Page 19

EIGHTEEN

LUCIUS

Last night replayed in my mind like a haunting melody—her skin beneath my fingertips, the way she trembled on top of me, the sheer pleasure twisted with the sharp edge of the knife I kept hidden in my office. It still carried her scent, a ghost of her lingering where metal met flesh. I had traced her freckles over and over again until they blurred before my eyes. She had surrendered completely, obeying my every command.

She was already broken, yet I kept pushing her further, scattering the shattered pieces even more. I knew the damage I was causing and feared what it might do to her, but stopping was never an option. She craved pain, and I craved her. That combination was a disaster waiting to happen, a chaos neither of us could escape. But I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to drown in it—right beside her.

She still didn’t know who I was, but it wouldn’t take long before she started putting the pieces together. That was the risk of keeping her close, the danger of having her near. She was unknowingly taunting me, pushing limits neither of us should test. But maybe if she never figured it out, she wouldn’t hold that power over me. Maybe.

The new school year had officially begun, and any minute now, she would walk into my class. I settled into my chair, pretending to focus on the book in front of me as students began trickling in.

Starting today, uniforms were mandatory, each house marked by its own colors: deep red, navy blue, dark green, and royal purple.

But none of that mattered.

Because all I could think about was her, walking in, wearing one of those short skirts.

I exhaled sharply, adjusting my glasses at the tip of my nose. One hand rested on my forehead as I leaned back, the other draped lazily over the book in my lap. My legs stretched wide; I despised the feeling of crossing them, too tight, too restrictive.

And then, she was there.

Her skirt was tight, modest in length, but hinted at everything hidden beneath—crimson with dark gray straps, subtle red and black stripes running through the fabric. Her white shirt was neatly tucked into her belt, a thin black ribbon tied around her neck like a noose. The blazer draped over her shoulders bore the crest of House Scorpio, a small but unmistakable mark on the right side, just above the pocket.

Her hair danced down her back, reaching to her lower back, with loose strands that curled and slid forward. She kept tucking it behind her ear, something that made me watch her even more.

Today, she wore red lipstick. Half the girls in her house had their lips painted the same shade. But they didn’t exist. Not to me. I saw only her.

The platform shoes she wore made her taller than usual. She was stunning.

She was mine.

And no one knew it.

Not even her.

I cleared my throat, forcing my thoughts away from her before they spiraled any further. The last thing I needed was to spend the rest of class with a hard cock. Pushing away the heat pooling in my gut, I stood up and grabbed a piece of chalk.

Turning to the board, I wrote in bold letters: Quiz.

Then, I turned back to face the class, raising a brow.

“Surprise,” I announced, letting the word hang in the air.

A collective groan rippled through the students, accompanied by rolling eyes and barely suppressed sighs.

“On your tables, you’ll find a chemistry quiz,” I continued, my voice even, unbothered by their reaction. “This will help me gauge what you already know—and what you don’t. It’s graded, but don’t worry, it won’t count toward your final mark.”

Another wave of discontented murmurs.

I clapped my hands sharply. “Time starts now.”

Like clockwork, heads dropped to their desks, pens scratching against paper, frustration giving way to concentration.

I leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the room—but really, I was watching her.

She looked paler than usual. Uneasy. Almost… afraid.

A flicker of something dark curled up inside me at the sight.

Then, a sharp knock snapped me out of my trance. I turned toward the door that was open now, spotting Luna standing in the hallway.

“Hi, everyone,” she greeted, stepping inside. “I need to steal Professor Lockwood for a moment.”

I exhaled through my nose, leveling her with a look. “They’re in the middle of a quiz.”

“It’ll be quick,” she assured me, one hand still gripping the doorframe.

I hesitated, then dropped into my chair, waving her in. “Fine.”

She wasted no time crossing the room, turning her back to the students as she leaned in, her voice hushed.

“I know you don’t have time for this right now, but after class, can we talk?” she murmured. “It’s about Adeline.”

The name shot through me.

I was on my feet before I even realized it, stepping into her space. “Why the fuck are you bringing this up in class?” I hissed under my breath.

Luna took a cautious step back, holding up her hands in a silent plea. “I’ll explain later. Just—please. It’s important.”

A muscle in my jaw ticked, but I forced myself to relax, exhaling through my nose. “Fine.”

She turned on her heel, slipping out the door and closing it behind her.

As soon as she was gone, I looked up—only to see her.

My Little Star.

She was walking toward me, her quiz paper clutched tightly in her hands. Her steps were slow like she was hesitating but had no choice.

I tilted my head, watching her approach.

She stepped closer, placing the paper on my desk. My eyes dropped to it first, then lifted to her.

The test was blank.

Not a single answer. Just her name scrawled at the top.

“Professor,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I finished.”

I arched a brow. “You finished?” My gaze flicked between her and the paper. “You haven’t written a single word except your name, and you call this done?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m sorry, but I can’t… I…” Her voice cracked, barely holding together.

I exhaled sharply. “I don’t know what your problem is, Miss Sinclaire, but in my class, we get things done.” My voice was firm. “You will take your ass back to your desk and finish this quiz.”

“But—“

“Now,” I growled, slipping my glasses off as my eyes locked onto hers.

She gasped, her breath hitching like she had just seen a ghost. Like something about me had suddenly clicked.

Still, she didn’t argue. Just grabbed the paper and walked back to her desk, her steps slow, hesitant. I followed her with my gaze, trying to read her, but all I caught was the glint of a single tear rolling down her cheek.

Then, the bell rang.

Chairs scraped against the floor, and students shuffled forward, piling their papers onto my desk before filing out of the classroom.

