Page 36 of The Drama King (The University Players Duet #1)

"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 casual cruelty 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 gathered my things quickly, hoping to escape before Dorian could corner me again.

I almost made it to the door.

"Vespera." His voice stopped me just as I reached the threshold. "A word?"

I turned reluctantly, noting that the studio had emptied except for us. Even Professor De Scarzis had disappeared into her office, leaving us completely alone.

"I have to get to my work-study shift," I said, which was true—I was due at the dining hall in twenty minutes.

"This won't take long." He moved closer, using his height to loom over me in a way that made my instincts scream warnings. "I wanted to make sure you understood what we discussed during scene work."

"I understood perfectly," I replied, backing toward the door. "You think I should accept harassment and intimidation because of my designation. I disagree."

"It's not about what I think," he said, following my retreat until my back hit the closed door. "It's about biological reality. You can fight it all you want, but your body knows what it needs. What it craves."

He was close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating from his larger frame, could smell the sandalwood scent that made my traitorous biology respond with unwelcome awareness.

My heart hammered against my ribs as he placed one hand against the door beside my head, effectively caging me in place.

"Let me go," I said, proud that my voice didn't shake despite the terror clawing at my throat.

"In a moment." His free hand rose to my face, fingertips barely grazing the line of my jaw. "I can smell it on you, you know. The lingering traces of what you went through. How desperate you were. How empty you felt."

Shame and fury warred in my chest at his casual violation of my privacy, at his knowledge of my most vulnerable moments. "Stop."

"The thing is," he continued as if I hadn't spoken, "you don't have to go through that alone. You don't have to suffer through something that could be so much more satisfying with the right partner."

The implication made my stomach lurch. "You're insane if you think—"

"Am I?" His thumb traced across my lower lip, the touch light but possessive. "Your body disagrees. I can scent your response right now, despite how much your mind wants to resist."

He was right, and we both knew it. My Omega physiology was responding to his proximity, his dominance, his biological suitability as a mate despite my conscious revulsion. The betrayal of my own body made me want to scream with frustration.

"Biology isn't consent," I managed, turning my face away from his touch.

"No," he agreed, his hand dropping to rest against my throat—not squeezing, but a clear reminder of his physical power over me. "But it's a beginning. And eventually, when you stop fighting what you need, you'll realize I'm offering you exactly what you crave."

"Never," I whispered, the word barely audible but carrying absolute conviction.

His smile was sharp, predatory. "We'll see."

He stepped back abruptly, the sudden absence of his overwhelming presence leaving me gasping against the door like a fish thrown back into water. My legs felt weak, my whole body trembling with residual fear and unwelcome arousal.

"Enjoy your work shift," he said conversationally, as if the past few minutes hadn't happened. "Try not to drop any dishes. Your hands seem to be shaking."

With that casual cruelty, he gathered his things and walked out, leaving me alone in the empty studio with the echo of his threats and the humiliating evidence of my body's treacherous response to his dominance.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees as I tried to process what had just happened. The confrontation had crossed every line I'd tried to maintain, shattered every boundary I'd attempted to establish.

But beneath the fear and humiliation, something else was crystallizing—a cold, clear understanding of exactly how dangerous my situation had become. This wasn't campus bullying anymore. This wasn't even designation hierarchy enforcement.

This was hunting. And I was the prey.

My phone buzzed with a text from Stephanie: How was class? Coffee after your shift?

I stared at the message, wanting desperately to reach out, to share what had happened, to ask for help. But what could she really do? What could anyone do against someone with Dorian's connections, his resources, his complete certainty that he could take whatever he wanted?

Can't tonight. Too much studying, I typed back, adding another lie to the growing collection.

You sure? You seem stressed lately.

Just finals pressure. I'm fine.

Another lie. I wasn't fine. I was trapped, isolated, and being systematically stalked by someone who seemed to believe my biology gave him ownership rights over my body and my choices.

But as I finally stood up and gathered my things for my work shift, that cold determination solidified into something harder, sharper. Dorian thought he'd demonstrated his power over me, that he'd proven I was helpless against his pursuit.

He was wrong.

I might be biologically programmed to respond to Alpha dominance. I might be trapped in a system designed to favor predators over prey. But I still had a mind, still had will, still had the capacity to document everything and find a way to fight back.

And I was going to use every weapon at my disposal to make sure he learned that even cornered prey could bite back hard enough to draw blood.