Page 17 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

thirteen

Oakley

It was my turn to play with our little shrew.

I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes until Professor Williamson's intimacy workshop. My shoulders tensed at the thought.

“You’re early,” Dorian said as he rounded the corner, his presence immediately commanding the space. "All set for today?"

"Ready," I replied, but my attention had already shifted.

Vespera had arrived.

Even from across the hallway, I caught the subtle notes of jasmine beneath her suppressants.

She looked exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her usual defiant stance forced, as if running on determination alone.

Her blonde hair caught the October light streaming through tall windows, and something in my chest tightened unexpectedly.

"Remember why we're doing this," Dorian murmured, tracking her movement. "Better a harsh lesson now than a lifetime of delusion.” He chuckled, bumping my shoulder. “Have fun, I’ll see you at the pack house.”

Inside the studio, I deliberately positioned myself across from Vespera. The harsh fluorescent lights revealed the strain she was under, yet when Williamson began discussing consent practices, Vespera's focus sharpened, taking meticulous notes.

"Places, everyone," Professor Williamson called, bustling through the double doors.

"Today's workshop focuses on stage intimacy—navigating emotional vulnerability and physical proximity with authenticity.

" He paused. “Oakley Sinclair and Vespera Levine.

You'll be working with the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. "

Vespera's scent spiked with fear, sharp and acrid, before she managed to control it. Her pulse visibly quickened at her throat.

I approached slowly, and she tracked my movement with the vigilance of prey. I'd been deliberately cruel all week, overcompensating for doubts I couldn't voice. She'd learned to fear me.

"Hey," I said, letting an edge creep into my voice. "Ready for this?"

"It's just Romeo and Juliet," she said quickly. Too quickly.

"Not like this." I stepped closer, close enough that my cedar scent would wrap around her. "Williamson wants us to explore the physical relationship. The tension underneath the poetry."

Color flooded her cheeks. Her scent shifted—fear mixing with a delicate sweetness that made my body respond immediately. Even terrified, her biology was reacting to sustained Alpha attention.

"You look tired," I observed, cataloging every detail. The way her breath caught. The subtle tremor in her hands. "Late nights?"

"I'm fine."

We moved to the raised platform designated for the balcony. The space was intimate, forcing us close. When I climbed up beside her, the air between us changed, thickened.

"The blocking requires proximity," I said, my voice dropping. "Romeo is desperate. He'd risk everything just to be near her."

"And Juliet knows it's dangerous," she added, her voice gaining strength in familiar territory. "But she's drawn to him anyway."

The parallel to our situation hung between us, unspoken but undeniable.

"Let's start with the text," she suggested, holding up her script like a weapon.

But when we began the scene, something shifted. Her talent was undeniable. She brought layers to Juliet that most students missed. The intelligence beneath innocence. Steel beneath softness.

"Romeo takes her hands here," I said, capturing her fingers. My grip was firm, possessive, but her skin was soft, warm. Her pulse fluttered against my palm like a trapped bird.

"'O, then, dear saint,'" I began, the words familiar but suddenly charged, "'let lips do what hands do.'"

She responded as Juliet, but her voice trembled slightly. "'Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.'"

"'Then move not,'" I said, stepping closer, "'while my prayer's effect I take.'"

The script called for a kiss. We both knew it. The air between us crackled with anticipation and dread.

"We should... discuss the blocking," she said quickly.

"Right." But I didn't step back. Couldn't. "The kiss is essential to the scene."

"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"We don't have to—not today. We can work up to it."

She looked at me then, really looked at me, confusion clear in her eyes. "Why are you being... decent?"

The question hung between us. I could feel Dorian watching from across the room, feel the weight of pack expectations. But stronger than that was the pull toward her, magnetic and undeniable.

"Let's just work," I said roughly, but my hand was still holding hers, and neither of us pulled away.

We ran the lines again, and this time when we reached the kiss, I cupped her face instead. My palm against her cheek, thumb brushing her jaw. She inhaled sharply, and her scent bloomed and made my head spin.

"Juliet leans in," I directed, my voice rough. "Even knowing it means destruction."

She followed the blocking, tilting her face toward mine. Our breaths mingled. Her lips parted slightly, and I could see her pulse hammering at her throat.

"Like this?" she whispered.

"Perfect." The word came out more reverent than I'd intended.

My thumb traced her cheekbone, and she shivered. Not from fear this time—I could smell the difference. Her arousal was threading through the air between us, sweet and intoxicating.

"The audience needs to believe Romeo would die for this moment," I said, my other hand coming to rest at her waist, feeling the heat of her through the thin fabric of her uniform.

"Would he?" she challenged me.

"Without question."

We were so close now. Close enough that when she exhaled shakily, I felt it against my lips. Her hands had somehow ended up pressed against my chest, not pushing away but resting there, feeling my heartbeat.

"This is just acting," she said, but it sounded like a question. The honesty of that question shocked us both. Her eyes widened, and I saw myself reflected there—not the cruel Alpha I'd been playing, but something raw and hungry and real.

"Excellent work, you two!" Professor Williamson's voice shattered the moment. "That's exactly the kind of chemistry the scene requires. Take five, then we'll work on the actual kiss."

Vespera stepped back quickly, her cheeks flushed, her scent a confused tangle of arousal and alarm. She fled to the water fountain, and I stood there, trying to understand what had just happened.

When we resumed, the tension was unbearable. Every accidental touch sent sparks through me. When she spoke Juliet's lines about being too quickly won, her voice carried real uncertainty. When I promised Romeo's devotion, the words felt like vows.

