Nova pov-
The storm had arrived.
And it wore the name Blackthorne.
The silence cracked open like thunder as the Headmaster cleared his throat. "Mr. Blackthorne," he said, tone strained, "these words are not welcome within these walls. Your father requested unity—"
"Unity?" the heir scoffed, tilting his head like the very word was a joke. "This place is a graveyard of weaklings playing warrior. I'm just saying what everyone's already thinking."
The nerve.
The Headmaster's lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flicked nervously toward my father, who hadn't moved an inch. Alpha Veyron sat like a wall of stone, his aura calm but heavy, radiating enough power that the nearest heirs looked like they wanted to shrink out of their skin. He didn't rise. Didn't interrupt. He was watching me instead.
Testing me.
The hall was vibrating now—whispers hissing like snakes, boots shifting against marble, the word Omega slipping sharp and cruel between rows. And all of it kept circling back to me.
Because the Blackthorne heir's storm-grey eyes were locked on mine.
He didn't blink. Didn't look away. He pinned me there like prey, like I was the living embodiment of everything he despised. My body thrummed with defiance, heat crawling under my skin.
"Funny," I said, my voice sugar and steel, carrying through the hall, "for someone who thinks he's the strongest here, you sure talk a lot for validation."
The smirk that curled across his lips was pure arrogance, but it flickered—just enough that I knew I'd hit a nerve.
He stepped down from the stage, slow, deliberate, predatory. The crowd parted instinctively. My pulse hammered harder with every click of his boots against the floor.
"Validation?" he echoed, voice low, almost amused. "No, little Omega. I don't need validation. I neither do I need weaklings pretend to be brave."He said coldly.
My chin lifted higher. "Then you should be obsessed with me. Because I'm not pretending."
The whispers exploded again. Serena hissed my name under her breath from across the table, my stepmother's nails digging into the wood as if she could will me back into my seat. But I didn't break. Couldn't.
The heir stopped right in front of me. The air thickened, charged, as if the room itself held its breath. His storm-grey eyes dragged over me with lazy cruelty, lingering far too long before snapping back to my face.
Too close. Too much.
"You've got fire," he said softly, a thread of mockery in his tone. "But fire burns out quick when it's starved. Careful—you might choke on your own sparks."
Heat shot up my spine. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll burn you alive first."
The curve of his mouth sharpened. A dangerous half-smile. He leaned forward, our faces barely a breath apart now, his voice dropping low enough that it slid straight under my skin.
"Try me."
The whole world seemed to vanish around us. It was just his storm and my defiance colliding, reckless and furious, drawn together even as we swore we'd rather die apart.
but screw that.
"Really?" I said, loud enough for the whispers to spike. "Of all the packs, it had to be yours?"
He looked down at me, slow, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes—God, those stupid eyes—did that thing where they start at your face and then dip. I swear I felt them trace every line of me, like he was cataloging my flaws and loving it.
Heat rushed up my neck, but I forced a smirk. "You lost, Blackthorne? The trash is outside."
He didn't even blink. Just that lazy, cocky smirk that made my fists itch. "Funny. I could say the same about you. Except—" His gaze dipped again, lower this time, lingering, taunting. "You're harder to throw away."
My stomach dropped. My skin prickled. I hated him. I hated him. But my body? My body was a traitor.
I stepped closer, almost nose-to-nose now. "Don't mistake my disgust for interest."
He leaned in, just enough to make my pulse stutter. His breath ghosted across my lips when he whispered, "Don't worry, princess. Interest isn't something you inspire."
Liar. The way his eyes darkened said otherwise. The way my knees almost buckled said otherwise too.
The whispers had become gasps now. The tension was thick enough to choke on. And just when I thought one of us was going to snap—
"Enough!"
The word cut through everything. My father's voice. My blood froze.
And then—another voice. Deeper. Colder.
"Damien."
The doors of the hall opened, and there he was: Alpha Blackthorne himself. Tall, terrifying, dripping in power like it was his cologne. His gaze swept the room, landing on me like I was something to crush, then sliding to his son.