Except for her.

She remained in her seat at the back, silently wiping away her tears.

Between classes, there was a fifteen-minute break, and every second of it, I wanted to find out what Luna had to say about Adeline. That case had haunted me ever since it happened. But she was more important. My Little Star mattered more.

I stood from my desk, moving around it before making my way up the stairs to where she sat.

“Is there a problem?” I asked, my hands stuffed into my pockets as I leaned against the desk in front of her.

She sniffed, lifting her empty paper with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice shattered. “So sorry.”

Fuck.

“Then why are you in my class?” I asked, my voice colder than I intended. “Is this some kind of joke to you?”

She shook her head violently, her breath shuddering. “No,” she choked out. “I—“

“Please leave.”

Her flinch was subtle, but I caught it.

I gestured toward the door, my patience thinning—only then noticing Luna standing just outside, watching.

Freya hesitated for a fraction of a second before grabbing her things and brushing past me. I clenched my jaw, slipped my glasses off, and rubbed my eyes before sliding them back on.

Luna stepped inside, arms crossed as she approached my desk.

“That was a bit harsh,” she mused.

I scoffed, slamming the test onto the desk with my fingertips. “She’s in three of my classes and doesn’t even know what H?O is.”

Luna pressed a hand over her mouth, stifling a chuckle.

I scowled. “It’s water, Luna. It’s not even funny.”

“I didn’t know that at her age,” she said, shrugging. “She’s just eighteen.”

Eighteen.

The number rolled through my mind like a loaded bullet.

I didn’t let it sink in until now.

I was her professor. She was my student.

I fucked up. I fucked up bad.

I exhaled, rolling my eyes. “She looks twenty-five,” I muttered.

Luna tilted her head, smirking. “Since when does that matter?”

Fuck.

“Since looks seem to be more important than brains these days,” I deflected, trying to dig myself out of the mess I’d just stepped into.

Luna laughed softly. “Touché.” She leaned against my desk, watching me with that knowing look.

I sighed. “Why are you here, Luna?”

Her expression shifted. “There’s a student in my class—she asked me about Adeline.”

A sharp chill slithered down my spine.

Luna continued, her voice dropping lower. “She knew a little too much.”

I straightened. “How much?”

Luna’s lips pressed into a thin line. “She knew about the dark red dahlia. About the way her face looked when she died. The smile. The black-painted nails.”

A slow exhale left me. “Only us and the killer knew that.”

“Exactly,” Luna murmured.

My mind whirled. “You think a student killed her? What would they have been back then, eight?” I scoffed, rubbing a hand over my face.

“No,” she admitted. “But maybe they knew someone who did.”

I clenched my jaw, stepping closer, and grabbing her arm. “We promised, Luna. Whatever happened back then stays buried.”

“But this girl knows—“

“Nothing.” My voice was a low, controlled growl. “She knows nothing. Just like the rest of us.”

Luna’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but I didn’t let her challenge me.

“Adeline was playing a game,” I said, my voice hollow. “A game that turned deadly. We learned that the hard way.”

“Maybe we can try it again,” she suggested, her tone too casual. “This time, new students, new—“

I stepped forward, my teeth grinding together. “Luna.” My voice was lethal. “I swear to God, I won’t let you drag any of these students into that fucking mess again.”

Her eyes flickered, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she exhaled through her nose and muttered, “Fine. I’ll try to figure it out.”

I watched her, still wary, as she turned to leave. But just before stepping out the door, I called after her.

“Who was the student?”

Luna paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Blue James.”

And then, she was gone.

LUCIUS- 18 YEARS OLD

The Academy was silent. No one spoke of Adeline. No one whispered about the mystery surrounding her death. It was as if her name had been wiped clean from the halls, erased by fear.

Jack Blackthorn had taken Cassius away, pulling him from the Academy like a precious artifact in danger of shattering. He was afraid—afraid that whatever had happened to Adeline might happen to him too. His protectiveness was suffocating.

Something Luna and I never had.

Some professors muttered about leaving Blackthorn altogether. They were terrified. Of what, no one knew.

Luna became obsessed. She dissected Adeline’s murder piece by piece, peeling back layers of horror as if she could reconstruct the moment it happened. How she died. How she looked in that tub. I told her everything I remembered—the splatter of blood on the wall, the way it trailed in eerie patterns. Every time I spoke, something inside me died a little more. Seeing Adeline’s face over and over was eating me alive.

That night, I returned to my room, glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see her standing there. Watching. Waiting. Ready to finish what she started.

I sat down, exhaling, when I noticed a letter on my nightstand.

My pulse quickened as I reached for it. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but curiosity overruled caution. I unfolded the paper, my eyes skimming over the words written in twisted handwriting.

A chill crawled down my spine. My fingers curled around the edges of the letter, creasing the paper as I processed the message. A sick joke, I told myself. Someone was playing games with us.

Then, a knock. Loud. Urgent.

I hesitated before opening the door, and there stood Luna, her face pale, streaked with tears. She was clutching a small box, her hands trembling.

“Luna?” My voice came out cautious as I pulled her inside.

Wordlessly, she handed me a note.

“What the fuck?” I whispered.

She didn’t answer. Her body was shaking, her breath shallow as she extended the box toward me.

I took it. Opened it.

A severed toe, nestled against crumpled tissue paper. The nail was painted the same shade of black as Adeline Ravenshaw had been when she was found in that tub. And a red ribbon was wrapped around it, tied into a perfect bow.

A sharp lump formed in my throat.

I didn’t need an explanation. I already knew what it meant.

Adeline had lost this game.

And now, it was our turn to play.