Page 27

“You want to keep this a secret? You want to forget?” His voice is lower now, laced with something dangerous, something sinister that I hadn’t seen before.

“Newsflash, Dove. You can’t. You can’t keep me a secret, the same way you can’t pretend none of this is happening.

You can’t ever go back to your normal life before all this. ”

The weight of his words hits me with a force I wasn’t prepared for.

I can barely move, the anger from earlier turning to a kind of paralyzing fear, a pit that opens up in my stomach.

I stand frozen, unable to tear my eyes from his.

His gaze is unnerving now, so intense that I feel like I’m being pulled into a dark vortex, and I can’t look away.

He leans in just a little closer, his breath warm on my face, and I shudder. “You can’t keep me a secret, Dove. Not when I can end you so easily.”

My pulse races, each word a punch to the gut. My body goes cold, my throat tight, and for a split second, the world around me feels like it’s closing in.

And then his next words, even more chilling, cut through everything.

“I wonder what your friend is thinking right now. Wouldn’t she like to know the truth?

Wouldn’t she like to know that her roommate is a cold-blooded killer?

” He gestures behind me, to Cassidy, who’s standing motionless, her wide eyes flicking from me to Thatcher, confusion etched on her face.

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. His words twist and coil around me like a noose, and every part of me wants to flee, to get away from this nightmare. He’s not just playing games anymore. He’s threatening me, and the weight of that sinks into my bones.

The darkness in his eyes intensifies, and I can almost feel the pressure in the air, as if it’s suffocating me.

“You wouldn’t want her to find out now, would you?

” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it feels like a thunderclap.

I can hear the venom in his words, the threat thick in every syllable.

“You can have your secrets, baby, but I won’t be one of them, understand? ”

My heart pounds in my chest as his presence becomes a weight I can’t shake. The air is heavy, oppressive, and I want to break free from it, but his gaze holds me in place, a prisoner to his anger, to whatever twisted power he thinks he holds over me.

I feel my eyes well up with unshed tears, the threat of losing everything I hold dear hanging in the balance. I can’t let him see how much this is affecting me. I won’t give him that satisfaction. I fight to steady my breathing, to keep the tears at bay, to stop the tremble in my hands.

His voice drops to a cold, final command. “Then, shut your pretty mouth, get into the fucking car, and let me take you to class.”

I want to resist, to stand my ground, but something about the finality in his voice, the power in his words, paralyzes me. I want to scream, to tell him to leave, to make him go away. But in that moment, all I can do is swallow the lump in my throat and let out shakily, “You’re a monster.”

He smirks, his eyes still swirling with that frightening darkness. His arm lifts and I feel his hand wrap loosely around my throat, his thumb brushing my bottom lip as he whispers, “I never said I was an angel, Dove.”

Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I watch his eyes flick down to my lips momentarily, heat filling his gaze before he drops his hand and sidesteps me, moving towards Cassidy. As he passes me, I hear him. “Get in the car.”

Reluctantly, my feet move, guided by the overwhelming pressure in the air. Each step feels heavier, my body betraying me as I head toward the car and settle in the passenger seat.

I try not to look behind me, although I could hear them talking, the light tones of their conversation reaching me. I try not to let the fear show, especially to Cass as she slides into the back seat a few minutes after, an oblivious smile on her face.

But I can’t hide the way my hands are shaking when Thatcher sits beside me and places his hand on my thigh, a bright smile on his face.

“So, shall we ladies?”

I stare straight ahead, feeling Thatcher’s hand burning into my thigh.

My pulse thuds in my ears, drowning out Cass’s chatter from the back seat.

She’s oblivious, smiling and excited about the ride, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or furious about her not picking up on the tension here.

My whole body’s on edge, ready to snap, but I force myself to stay composed, not letting my hands betray me by gripping the seat.

I bite back the urge to pull away, knowing that any sudden movement will only make things worse.

Just breathe, I tell myself, keeping my gaze fixed out the window. It’s only a ride.

The second the car comes to a stop outside the campus building, I practically throw the door open and step out, breathing in the cool, fresh air like it’s a lifeline.

