Chapter 6
Damien
T he text came through at 8 AM sharp.
Report to the dean’s office immediately.
I tossed my phone on the bed and laughed. Of course, Logan Hartley couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He’d run to the dean, squealing like a rat caught in a trap. I could picture him sitting there, all bruised and pathetic, trying to paint me as the villain.
But I didn’t give a fuck.
I stretched out, took my time getting ready. The morning sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across my floor like liquid gold. I glanced at myself in the mirror—silver-blond hair tousled just right, stormy blue eyes glaring back with that familiar intensity.
I pulled on a black hoodie and some worn jeans, relishing the feeling of rebellion against whatever bullshit awaited me. With a quick glance at the clock, I headed out without rushing.
I pushed through the kitchen door, craving the bitter bite of coffee to jolt me awake. But then I froze, my entire body tensing at the sight of her.
My mother.
There she stood, draped in a silk robe that barely covered anything, the fabric clinging to her like it was meant to seduce rather than conceal. My lips curled into a frown as she turned and noticed me.
“Oh, Damien,” she murmured, her voice dripping with a softness that only made my skin crawl. “Good morning.”
She glided toward me with that practiced grace, and it took every ounce of willpower not to back away. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to stay still as she approached.
“What are you up to today?” she asked, her tone casual but laced with something else—curiosity or perhaps concern.
“A meeting,” I said through clenched teeth. “Dean Walker.”
“Have you been bad again?” A light laugh escaped her lips as she reached out to cup my cheek.
I flinched at her touch; the warmth turning icy in an instant. “No,” I snapped, pulling away like I’d been burned. The air thickened between us, and I could feel the weight of unspoken expectations pressing down on my chest.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me with a mixture of amusement and something darker lurking beneath the surface. “Do I need to get involved?”
The question hung in the air like a noose tightening around my neck. I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned away from her—a coward’s move—but I needed to escape this conversation.
I didn’t want coffee here; I needed it from River Styx—the only place that felt somewhat safe lately.
With quick strides, I headed for the garage, ignoring how my hands shook as they gripped the car keys tightly. The engine roared to life under me as I backed out onto the driveway. Each thrum echoed my unease and pushed thoughts of her out of my mind—at least for now.
I gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as I tore through the streets toward Crestwood Academy. Each turn felt like a punch to the gut, anger surging through me like a live wire.
I hated this place. I hated that it had been reduced to nothing more than a backdrop for my mother’s games, her manipulations that still twisted my insides even after all these years. Every time I returned, I felt like I was slipping back into her world, and the mere thought made bile rise in my throat.
The rage simmered beneath my skin, boiling over with every passing car. Logan Hartley’s pathetic face flashed in my mind—the way he’d tried to make me look weak in front of Holly. It only fueled my anger further. That sack of shit thought he could just waltz in and take what was mine? Not a chance.
My mother had gotten into my head again, like she always did. The way she’d looked at me—her eyes so full of false concern—made me feel small and helpless. It was infuriating how she could still have that power over me. Why couldn’t I just stand up to her? I slammed my fist against the steering wheel, letting out a growl of frustration that echoed inside the car.
The campus came into view, looming like a prison I had no choice but to enter. Crestwood was supposed to be prestigious, but all it felt like was a cage—a place where expectations smothered any hint of freedom.
I parked with an aggressive jerk and climbed out of the car. My heart raced as I stalked across the parking lot, fury driving every step forward. How many times had I told myself that I wouldn’t let her get to me? Yet here I was again—fucking powerless.
“Get it together,” I muttered under my breath as I marched toward the main building. The air felt thick with tension as students milled about, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me.
I pushed open the door to River Styx, the campus café, and was hit with the familiar scent of freshly ground coffee beans and sweet pastries. The place was a mix of old and new—exposed brick walls lined with local artwork, mismatched furniture that ranged from vintage couches to modern metal chairs, and a long counter displaying an array of baked goods under glass domes. The hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the occasional hiss of the espresso machine.
I made my way to the counter, ignoring the curious glances from a group of students huddled over textbooks. The barista, a guy with more tattoos than visible skin, nodded at me. "What can I get you?"
"Coffee. Black."
He turned to pour the steaming liquid into a mug, and I scanned the room. A couple sat in the corner, engrossed in each other, while a lone student near the window typed furiously on a laptop. I grabbed my coffee and found an empty table near the back, away from the crowd.