"The kiss," Williamson reminded us. "It should feel inevitable. Like gravity."

Vespera's breath hitched. "Okay."

I moved closer, one hand at her waist, the other cupping her face. She was trembling slightly, but she didn't pull away. Her hands came to rest on my shoulders.

"'Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged,'" I quoted, leaning in.

"'Then have my lips the sin that they have took,'" she whispered back.

We were a breath apart. I could taste her exhale, sweet and nervous. Her fingers tightened on my shoulders.

"We don't have to," I said quietly, for her ears only. "Not if you're not comfortable."

She searched my face, looking for the trick, the trap. "This week you've been..."

"I know." My thumb stroked her cheek without conscious thought. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" The question was barely audible.

"Because you don't deserve it. Any of it."

Her eyes filled with tears she quickly blinked away. "Don't. Don't be kind to me if you're just going to be cruel again tomorrow."

The truth of that shot me through the heart. She was right. I couldn't be both. I had to choose.

"I won't be," I promised, not sure which I was promising but meaning it completely. "Not to you. Not anymore."

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slightly. Permission.

When I kissed her, it was soft, careful—nothing like the dominating claim I'd been instructed to make.

Her lips were warm and pliant, and she made a small sound that went straight through me.

My hand tightened at her waist, pulling her closer, and she melted into me, her fingers curling into my shirt.

For a moment, we both forgot where we were. Forgot the watching eyes, the assignment, the impossibility of this. There was just the taste of her, the feel of her, the rightness of it that defied everything I'd been taught about hierarchy and designation.

When we parted, we were both breathing hard. Her lips were slightly swollen, her pupils dilated. She looked as stunned as I felt.

"That wasn't acting," she said, almost accusingly.

"No," I admitted. "It wasn't."

She pressed her fingers to her lips, looking genuinely shaken. "You taste like cedar and whiskey."

"You taste like honey." The words came out rougher than intended.

A laugh escaped her—nervous, disbelieving. "This is so fucked up."

"I know."

The rest of the workshop passed in a blur. We managed to maintain professionalism, but the air between us had fundamentally changed. Every glance carried weight. Every prescribed touch lingered a moment too long.

When class ended, she packed quickly, but I caught her wrist gently before she could flee.

"Vespera."

She looked up at me, wary despite what we'd just shared. "What?"

"I meant it. What I said. No more cruelty."

She pulled free, stepping back. "You've said things before. Made promises with your eyes while your pack destroyed me an hour later."

"This is different—"

"No." Her voice was steady but her hands shook as she clutched her bag. "Because from where I'm standing, you're still one of them. You'll go back to that house tonight, laugh about how easy it was to make the pathetic Omega melt for you."

The accusation stung because I understood it. I earned it.

"That's not—"

"Save it." She cut me off, jaw tight. "I know what this was. Williamson wanted authentic chemistry and we delivered. But don't insult me by pretending it meant something to you."

She turned to leave, then paused, not looking back. "For what it's worth? You're a better actor than I gave you credit for. You almost had me believing you actually cared."

Then she was gone, leaving me standing there with the taste of her still on my lips and the certainty that I'd have to do more than make promises to earn her trust.

Actions, not words. That's what she'd need to believe me.

When I finally made it back to the pack house, Dorian was waiting, sprawled in his leather chair with deceptive casualness.

"Well?" He didn't look up from his phone. "How did our Juliet perform?"

I poured myself a drink, buying time. "She's more resilient than expected."

"That's not what I asked." Now he did look up, ice-blue eyes sharp. "I asked how she performed. Specifically, how she responded to you."

"She's attracted," I said truthfully. "Her body can't hide it, even with suppressants."

"Good." He set his phone aside, giving me his full attention. "So we proceed with the next phase. Build the trust, make her dependent on you as her 'protector' from us."

I nodded, the movement feeling mechanical. "About that—"

"Don't overthink it, Oak." He stood, clapping my shoulder with the casual affection of a decade's friendship. "I know it feels cruel, but remember what my father always says—sometimes you have to break something to rebuild it properly."

His father. The family that had sheltered me when mine imploded.

"Besides," Dorian continued, misreading my silence, "she's stronger than she looks. She might even enjoy it once she accepts her place. Some of them do."

The casual dismissal of her autonomy should have infuriated me. Instead, I just felt tired. Torn between the girl whose kiss still burned on my lips and the brother who'd saved me when I had nowhere else to go.

"Get some rest," Dorian said, heading for the stairs. "Tomorrow we escalate. I want her isolated from everyone but you by the end of the week."

After he left, I stood alone in the common room, staring at nothing. The taste of Vespera still lingered—honey and jasmine and possibility. But stronger than that was the weight of everything I owed Dorian. Everything I'd lose if I betrayed him.

Her parting words echoed: You almost had me believing you actually cared.

Almost. Because she was too smart to trust an Alpha who'd spent weeks tormenting her, no matter how real that kiss had felt. She thought it was just another game, another manipulation.

And why wouldn't she? I'd given her every reason to believe the worst of me.

The real question wasn't what I was willing to sacrifice. It was how to protect her without destroying the only brotherhood I'd ever known. How to be decent without being disloyal. How to prove myself through actions when every move I made would be scrutinized by both sides.

Standing there in the house Dorian's family had opened to me, I realized I was trapped between two versions of myself—the Alpha who owed everything to his pack, and the man who couldn't forget how right she'd felt in his arms.

Tomorrow, I'd have to choose which one to be.

But tonight, I just stood there, caught between loyalty and longing, knowing that whatever I chose, someone would get hurt.