Page 28 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

NOAH

I ’m spiralling. I’m losing my mind. Everything I’ve worked so hard for is a mess, and I don’t know what to do to make it stop. I keep pretending it’s not happening, but the cracks are showing.

That night in the Atrium changed everything. It’s been over two weeks, and Louis hasn’t left since. I still only reply with one-word texts, but he doesn’t seem to care. He lets himself in every night, moves through my dorm like it’s his. Like I’m his.

And I want it. I want him. It doesn’t matter anymore, because we have fought our way into a whole new spectrum. Right now, this? This is our own game, the rules thrown overboard.

I’m his professor. Eleven years his senior.

I don’t want to be attracted to him.

But every night, when he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against his chest, when he buries his nose in my nape and his legs around my waist, my entire body sags in relief. The tension fades. My thoughts make so much more sense.

Louis leaves domestic chaos like glitter. Coffee machines, candles, oranges. He’s taken over corners of my dorm I didn’t know I had. I came back from the gym the other day to find him making fresh sushi in a kitchen layout that didn’t exist when I moved in.

It makes my chest ache. Not just because it’s sweet, but because it’s dangerous.

Everywhere I turn, he’s there. In the smell of coffee.

In the cold scent of lime on the knife handles.

In the citrus candles by the windowsill.

I don’t need to open the fridge to know what I’ll find.

He’s curated my space like he’s setting up camp inside me.

He visits the local market, makes me my favourite drinks, and watches my face for a reaction. He wants to get it right.

Louis’s presence lingers everywhere, like a shadow that follows me.

He walks with that born-Deveraux smugness, but underneath it, he’s always watching. Waiting. Wanting to be seen. He needs to be told he matters. That he’s more than the legend everyone already assumes he is.

Girls never left wreckage like this. Never made me crave their presence the way I crave Louis’s hand on my stomach at night. That quiet ownership even in sleep, it unravels me.

Dad’s gone. He can’t touch me now. Can’t humiliate me with a glance or crush me with a word.

But the echoes still crawl under my skin, his voice, his silence, that look that said I’d never be enough.

I carry it even now, like a scar I’ve trained myself not to touch.

And somehow, Louis’s presence only makes that scar more visible, like he’s pressing his fingers right into the places I’ve taught myself to ignore.

T oday, Saint-Laurent holds their infamous Prix d’Invention . The prestigious prize ranks one winner as the most talented student in Monterrey and grants a fully paid scholarship to one student from the city of Saint-Laurent.

I’ve worked with Régis Deveraux for months. The poor kid landed in the world of the wealthy, constantly outshined—and bullied—by his golden boy stepbrother, Arthur. He’ll probably win. Arthur always does.

Your Little Devil: Thank you for breakfast, baby

My lips curl despite myself. He’s changed his name again. I picture Louis sprawled in my bed like he did last night. Bare, smug, sipping coffee and stealing the last of my blackberries. Maybe I have a domestic side after all.

Your Little Devil: What did I say about ignoring my texts?

Your Little Devil: Come on, baby. Say something sweet. Or nasty. Not too nasty though

He’s got me chuckling in my seat. Glaring outside, I try to compose my thoughts.

Your Little Devil: Did you know that you moan in your sleep?

Cute Grump: I did not

What? I frown at my own change of name.

Your Little Devil: Ha! Gotcha. You so were, baby, you were humping my poor dick.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. That can’t be right. I have no recollection of any dreams. He’s just messing around with me.

Cute Grump: Stop texting me

Louis: Admit it. You want it. You can’t live without it.

Cute Grump: Never.

I delete my last message, then throw the phone in my briefcase and force myself to focus on work. With all my heart, I hope Régis will win today’s prize. His presentation is fantastic. Daring, with heavy layered questions about our society.

If he won, it would be a win for both of us.

“ T here he is. Come, enjoy a drink with us,” Jean-Luc Deveraux holds up his glass. The ceremony has ended. I’m still gutted that Arthur officially won the prize instead of his younger stepbrother, though I better not share those thoughts with the family.

Jean-Luc is as ripped as his two sons, but stands with the ease of a man used to commanding a room.

He embodies the effortless entitlement of old money.

Gracious, powerful, and completely unbothered by those of us who weren’t raised on private yachts and champagne. I can already feel my collar tighten.

I walk his way, hand outstretched, a professional smile nailed in place. “Jean-Luc. What a day.”

The woman on his arm smiles at me. She’s gorgeous, with intense green eyes and golden hair. I take her offered hand. “Ms. Deveraux. It’s good to see you.”

“Please call me Natalie, Professor Montague. Thank you for all your hard work helping Régis. He was so excited to work with you.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“And I hear that private classes with Louis are going well, too? He keeps on mentioning you.”

“I’m glad he enjoys them.” My facial features stay cool, but my insides heat.