The first sip was scalding, just the way I liked it. I took my time, letting the heat burn away the remnants of my mother's touch. Each swallow grounded me, pushing back the chaos that threatened to spill over. I had no intention of walking into Walker's office shaken up. That wasn't how this game worked.
I leaned back in my chair, the worn wood creaking under my weight. The café was a place where I could blend in with the crowd or disappear entirely. It was a far cry from the sterile, controlled environment of my mother's house. Here, I could breathe.
As I nursed my coffee, the minutes ticked by, and the tension in my shoulders eased. The caffeine kicked in, sharpening my senses. I watched as students came and went, their lives a whirlwind of classes, exams, and social dramas. It was all so normal, so mundane. Especially how they avoided me completely.
Well, some did.
Girls stared a little too long, wondering if my reputation preceded me.
I wanted to fuck them, to show them.
And yet, it was a world away from the storm brewing inside me.
I took another sip, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue. I was in no rush. Let Walker wait. Let him stew in his office, wondering where I was. I had all the time in the world.
And so, I sat, the warmth of the coffee seeping into my hands, the noise of the café a comforting buzz around me. I was in control here. And that was all that mattered.
As I took another sip, I could practically feel the dean’s impatience radiating from his office like heat waves off asphalt. He could use some time to think about how to approach me.
I sighed, standing, stepping out of River Styx. With each step away from the café and toward that office, adrenaline pulsed through me—not fear or regret, but anticipation. My heart thrummed with excitement for what was about to unfold.
After five minutes of leisurely walking, savoring each sip of coffee like it was a fine wine, I strolled up to the admin building and headed straight for the dean's office door. The frosted glass panel read Dean John Walker in bold letters.
I knocked once before opening it without waiting for an invitation inside.
“Good morning,” I said smoothly as I stepped into the room, taking in Dean Walker’s flustered expression. His neatly organized desk stood in stark contrast to my relaxed demeanor.
He blinked at me, clearly taken aback by my nonchalance as if he expected an apology or remorse.
He recovered quickly. “I know what you did,” he spat, his voice low but steady.
I leaned against the doorframe, a smirk creeping onto my lips. “That so?”
He straightened, launching into a tirade that was as predictable as it was tiresome. “You think this is a game? That you can just run around attacking students? The incident with Logan Hartley has consequences, Damien. This isn’t some street fight; this is Crestwood Academy.”
I shrugged, feigning indifference as I toyed with the edge of my hoodie. “What can I say? He had it coming.”
Dean Walker's face reddened. “This is a pattern of violence! You’ve been on thin ice for years now, and I’m tired of covering for you. You think you’re untouchable?”
I leaned back casually against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t think. I know. ”
His glare could have burned through steel. “You’re going to ruin your future if you keep this up,” he warned, leaning forward slightly as if trying to physically intimidate me.
“Ruin? Nah.” I chuckled lightly, relishing the control I had in this moment. “You know what they say—no risk, no reward.”
“Reward?” His voice rose an octave as he paced the floor like a caged animal. “You call this chaos a reward? You’re not just jeopardizing your own future; you’re affecting everyone around you—including Holly!”
At the mention of her name, something twisted inside me—not regret or guilt but something raw and fierce. She was mine to protect or destroy; that was how it worked in my world.
“I’m not affecting her,” I said sharply, pushing off from the wall and stepping closer to him. “If anything, she should be thanking me for keeping scum like Hartley away. As should you.”
“Is that what you think? That this violent behavior will earn her respect?” Dean Walker shot back, incredulity mingling with anger.
I laughed again—a cold sound that filled the room with tension. “Respect? No one cares about respect when there’s power involved.”
Dean Walker leaned over his desk, the veneer polished to a shine that reflected his frustration. His jaw clenched tight, eyes narrowed like he was sizing me up for some kind of punishment. “You’re going to face disciplinary action for this, Sinclaire. I’m talking suspension. You think you can just bulldoze your way through life?”
I let him ramble, leaning back against the wall with my arms crossed. His words washed over me like white noise—predictable, tiresome. It felt almost entertaining watching him squirm in his righteous indignation.
“Logan’s injuries could have serious consequences,” he continued, raising his voice as if volume would somehow add weight to his empty threats. “This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about the school’s reputation.”
I stifled a chuckle, feigning boredom as he rattled on about rules and regulations. The truth hung in the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst—Dean Walker didn’t run this place as much as he thought he did.
