Page 11 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

seven

Oakley

The private gym in the east wing of the Ashworth estate was state-of-the-art, like everything else the family owned.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the manicured grounds, though the glass was tinted to prevent anyone from looking in.

Not that privacy was a concern on an estate this size—the nearest neighbors were acres away, and staff knew better than to disturb Dorian during his workouts.

I spotted him across the room, his form perfect as always while he bench pressed. Sweat glistened on his forearms, the veins prominent as he controlled the weight with practiced precision. I'd been watching him for longer than I should have, pretending to focus on my own workout.

"You're staring again," he said without breaking rhythm, not even glancing in my direction.

"Just making sure your form doesn't slip," I replied, moving closer to spot him. The scent of his exertion—sandalwood intensified by physical effort—hit me harder than it should have. Eleven years of friendship, and I still hadn't built up immunity to his presence.

"My form never slips." He completed his set and sat up, wiping his face with a towel. His eyes finally met mine, that familiar intensity making my pulse jump. "You're the one who needs to watch your positioning. Your shoulders drop when you're tired."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't stop the slight smile. "Not all of us have had personal trainers since age twelve."

"Excuses." He stood, close enough that I had to resist stepping back. Dorian never respected personal space—part power play, part something else neither of us acknowledged outside certain moments. "We're meeting Corvus in an hour. Library."

"I know. He's giving his report on the scholarship girl."

Something flashed across Dorian's face. "You sound almost interested."

"Just curious what makes her different from the others." I reached past him for my water bottle, our arms brushing.

"We'll find out soon enough," he said, voice dropping slightly. "Shower first?"

The question was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes held mine, challenging and inviting at once. This was our dance—had been since prep school—him leading, me following, neither of us putting words to what happened between us.

"Sure," I said, aiming for nonchalance. "Save water and all that."

His laugh was low as he turned toward the adjoining bathroom. "Ever the environmentalist?"

The Ashworths' gym bathroom was luxurious—multiple shower heads, steam settings, imported marble.

Dorian was already stripping off his workout clothes when I followed him in, his movements confident and unhurried.

He never showed self- consciousness about his body—why would he?

Years of carefully regimented training had sculpted him into something worthy of classical sculpture.

I kept my eyes averted as I undressed, a habit from years of locker rooms and shared spaces that persisted despite our history. The rush of water filled the silence as Dorian stepped into the massive shower stall.

"Coming?" He glanced over his shoulder, water already running down his back.

I stepped in, keeping what little distance the space allowed. The water was perfect and for a moment we simply stood under the spray, washing away the sweat of our workout.

"Turn around," he said suddenly, reaching for the shampoo. "Your hair's a disaster."

"I can wash my own hair," I protested, but turned anyway.

His fingers were firm against my scalp, the gesture somehow both possessive and caring. We'd done this countless times, this strange intimacy that existed alongside everything else. Friendship, pack dynamics, occasional sex—all blurring into something neither of us had names for.

"Corvus thinks this scholarship girl is special," he said, his voice casual while his hands remained in my hair. "I'm curious what has impressed him."

I closed my eyes, letting the water run down my face. "You never take interest in scholarship students unless you plan to destroy them."

"Maybe I'm evolving," he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

I turned to face him, closer now, the steam wrapping around us. "Are you?"

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating slightly. "Don't mistake curiosity for mercy, Oak."

The nickname, the one only he used, sent a familiar warmth through me. His hand moved to my shoulder, then traced down my arm, leaving goosebumps despite the heat.

"Never," I whispered, though part of me always hoped there was more to Dorian than the ruthless Alpha he presented to the world. I'd seen glimpses of it over the years, some moments of genuine care, of vulnerability. They were rare and always quickly masked.

His lips brushed mine, barely a kiss, more a reminder of what could happen later if I played my role correctly. "Good. Corvus will be waiting. Don't be late."

He stepped out of the shower, leaving me alone under the spray, my body humming with unresolved tension. Typical Dorian. He was always ensuring I was off-balance, always in control.

By the time I finished and dressed, he was already gone, likely heading to the library ahead of me.

