The academy courtyard was a fucking circus. Whispers, stares, fake smiles — everyone pretending they weren't vultures circling the next kill.
Elena Rossi walked straight through it, chin high, like she couldn't feel the daggers in her back. She'd learned a long time ago: never give them the satisfaction.
And then she heard his voice.
"Morning, princess."
Her stomach dropped. Of course. Damian fucking Moretti.
He lounged against the fountain like he owned the world, tie loose, shirt collar undone, the picture of cocky arrogance. A pack of guys surrounded him, laughing like his every word was gospel.
"You look tired," he said loudly, eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "What's wrong? Couldn't sleep because you were too busy touching yourself and pretending it was me?"
The courtyard erupted in gasps and laughter.
Elena stopped dead, her blood boiling so hard she thought she might actually kill him. Slowly, she turned, heels clicking against stone as she walked right up to him.
When she spoke, her voice was ice. "Cute. Do you practice being this much of a piece of shit, or does it just come naturally?"
The boys hooted. Damian smirked wider, leaning closer. "Careful, Rossi. That sharp little tongue of yours? Sooner or later someone's gonna put it to better use."
Her jaw clenched. "Keep talking and I'll shove that tongue so far down your throat you'll choke on your own fucking ego."
The crowd roared. Damian's smirk faltered for half a second — just long enough for Elena to see she'd hit a nerve.
Then his hand shot out, gripping her wrist hard enough to sting, yanking her flush against his chest. The courtyard went dead silent.
His voice was low, venomous, meant only for her. "You've got no idea what kind of fire you're playing with, princess. One day you're gonna push too far, and I won't hold back."
Elena's heart hammered, fury colliding with something hotter, darker. She leaned in, lips almost brushing his ear, and whispered back, "Then fucking do it."
---
The bell rang. The courtyard exploded into motion again, students scattering, whispering, glancing back at them like they'd just witnessed blood spill.
Damian let go of her wrist with a jerk, stepping back, mask of arrogance sliding neatly back into place. "Not here, Rossi. But trust me… one day."
He stalked off, leaving her seething, wrist burning from his grip.
Elena dragged in a shaky breath, furious at him, furious at herself, furious at how much her body wanted exactly what she swore she hated.
*Fuck him. Fuck Damian Moretti.*
So why did every nerve in her body ache from him *not* kissing her?