His authority was just a facade, and I knew exactly how flimsy it was.
“Look,” I said, interrupting him mid-rant. “You think I give a damn about your disciplinary measures? Do you really believe I’m afraid of suspension?”
He opened his mouth to respond but hesitated as if the reality was dawning on him—he had no real power here.
“Let me remind you of something,” I said, pushing off from the wall and taking a step forward. “My last name is Sinclaire.”
A smile crept onto my lips as Dean’s expression shifted from anger to confusion. “You know who my father is—the NHL legend? His name still sells out arenas across the country.”
The air thickened with tension as I continued, savoring the moment.
“And this charity game?” I leaned in closer, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s not just some PR stunt; it’s being propped up by my father’s money.”
I straightened up again, meeting Dean's gaze head-on with confidence radiating from every pore.
“You can’t touch me, Dean. Not when my father’s name is keeping this event alive.”
The color drained from Dean Walker's face as I leaned in; the tension crackling between us like a live wire. He knew as well as I did that his authority meant nothing against the legacy my name carried.
“You can’t be serious,” he finally stammered, attempting to regain some semblance of control.
I dropped the act, letting my smile fade into something sharper. “But I’ll make you a deal.”
His glare was cold, those dark eyes narrowing as if trying to pierce through my intentions. “What kind of deal?”
“I’ll behave,” I said, keeping my voice steady and calm. “No more fights. No more problems. But I want Holly.”
His body went rigid, the muscles in his jaw tensing visibly. “Absolutely not.”
I tilted my head slightly, letting a slow smile creep across my lips—an unsettling blend of charm and menace. “Then I guess we’re done here. And I’ll see you at the next disciplinary hearing.”
A heavy silence fell between us, thick enough to choke on. The weight of unspoken truths hung in the air, both of us acutely aware of what this moment meant.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but we both knew it would be futile. If he wanted me to keep my hands clean—if he wanted any chance of this Summer Charity Showdown being anything but a disaster—Holly had to be my problem to manage.
“Sinclaire,” he finally said, his voice dropping to a low whisper that barely masked his frustration.
“Do we have a deal?” I pressed, reveling in the power shift.
Dean Walker inhaled sharply, his resolve wavering under the weight of what I’d just proposed. This was about more than just me; it was about control and perception—the delicate dance that kept this institution running smoothly despite its cracks.
His gaze flickered away for just a second before meeting mine again with reluctant acknowledgment. In that fleeting moment, I saw it: the understanding that there were no good options left for him.
“Fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
I leaned back slightly in triumph, savoring the moment like it was the sweetest victory imaginable—a small win in an ongoing war that had only just begun.
The second I stepped out of Dean Walker's office, a sense of triumph washed over me. I leaned against the cool wall in the hallway, letting the adrenaline pulse through my veins like a drug. I had won. I had taken back control.
Holly belonged to me again. She didn’t even know it yet.
I pulled out my phone, fingers itching to reach out to her. I could picture her now—maybe in her room, tucked away in that nice little house she shared with dear, old Daddy, maybe pacing around like she always did when she was nervous or trying to shake off my presence. Either way, it didn't matter. The game was on, and she would soon realize how tightly woven our fates remained.
My thumb hovered over the screen for a heartbeat before I typed one word:
Surprise.
The weight of that single word felt electric as I hit send. A thrill ran through me at the thought of her reaction—her confusion, her inevitable pull toward me despite her best intentions. She had always been drawn to chaos, just like I was drawn to her.
With each passing second, anticipation bubbled inside me. The power of knowing she would be caught off guard fueled my excitement further. It was all part of the plan, a dance we’d been performing since high school—a twisted waltz between attraction and repulsion that only we understood.
I pocketed my phone and strolled through the hallway with purpose, my confidence radiating from every step. Holly would see things differently now; she wouldn’t be able to ignore me anymore—not after this.
As I rounded the corner near River Styx, I spotted a group of students lingering by the café’s entrance. They glanced at me with that familiar mix of awe and wariness, as if they could sense the storm brewing beneath my calm exterior.
Let them watch. Let them gossip about what I'd done with Logan Hartley; it only added fuel to my fire.
But right now? My focus was solely on Holly—the girl who never fully escaped from under my skin, no matter how hard she tried. And soon enough, she'd realize just how entwined our lives remained.
The next move belonged to me, and I couldn’t wait for her to feel it too.