I took my time, needing the distance to clear my head.

To remember that no matter what happened between us in private moments, in public we had roles to play—him the ruthless Alpha leader, me his loyal lieutenant, both of us dedicated to maintaining the social hierarchy that kept us on top.

Even if sometimes, in quiet moments like these, I wondered what it would be like if we were just Dorian and Oakley, without the games, without the cruelty to others.

Just us,

An hour later, I scrolled through Instagram, half-listening to Corvus and Dorian discuss the scholarship Omega. The Ashworth library always felt too stuffy—all leather and old wood and expectations—but it beat studying in my own room. Plus, Dorian expected me here, which meant I had to be here.

"So? How'd it go with our scholarship Omega?" Dorian's voice cut through my thoughts. He didn't look up from his casting notes, but I could hear the interest. My skin still tingled from our shower, but here in the library, it was as if nothing had happened between us—exactly as he preferred it.

"She's not what I expected," Corvus replied, his voice measured as always. "More resilient. Smarter."

I set my phone down, suddenly more engaged.

"Meaning she didn't break down crying?" I couldn't help the smirk that formed.

Most scholarship students crumbled after a week of Corvus's psychological warfare.

I caught Dorian's glance—a brief moment of shared amusement that reminded me of the shower, of his fingers in my hair, his lips barely touching mine.

I pushed the thought away, focusing on the conversation.

"She pushes back," Corvus explained with that clinical tone he always used when reporting. "Most scholarship students either collapse or lash out when pressured. She does neither. She... adapts."

That was unexpected. I'd seen our little games play out dozens of times before. The pattern was always the same: intimidate, isolate, eliminate. But adaptation? That was new.

Dorian's eyes narrowed, his full attention on Corvus now. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"Not necessarily." Corvus showed him his notes, always the meticulous observer. "We just need a different approach. Standard intimidation isn't working as well as it should."

"Like what?" I asked, leaning forward. I wasn't usually the strategist of our little trio, but this was getting interesting.

"Build her up, then tear her down," Corvus explained. "She responds to intellectual validation. We can use that."

"Praise her, then crush her," I said, grinning despite the small twinge of guilt I felt. "Classic." I'd seen Dorian use this approach before, though usually on faculty members who questioned his family's influence, not students. It was effective but brutal.

"Something like that," Corvus said, "though with more subtlety. Dorian, you're in the perfect position for this with your scene partnership."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Why me specifically?"

"Because she'll value your approval more," Corvus said. "You're the acknowledged talent. If you praise her work and then withdraw that praise, the impact will be devastating."

"Makes sense," I agreed, stretching my legs out on the couch, trying to look more casual than I felt. The leather was cool against my calves. "Hit her where it hurts."

I watched Dorian consider this, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the arm of his chair—always a sign he was plotting something particularly nasty. I'd seen that same gesture right before he orchestrated Professor Henley's very public breakdown last semester.

"What's your take on her actual abilities?" Dorian asked Corvus. "Academically, I mean."

Corvus hesitated, which caught my attention immediately. Corvus never hesitated.

"She's smart," he finally admitted. "Her analysis of Elizabeth Proctor was... impressive. She understands character motivation on a sophisticated level."

Dorian's gaze sharpened. "You sound almost impressed, Corvus."

I glanced between them, sensing a shift in dynamics. Corvus impressed by a scholarship student? That was a first.

"I'm simply assessing her accurately," Corvus said, straightening in his chair defensively. "Underestimating her would be a mistake."

"Of course," Dorian replied, though his tone suggested he wasn't buying it. "What about her vulnerabilities? What can we use?"

"Academic validation is the primary one," Corvus said, reading from his notes. "She's terrified of not belonging intellectually. Secondary is her concern for her friends, especially the male Omega."

"Cut the clinical bullshit," I interrupted, suddenly impatient with all the analysis. Sometimes Corvus got too caught up in his psychological assessments. "Bottom line it. Can we break her or not?"

I noticed Corvus pause again—another red flag. This scholarship girl had really gotten under his skin.

