There was nothing particularly threatening about a pencil.
Unless Celestia Moreau was holding it.
Unless she was glaring at you like she could carve your sins into your forehead with it.
She sat cross-legged on the couch beside me, textbook open in her lap, eyes locked on mine like I was the pop quiz and she already hated the questions.
We were supposed to be studying.
But I'd barely gotten past the first paragraph of Chapter 7.
Mostly because she hadn't said a word since she sat down. Just stared. Pencil tapping. Like she was waiting for me to confess.
I cleared my throat for the third time. "So, uh… elasticities. Price floors. That's fun, right?"
No answer.
She just kept staring.
I scratched the back of my neck. "Celestia?"
She finally spoke, voice soft, too calm.
> "You looked happy today. With her."
I froze. "Who?"
She tilted her head. "Marina."
I coughed, glanced down at my notes. "We're friends. I've known her since—"
> "Do you like her?"
"What? No. We're just—"
She stared for a moment longer, then stood and walked over to me. Slow and controlled, like a storm pretending to be gentle.
> "I saw the way you smiled when she sat next to you."
"She's my friend. I smile at people."
> "You didn't smile at the cashier downstairs."
"That guy tried to scam me on ramen."
She sat beside me, too close, her perfume curling into my lungs like a drug. Her hand brushed my thigh.
"You're mine," she whispered.
I swallowed. "We're dating, yeah."
Her hand slid further, a little slower now. "Then prove it."
"Prove—?"
> "Say it."
She leaned in, her lips grazing my jaw, her fingers now far too confident for me to think straight.
I went still. "I don't like her."
> "Say it clearly."
"I don't like Marina."
> "Say she's ugly."
My eyes widened. "Come on, she's not—"
She narrowed her eyes.
"…She's ugly," I muttered.
> "Say she's not even cute."
I hesitated, that was a mistake.
Celestia slid her hand higher.
My heart flatlined.
"Okay, okay," I muttered. "She's not even cute."
> "Say she's nothing compared to me."
"You're… you're insane."
> "And?"
"…And she's nothing compared to you."
A cruel little smile curled on her lips. "See? Now we're being honest."
And just like that, her hand slipped under the waistband of my sweatpants.
I gasped — legs tensing, brain shutting down like someone had yanked the power cord.
She didn't rush.
Celestia Moreau didn't do rushing.
She took her time, like she was testing pressure points, watching reactions, learning weaknesses.
Because she wanted control — and knew she had it.
"Mm," she purred. "Bigger than I imagined."
I whimpered. I don't care how that sounds. I did.
"You know," she continued, stroking slow, fingers like silk over fire, "Marina can't make you feel like this."
She kept her eyes on me the whole time. Watching. Studying. Possessing.
My mouth moved without my permission.
"I'll never date Marina."
Her pace didn't change.
"I don't like her," I whispered.
> "Again."
"I don't like her."
She leaned in closer, breath brushing my neck. "Say it."
"She's ugly," I whispered. "She's nothing. She's—"
It hit me, right there.
Right on the couch in my tiny shoebox of an apartment.
Celestia didn't even blink.
She just grinned and pulled her hand away like she hadn't just hijacked my soul.
"Doesn't count," she said sweetly. "Still a virgin."
I blinked. "What?"
"Technically. No penetration, no scandal." She wiped her fingers with a tissue like she was cleaning up spilled ink. "Just a little encouragement."
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart was trying to exit through my spine.
And she… she went right back to her notes. Pencil in hand. Reading.
Like nothing happened.
Like she hadn't just reprogrammed my nervous system.
Ten minutes later, she looked up and said, "Kai?"
"Yeah?"
> "Marina's not allowed to look at you anymore. Just so we're clear."
"…Right."
She smiled. The kind of smile that should be declared a war crime.
And I sat there, mind wrecked, body still shaking, and wondering how the hell I ended up dating the most terrifying girl alive.
And why I wasn't running away.