Page 68 of The Drama King
"Fine." I straightened my shoulders, trying to project confidence I didn't feel. "I'll share something true."
"I'm listening." He leaned forward slightly, his attention focused on me with laser-like intensity.
I searched for something safe to share, some genuine but harmless truth that would satisfy the assignment without giving him ammunition to use against me later. But under his predatory gaze, my mind went blank.
"I was afraid," I finally said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "Recently. So afraid I couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't think clearly. Afraid of being discovered, of being vulnerable, of what might happen if the wrong person found me when I couldn't protect myself."
The truth hit the air between us like a physical force. Dorian's pupils dilated, and something shifted in his expression—a flash of what looked almost like satisfaction mixed with something darker, hungrier.
"Truth," he said, his voice rough with an emotion I couldn't identify. "Definitely truth. I can smell it on you."
The comment sent heat rushing to my cheeks. Of course he could smell it—Alphas were designed to scent emotional states, to know when Omegas were lying or afraid or other things I didn't want to think about.
"Your turn," I said quickly, desperate to shift focus away from my own vulnerability.
He was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those unsettling pale eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a confessional quality that made my skin prickle with unease.
"I've been thinking about you," he said. "More than I should. More than is rational. There's something about you that I can't dismiss or ignore, no matter how much I tell myself you're just another scholarship student who needs to learn her place."
The admission hung in the air between us, charged with implications I didn't want to examine. This wasn't the casualcruelty he usually displayed—this was something more personal, more dangerous.
"Truth," I managed, though my voice came out as barely a whisper. "But why are you telling me this?"
"Because I want you to understand something." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "This—whatever game you think you're playing with your defiance and your little acts of rebellion—it ends now."
"I'm not playing any games," I said, forcing strength into my voice despite the fear clawing at my chest. "I'm just trying to get through school."
"Are you?" His smile was sharp, predatory. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're deliberately provoking responses you're not prepared to handle. Like a child playing with fire who hasn't yet learned it burns."
"I haven't done anything to provoke—"
"You fought back," he interrupted, his fingers unconsciously tracing the faded marks on his cheek where my nails had scratched him weeks ago. "You drew blood. You looked at me like I was nothing more than a bully to be dismissed. No one does that, Vespera. No one."
The quiet fury in his voice made my breath catch. This wasn't about designation hierarchy or campus social dynamics anymore. This had become something deeply personal for him, and that realization terrified me more than any of his previous threats.
"So what happens now?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.
"Now, you're going to stop fighting." His pale eyes held mine with hypnotic intensity. "You're going to accept that some battles can't be won through willpower and stubbornness. And you're going to learn what happens to Omegas who forget their place in the natural order."
"And if I refuse?"
His smile widened, showing teeth. "You won't refuse. Because deep down, underneath all that theatrical rebellion, you know exactly what you are. What you need. What you were made for."
The biological certainty in his voice sent unwelcome heat spiraling through my body, my Omega physiology responding to his Alpha dominance despite my conscious revulsion. The reaction was humiliating, a betrayal by my own biology that he would undoubtedly scent and recognize.
"Time," Professor De Scarzis called out, her voice cutting through the charged atmosphere between us. "Let's share our observations with the class."
I stood on shaking legs, desperate to escape the intensity of Dorian's attention. But as we rejoined the larger group, I could feel his gaze tracking my every movement, could smell the satisfaction rolling off him in waves.
He thought he'd won something with that conversation. Established some kind of psychological dominance that would make me easier to control. But as I sat through the rest of class, listening to other students share their scene work, a cold determination settled in my chest alongside the fear.
He was right about one thing—this was no longer a game. But he was wrong about the outcome. I might be biologically programmed to respond to Alpha dominance, might be trapped in a system designed to favor students like him over students like me. But I still had choices. I still had agency.
And I was going to use both to make sure he regretted ever targeting me.
The class ended with De Scarzis assigning final showcase preparations—individual pieces that would determine our semester grades. As students began filing out, chattering about holiday break plans and spring semester schedules, I gatheredmy things quickly, hoping to escape before Dorian could corner me again.
I almost made it to the door.