"Stand down."
For a second, I thought his son wouldn't listen. His jaw tightened, his eyes locked on mine like he wanted to keep this battle going, right here, right now. And honestly? Part of me wanted that too.
But finally, with agonizing slowness, he stepped back. Not away—just enough to keep everyone from calling it a full-blown fight. His smirk said this isn't over.
My heart was pounding, my lips tingling, and I hated that I couldn't look away. I had made my point. Everyone in that room would remember my boldness. But him? He was going to remember me.
I walked back to my seat like I hadn't just stared down a Blackthorne with the entire school watching. Inside, though? Inside I was fire.
And somewhere deep down, in a place I wanted to set on fire and bury, I already knew: this was just the beginning.
*****
I was so done.
Done with this stupid orientation, done with Serena's endless chatter about who looked hot in the crowd, done with the stupid name Damien Blackthorne. Damien. Ugh. That was the kind of name girls carved into notebooks with little hearts around it—not the name of the world's biggest, most insufferable jerk.
He vanished after that humiliating stunt in the hall, thank the Goddess. I could finally breathe without his storm-cloud aura shadowing me.
When my driver finally pulled up with my car—my car, sleek and familiar and the only thing keeping me sane in this godforsaken place—I practically ran for it.
"Tell Dad I'll check in later!" I called, slamming the door before my father could launch into another lecture.
I just needed air. Escape. A moment where I wasn't stuck in everyone's gawking little whispers about me and him.
The dorms weren't far. But of course, when I pulled up, the lot was full. Like, completely packed. Students swarming everywhere, the cliques already forming. Laughing, whispering. And me? Circling like an idiot with nowhere to park.
And then I saw it.
The museum.
Big, ancient, dramatic—the sacred heart of Blackthorne Academy. With giant bold signs plastered everywhere: NO PARKING. NO ENTRY. TRESPASSERS WILL FACE CONSEQUENCES.
Yeah. Whatever.
I killed the engine, tossed my hair back, and smirked. "Consequences can wait."
Except…my car didn't agree.
The moment I tried to reverse into the space, the wheel jerked out of my grip, the engine roared like it had a demon of its own, and before I could even scream—
CRASH.
Metal crunched, glass shattered, alarms wailed.
And I sat there in the driver's seat, heart in my throat, staring at the massive, spiderweb crack now etched across the museum's sacred stone wall.
"Oh. My. Goddess."
Students screamed, some laughed, and I swore I heard someone gasp, "She's dead. She's literally dead."
And then—like he'd been summoned from the depths of hell—he was there.
Damien Blackthorne.
Storming across the pavement like an executioner, fury carved into every line of his face. His aura was suffocating, sharp enough to slice through bone, and suddenly I forgot how to breathe.
The car door ripped open so violently it nearly tore off its hinges.
"Get—out," he snarled.
Before I could argue, his hand clamped around my arm, yanking me out so hard my shoulder screamed. I stumbled into him, chest colliding with something solid and hot, before he slammed me against the car.
The breath whooshed out of me. His grip was bruising, his body caging mine in.
"You think you can waltz into my territory and wreck it?" His voice was low, lethal. His breath hit the side of my neck, hot and terrifying and something else I didn't want to name. "You have no idea what you just did. I should break you right here."
A shiver slid down my spine, traitorous and electric. My heart hammered, not entirely from fear. His eyes locked on mine, dark and dangerous, and for one split second, the world disappeared.
It was just him. His fury. His heat pressed against me.
And the undeniable spark crackling in the air like fire waiting for a match.
I hated it. I hated him.
So why did it feel like my body was betraying me?
"Let go," I spat, shoving at his chest, but my voice wasn't as steady as I wanted.
His mouth curled in the faintest, cruelest smirk, as if he could taste the lie in my defiance.
"Oh, Nova," he murmured darkly, fingers tightening around my wrist. "You've got no idea how deep you've already stepped into my world."
And for the first time since meeting Damien Blackthorne, I realized something that scared me more than his anger.
I didn't know if I wanted him to let go.