile. "Laurent. I was just introducing myself to your… what is she, exactly? Assistant? Pet project?"
Evander's jaw clenches. "Back off, Whitcroft."
"Why?" Lucius leans against our table, completely relaxed. "She's not wearing your collar. Didn't see your name on her."
"She's mine," Evander says flatly.
My hands clench into fists under the table. Like I'm a fucking possession they can fight over.
Lucius laughs. "Does she know that? Because she looks pretty bored with you, Laurent. Maybe she wants someone who actually knows how to have fun."
He turns back to me, extending his hand again. "What do you say, Aurora? Want to see what it's like to dance with someone who doesn't treat you like a chess piece?"
Before I can respond—before I can tell him to fuck off, before I can make it clear that I'm not interested in being anyone's pawn—Evander moves.
Fast.
He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet with enough force that I stumble. His grip is bruising, his fingers wrapped completely around my wrist like a shackle.
"We're leaving," he says. Not a question. A statement.
"I'm not—"
"Now."
He starts walking, pulling me with him. I try to dig in my heels, try to resist, but he's stronger and he doesn't give me a choice.
I catch a glimpse of my friends as he drags me away—Iris half-standing like she's about to intervene, Skye's eyes wide with shock, Hazel's face pale with worry.
And Lucius, still leaning against our table, watching us leave with that satisfied smirk that says he accomplished exactly what he set out to do.
We move through the crowded hall. Elite students part for Evander automatically, their conversations dying as we pass, everyone staring at the spectacle of the Crown Prince dragging a scholarship girl out of the gala like she's his property.
Because that's what I am to him. Property. A possession he's claimed and won't let anyone else touch.
The rage that's been simmering in my chest for days erupts into something white-hot and blinding.
I try to yank my hand free. "Let go of me."
He doesn't.
Just keeps walking, pulling me through the double doors at the back of the hall, into the corridor beyond, past startled students and indifferent security guards.
Out a side exit.
Into the cold night air.
The alley behind the Grand Hall is narrow and dark, lit only by a single flickering streetlight twenty feet away. It’s been five days since the blizzard, but the ground is still glazed over, glittering sheets of ice reflecting the light in shattered fragments.
Evander doesn't slow down until we're deep in the alley, away from the door, away from any witnesses.
And then he spins me around and slams my back against the brick wall.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs. Pain radiates through my shoulders, sharp and immediate.
He cages me in immediately, hands on either side of my head, his body pressed so close I can feel the heat radiating off him even through the layers of fabric between us.
His eyes are wild. Not cold and calculating like usual. Wild. Furious. Barely controlled.
"What the fuck was that?" he snarls.
I stare at him. "What was what?"
"Don't play stupid with me, Aurora." His voice is low, dangerous, vibrating with barely suppressed rage. "You were letting him touch you. Letting him lean in close. Letting him—"
"He wasn't touching me," I interrupt, my own anger rising to match his. "He was standing near me. Talking to me. Things normal people do at parties."
"He was flirting with you."
"So what if he was?" I shove at his chest. He doesn't budge. "I didn't ask him to. I didn't want him to. But even if I did—it's none of your fucking business!"
His hands move from the wall to my shoulders, gripping hard enough to bruise. "You are my business. Everything about you is my business."
"I'm not your property!"
"Yes," he says, his voice dropping to something dark and possessive that makes my skin prickle, "you are."
I laugh. The sound is harsh, bitter. "Because you bought my father's debts? Because you manipulated my scholarship? That doesn't make me yours, Evander. That makes you a fucking psychopath with a god complex."
"Call me whatever you want." He leans in closer, his face inches from mine. "It doesn't change the facts. You belong to me. Your time belongs to me. Your attention belongs to me."
"My attention?" I'm shaking now, with rage and adrenaline and something else I don't want to name. "Are you serious right now?"
"Completely." His eyes bore into mine. "You don't talk to them. You don't look at them. You don't let them anywhere near you."
"Them?" My voice rises. "You mean your friends? The people you surround yourself with every single day?"
"I mean anyone who isn't me," he growls.
The possessiveness in his voice should terrify me. Should make me want to run, to fight, to get as far away from this lunatic as possible.
Instead, it makes something hot and dark coil low in my stomach.
No.
No, I am not attracted to this. I'm not attracted to his jealousy or his control or the way he's looking at me like he wants to devour me whole.
I'm just... confused. Overwhelmed. My brain is misfiring because I'm exhausted and stressed and trapped in an alley with a man who owns my life and won't let me breathe without his permission.
That's all this is.
"You're insane," I whisper.
"Probably." He doesn't look bothered by the accusation. "But that doesn't change anything."