“He’s not the easiest of students, I imagine,” Natalie laughs.

“He’s great, really.”

Louis and Arthur come join us, both looking smoking hot in their tuxedos. Black and white colours are wrapped around long, thick muscles.

Louis’s arms bulge under the expensive material when he wraps his arms around his dad for a greeting, rippling the material as he snakes his hand around a glass of champagne.

He truly is the epitome of a devil; all-consumingly beautiful and dangerous.

Dominant. Self-assured. And he’s got me wrapped around his inked finger.

He’s in total control, leaving me torn between love and hate.

Love, because he’s everything I’ve ever dreamt of. Hate, because I hate myself for that.

Louis beams at me. “Professor Montague, I didn’t know you’d stay for a drink. Here. Take mine.” Handing me his champagne, he gestures to the waiter for another one.

Around me, people continue their conversations, drifting between laughter and business like they’ve done it since birth.

Jean-Luc speaks fluent power. Louis slips into these groups like he’s already at the helm.

I stand there holding a glass I didn’t ask for, wearing a suit that doesn’t fit this world. And suddenly, I feel like a fraud.

I look around me at the groups of gathered students. Which one of them is a member of the Alpha Fraternarii? Which one of them were there that night, sprawled out onto the floor, fucking?

I down the rest of the champagne in two swallows.

The bubbles do nothing to dull the ache pressing behind my eyes.

Louis watches me from across the room, brow lifted in that way he does when he knows I’m about to implode.

No, damn it, I’m not alright. But I don’t say that.

Instead, I come up with a smooth excuse and leave the reception.

Unable to keep the storm of emotions at bay, I head for my office, making sure the door is safely locked.

Then I fight the punching bag as if it were my biggest enemy.

Rage burns my insides as I punch and kick, faster and faster, craving the way my heart beats harder, the way sweat slicks my hot skin, the way I’m panting as I keep on going.

I can’t stop. Can’t beat the fury out of my system.

I hate the way Louis is crawling through my defences, hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to stop him.

Hate that it makes me remember Dad and that horrible evening when my entire life changed.

There’s no future for us.

There’s nothing for us.

So why doesn’t he find himself another toy? Someone easier. Someone fun. Someone who hasn’t spent years trying to stitch himself back together from the inside out. Why does he keep coming back?

And why do I keep letting him?

Why do I ache for the sound of the door clicking open, for the familiar weight of his body sliding in beside mine?

My phone buzzes, and I don’t have to look to know who it is. The devil himself. Rolling my wet shirt off my hot flesh, I start another round. But no matter how hard I fight, the fight won’t leave my turbulent mind.

Leave . Smack.

Me . Kick.

Alone . Smack.

My phone buzzes again. Taking off the wraps, I stare at my knuckles. They look like I’ve been through a real fight this time. Maybe I have. But my inner chaos won’t be tamed, no matter how hard I try.

So, I pick out a book and light a candle. Sit by the window and just read. About long-gone worlds that leave scientists still puzzled today.

When my eyes start to droop, I realize the time has passed.

Melo texted me. It’s nearly midnight.

Melo: Holy shit, did you check Louis's IG?

Noah: No?

Melo: Well, you should

I open IG. The video he’s posted is from tonight. They’ve moved their party to The Black Cat. He, Gael, and some of their obnoxious friends. They’re dancing.

Cracking my knuckles, my jaw tightens. My eyes burn.

My insides coil. But I can’t look away. Louis’s chest is bare, showing the whole world his gorgeous, smooth pecs.

That ominous crow. His six-pack is gleaming with sweat as he lowers the camera, allowing us to see his hips rotate sensually to the rhythm of the beat.

He’s wearing low-sitting dark pants that reveal just that bit of the fine hairs that lead south to his gorgeous cock.

Removing my glasses, I squint at the screen.

Is he…hard? Fury rises, causing my chest to clench and my breathing to become hard.

Something’s stuck in my throat. That asshole. How dare he?

I won’t be ignored.

Says the caption.

Is that…is he referring to me? He’s gotten hundreds of responses already, mostly from slutty guys who’d love to be railed by him.

Come here, Daddy.

I’d never ignore you, sexy.

You only need to say the words.

The phone trembles in my hand. The bag stares me in the face in a silent challenge. I’ve always been my worst enemy. So capable of screwing up my own life.

Studies have always been my getaway, my unrelenting escape. No matter how much I fucked up, books have always forgiven me.

Not now. I’m about to do something really, really stupid, and I can’t stop myself.

Plato003: What are you, five? Are you throwing a tantrum, Louis? You need all the attention on you?

My fingers work fast despite the bruised skin. Tucking in my shirt, I fasten my pants and grab my keys. Before heading out, I quickly sent my sister a reply:

Noah: I’ve got more important things to do.