Without sparing a glance back, I head straight for the entrance, my steps quick and purposeful.

I need distance, a moment without Thatcher’s suffocating presence pressing down on me.

“Rhea!” Cassidy’s voice calls out from somewhere behind me, but I don’t stop. I pretend not to hear her, making a beeline toward the building, the urge to disappear into the crowd of students pushing me forward.

Footsteps sound behind me — heavier, quicker than Cassidy’s. My stomach twists. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him.

“Dove.” His voice, low and unmistakable, sends a shiver down my spine. It’s closer than I expect. I grit my teeth, quickening my pace, but it’s futile. Thatcher catches up easily, his hand reaching out to grasp mine.

“Let go,” I hiss, twisting in an attempt to pull free, but his grip is tight. “What else do you want, Thatcher?” I snap, barely managing to keep my voice steady as I glare up at him. “What else do you want me to do?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on mine with a calm intensity that only infuriates me further. Then, without a word, he laces his fingers through mine and starts walking.

“Thatcher!” I yank against his hold, but it’s like trying to move a boulder. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look at me, his stride unrelenting as he leads us toward the building. “What are you doing?” I hiss, my voice low and urgent, acutely aware of the stares we’re beginning to draw.

“Walking you to class,” he says simply, his tone maddeningly indifferent.

“You can’t just—”

“Relax, Dove,” he cuts me off, glancing down at me with a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s just a little walk. Don’t make it a scene.”

The nerve of him. So calm, so in control.

It’s enough to set my blood boiling. But as much as I want to scream, to make him let me go, the weight of curious gazes pinning me in place keeps me silent.

I can only let him guide me through the entrance, my heart pounding with equal parts anger and embarrassment.

As soon as we step into the corridor, the noise of students chatting and moving between classes surrounds us, but it does nothing to drown out the tension.

His grip on my hand remains firm, unyielding, and every step feels like an act of defiance on his part.

Like a silent claim that makes my skin crawl.

“Thatcher,” I whisper harshly, pulling against his hold again. “Let me go. Now.”

He glances down at me, his expression maddeningly calm, as if my words are little more than background noise. “We’re almost there, Dove,” he replies, his voice low and composed, as if this is fucking normal.

I can feel the weight of curious eyes on us, whispers bubbling up from the crowd as people take notice. My cheeks burn with humiliation, but Thatcher doesn’t seem to care, or maybe he loves this shit.

Before I can pull away, Thatcher pushes open the classroom door with an easy confidence, tugging me along with him. The chatter inside comes to an abrupt halt as heads turn, curious eyes flicking between us. My stomach churns.

The moment I spot Connor near the back of the room, my heart sinks further. He’s seated in my usual spot, his easy smile fading into a look of confusion as his gaze lands on Thatcher and me. His brows furrow, his eyes darting to where Thatcher’s hand is still firmly wrapped around mine.

My stomach twists painfully, the humiliation bubbling up to a breaking point. Connor’s expression shifts, a flicker of concern softening the confusion, and that only makes it worse.

Thatcher, oblivious or simply uncaring, keeps walking, pulling me along as if nothing is wrong. The room feels stifling, the whispers louder now, and I can feel the weight of every pair of eyes on us.

“Thatcher, stop!” I hiss under my breath, tugging against his grip. My voice is tight, strained with desperation, but he doesn’t falter.

He doesn’t let me go until we’re literally standing over Connor, who is only more confused as his gaze shifts between us. The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke on, and I want nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Get the fuck out of her seat.”

Connor blinks, the confusion on his face shifting to a mixture of surprise and irritation.

“Excuse me?” he says, his voice calm but laced with disbelief.

“Her seat,” Thatcher repeats, his tone flat yet commanding as he gestures toward the chair. “Move.”

I feel my cheeks burn hotter, mortification twisting in my chest. “Thatcher, stop it,” I say through gritted teeth, my voice low and urgent.

Connor, to his credit, doesn’t immediately react. He looks at me, his concern cutting through the tension. “Rhea, do you want me to move?”

Before I can respond, Thatcher cuts in, his smirk sharp. “She doesn’t have to say anything. I’m telling to get the fuck up and move.”