Page 2 of Jerk

That’s the point.

The glass in my hand is dull, jagged and slick with vodka. I press it against her skin, just enough to see her flinch, just enough to leave a single faint line right below her collar. This isn’t about breaking her skin, it’s about breakingher.

“I have nothing to lose, and that’s on you.” I make sure my words catch her ear. She doesn’t squirm when I curve the line into a heart, slow and careful. Deliberate, like she’s my canvas. She falls deeper against my chest, like she’s melting into me. Like she already knows her fate. Dipping my head further to her level, just at my chest, my lips brush her ear. “Congratulations, Hannah, you’re my new favourite plaything.”

Moving my arm, I let the glass drop to the floor. Hannah stumbles on her heels when I step back, phones pointed at us. So I take a bow, a smirk on my face as the crowd watches on.

Pushing my hands in my pockets, I stride towards the door, leaving Hannah exactly where I want her: out of control.

Hannah

Wantto hear something really messed up?

If I were to move right now, it would only confirm how damp it is between my legs.

“Plaything.”

His words hang in the air, broken shard by my Versace pumps, the edge shining under the gallery lights. My heart thumps in my ears, the silk lining of my fur jacket sticking to my skin. He’s gone, but I can still smell him. Smokey. Decadent. Intense. Tom Ford never made me this weak before.

I can still feel the kiss of the glass on my skin. I thought this would hurt, but there’s a feeling I’ve never felt curling in my stomach, and it isn’t fear.

Everyone’s still watching.

My lips stick together. My cheeks still burn, and if they’re red, there’s no hiding it. Everyone saw him do that. Everyone saw melethim. For the first time, in a room of people, I can’t speak. The whispers start, my throat closing in.

“Did you see the look on her face?”

“She got what was coming to her.”

“Look at her. Helpless.”

My eyes land on the group of girls who stand by my side. Correction: whousuallystand by my side. Right now, they won’t budge, glancing between me and the rest of Ember’s guests like they’re waiting to see if my crown slips. It won’t. I’ll make sure of it.

“Stunning performance.” Mac’s voice breaks the silence, mocking me with a solo applause.

My ex kicking me while I’m down? Expected. I’m sure he’s thrilled to see someone try to put me in my place. A snort comes from one of my so-called friends, but I don’t need to see who. It’s Marisol. That wannabe, style-stealing, clout-chasing?—

Get it together.

Straightening my stance, I lift my chin and raise a sparkly nail to a nearby server who promptly brings me a tray of champagne. I thought what I did would make him back off. I thought I left no chance of retaliation. Clearly, I messed that up. Now I need to fix this. I need to get them back on my side. ASAP.

Raising my glass, I tip it to the crowd. “To Rye Rowen.” Then I smile into the lens of the nearest phone. “My biggest fan.”

“Fan?” Marisol snorts again from the side. “He doesn’t look like a fan.” She’s pushing the shard in, reminding me she’s always waiting for me to falter, but tonight’s not it.

The chilled champagne slides down my throat. It doesn’t help. Ember signals her DJ, house music filling the room. The pulse of the bass matches my heart, while my usual spotlight is lava.

Don’t let them see it.

I’m determined to keep this smile on my face as I take my wobbly legs to the bar, my head lifted higher. “Martini. Dry. Lemon.” The bartender nods before I turn around and rest my elbows on the bar. Some people still stare, whispering, but I won’t let them think he got me. Not for a second.

My phone buzzes again, and I know I shouldn’t look, but I do. And when I do, that fire fills my chest.

My face is already plastered on social media, Rye behind me, that shard to my skin.

SBU Ice Queen Melts Under Crown Pressure

— The Hill Local