"Yes," he finally said. "But it will take more work than usual. And more time."

"Time we have," Dorian said, turning back to his casting notes. "The fall showcase is perfect. Especially with the scene I've arranged."

"The Taming of the Shrew," Corvus noted. "Fitting."

"More than you know," Dorian replied with that dark smile that always made me uneasy. "I have special plans for our little showcase."

I shifted on the couch, a familiar discomfort settling in my chest. Three years of this—of watching Dorian systematically destroy anyone he deemed beneath him—and I still hadn't grown completely comfortable with it.

But questioning him was never an option.

Not when he'd been there for me after my own family had turned their backs.

"She's still likely to break," Corvus continued, focusing on his notes. "But we might need to adjust our expectations about how and when."

"Meaning?" Dorian asked.

"We can definitely destroy her academically and socially. But psychologically..." Corvus trailed off, searching for words. "She's tougher than I expected."

Dorian's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

"She has more emotional resources than our typical targets," Corvus said carefully. "Breaking her completely might not be worth the effort."

"So she's got a backbone," I said with a shrug, playing my expected role despite my growing curiosity. "Big deal. We push harder." The words came automatically, the script we always followed.

"Or we could try something different," Corvus suggested, surprising both Dorian and me. "Instead of destroying her, what if we redirected her? Used her abilities to our advantage?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You want to recruit her? That's new."

"I'm just considering all options," Corvus said defensively.

I laughed, though it felt hollow. "A scholarship Omega in our circle? That's a first." The idea wasn't as ridiculous as I made it sound. If she was truly exceptional, why not? But questioning our usual approach wasn't my place.

"I'm only analyzing the situation objectively," Corvus insisted, his tone heated.

Dorian watched him for several uncomfortable seconds, then turned back to his notes. "Keep going with what we've been doing for now. Get more information about her weak points. I'll see what I can learn during our first rehearsal."

"Understood," Corvus said, returning to his notebook.

"One more thing," Dorian added with false casualness. "What did you think of her as an actress? Is she any good?"

Another unexpected question. I watched Corvus carefully, wondering just what had happened during that scene study.

"She's talented," Corvus admitted after a moment. "Natural instincts, good technique. With the right training, she could be exceptional."

"As I suspected." Dorian made a note in his file, smiling slightly. "Her raw ability is undeniable."

The conversation shifted to showcase logistics, but my thoughts stayed on this scholarship Omega who had somehow managed to impress Corvus. Part of me wanted to see her for myself, to understand what made her different.

But another part—the part that still remembered what happened to the last scholarship student who'd caught Dorian's attention—hoped she'd transfer before the showcase. For her sake.

I picked up my phone again, scrolling aimlessly while questions circled in my mind. Was Corvus right? Could she be an asset rather than a target? And if so, what did that mean for our carefully constructed hierarchy?

I glanced at Dorian, studying his profile as he leaned over his notes. The sharp line of his jaw, the intensity of his focus—the same qualities that had drawn me to him since we were kids running wild on neighboring estates. The same qualities that made him dangerous to anyone who challenged him.

His eyes suddenly flicked up, catching me watching him. That knowing smirk appeared, the one that always made heat rush through me despite myself.

"Something on your mind, Oak?" he asked, voice low.

"Just thinking about the showcase," I lied, breaking eye contact.

"Mmm." He didn't believe me. He never did. "I'm calling it a night. That workout earlier did me in."

The invitation wasn't spoken, but hung in the air between us all the same. That was how it always worked—Dorian suggesting, never asking directly, and me following his lead like I had since we were eighteen and I'd had nowhere else to go.

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat too," I said, stretching for effect. "Those new free weights are no joke."

Corvus didn't look up from his notes, well accustomed to our unspoken arrangements. He'd been witness to this dance for years, always choosing to ignore the subtext of our exchanges.

As we gathered our things, I couldn't help wondering if this scholarship girl knew what she was up against—not just Dorian's calculated cruelty, but the complicated loyalty that kept people like me by his side despite everything.

More importantly, why did I suddenly care?