The whole academy had been buzzing since the party.
Every hallway Elena walked down, she caught the whispers. *That's the Rossi girl.* *She slapped Valentina in front of everyone.* *Did you see Damian watching her?*
It was suffocating. But worse than the gossip was the man himself. Damian hadn't stopped looking at her since that night — not in the soft, shy way of a boy with a crush, but like a predator deciding when to strike.
She told herself it was hatred. It had to be.
---
Literature class dragged until the moment Mr. D'Amato dropped the bomb.
"Your midterm projects will be done in pairs. Randomized pairs. No negotiations."
Groans filled the room, but Elena stayed silent, jaw tight. She hated group work. Depending on people was weakness.
"Navarro and Chen. Valentina and Farley. Rossi and…" The pause was short, but it stretched like a knife being sharpened. "…Moretti."
The class gasped. A couple kids even laughed under their breath.
Elena's head snapped across the room. Damian was staring right at her, that infuriating, slow grin curling his mouth.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," she muttered.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on hers. His voice carried just enough for her to hear, low and venomous.
"Looks like you're stuck with me, princess. Try not to fuck this up."
Her blood boiled. She forced a smirk, even though her fists were clenched under the desk.
"Don't worry, Moretti. I'd rather fail than let you carry me."
His grin sharpened. "Sweetheart, the only thing I'd ever carry you for is to throw you off a fucking roof."
---
They met later that evening in the library. Elena had chosen the farthest, darkest corner, barricading herself with stacks of books.
But of course Damian showed up late, dragging his chair right beside hers instead of across the table. His knee brushed hers immediately, and he didn't move it.
"Seriously?" she snapped. "There's a whole goddamn library and you have to sit *here*?"
He smirked without looking at her, pulling a book closer. "Relax, Rossi. Don't flatter yourself. I just like watching you squirm."
Her jaw clenched. "I don't squirm."
"You will," he murmured, so quietly she almost doubted she heard it.
---
They tried to work. Or rather, she tried. Damian seemed more interested in getting under her skin.
Every time she reached for a book, his hand was there first, his fingers brushing hers just long enough to make her heart stutter — before he yanked it away with a mocking look.
Every time she bent to write something, he leaned in close enough for his breath to warm her cheek.
Every time she ignored him, his smirk widened, like he'd already won.
Finally, she slammed her pen down.
"Do you *have* to be such an asshole?"
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Yeah. Especially with you."
"Fuck you."
"Not if you were the last woman on the planet." His smile faded into a scowl, the hatred cutting sharper. "You think you're better than everyone, strutting around like a fucking princess while your daddy's men do the dirty work."
Her chest tightened, but she masked it with a smirk. "And you think you're different? Newsflash, Moretti — your family's blood money doesn't smell any sweeter than mine."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. He leaned in, voice razor-sharp.
"Don't ever compare me to you, Rossi. You're poison. Everyone knows it."
Her heart hammered, but she refused to back down. Instead, she leaned forward too, their noses nearly brushing.
"Then stop breathing me in like you're addicted."
---
The pen slipped from her hand, rolling to the floor. She bent to grab it, only to collide with his hand under the table. His skin was hot, rough, electric against hers.
Neither of them moved.
Elena's breath caught. Damian's jaw flexed, his eyes darkening, locked on hers like a man fighting himself. For a split second, she thought he might lace his fingers through hers.
Then he ripped his hand back, muttering, "Don't fucking touch me."
The words burned, but the way his eyes lingered betrayed him.
Elena straightened, shoving the pen into her notebook with trembling fingers.
"Gladly. You're the last person I'd want to touch anyway."
His laugh was sharp, bitter. "Then stop looking at me like you already have."
Her pulse spiked. Bastard.
---
The librarian's voice cut through the tension.
"Students, the library is closing in five minutes."
Elena shoved her books into her bag, desperate to get away. But when she stood, Damian blocked her path, towering over her.
He leaned down until his lips brushed her ear. His voice was pure venom.
"I'd rather fucking fail than spend another minute next to you."
But his eyes flicked down to her mouth when he said it.
Her stomach dropped.
Before she could snap back, he stalked away, leaving her breathless, furious — and betraying herself with the way her thighs pressed together.
---
That night, she tossed and turned in bed, replaying it all.
His insults.
His hands brushing hers.
The way he looked at her like he wanted to ruin her, body and soul.
She hated him. She hated how much space he took up in her head.
So why the fuck couldn't she stop thinking about the heat of his skin against hers?