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“Go to hell.” I hang up before I say something I’ll regret.

The silence that follows is thick. My reflection still lingers in the mirror, that damn tattoo glaring at me like it’s taunting me. I open my browser and start typing with shaky fingers.

How to care for a fresh tattoo.

How to fade a new tattoo.

Tattoo removal options first week.

None of it helps. Every article talks about avoiding infection, keeping it clean, moisturizing, no scratching, no swimming. Nothing tells you what to do when you wake up branded by a guy you trusted. Nothing about betrayal or wanting to scream loud enough to shake the fucking walls.

I sit on the edge of the tub, staring at the ink. My skin’s tender, red around the edges, still slightly raised. The lines are clean, precise, almost too good. I picture Eli watching me sleep, his hand guiding the artist, maybe even holding me down. A chill races up my spine, one I can’t shake off this time.

Did he come here last night?

My stomach churns. I run through everything I know about him, every time he looked at me like I was more than just a game. Every touch that made my head spin. Every lie hidden behind those stormy eyes.

I want to believe he didn’t do this. I want to believe he wouldn’t.

But the ink is there.

Did my mention of Caleb send him over the edge into a jealous spiral?

My hand curls into a fist, nails digging into my palm because I already know the answer. I refuse to cry. I’ve cried too many times over things I couldn’t control. This — this I can control.

I’ll find him.

I’ll find out what the hell happened.

And when I do, he’s going to regret ever thinking he could mark me like I belonged to him. Like I’m some trophy they get to pass around, laugh about later over beers and stories of how they broke the coach’s daughter.

I push myself up, turn on the shower, and let the steam rise. Stripping off my shirt, I step under the hot spray, flinching as water hits the tattoo. It stings. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

I brace my hands on the tiled wall, letting the water run down my back, chest tight, jaw locked. There’s only one place he could be tonight. One place where the Brotherhood gathers, where they celebrate and conspire and pretend they rule this damn campus.

The party.

I’ll go.

Not for him.

Not to beg for answers or scream at him across a crowded room.

But because I need the truth about all of this shit.

The truth about both guys.

And I’m done waiting for it to come to me.

I get out, towel off with jerky, rushed movements, my skin still humming with fury. I throw on leggings and a hoodie, pulling the drawstrings tight, not caring that I look like a girl ready to commit a felony instead of party.

My phone buzzes again. Caleb, a text this time.

Come if you want. Wear something fun. Might be your last chance to enjoy the perks.

Perks.

I nearly hurl the phone across the room.