Page 3 of The Villain's Beast

Quickly, I shoved my bookmark toward the spine and snapped my well-worn copy ofHamletshut.

“I apologize. I didn’t hear you.”

“I imagine you didn’t.” His mouth quirked up at the corner, and we both knew even if he wanted to punish me for reading, it would have made him a hypocrite to do so. “I was assigning partners for the final project and it seems the only person you’ve not worked with this year is Mr. Sinclair.”

I threw a sidelong glance across the room at Fletcher, not knowing whether to be proud or worried his almost yearlong avoidance campaign was about to come to an end. In the fall, I’d foolishly thought the two of us could maybe break whatever stupid competition our fathers had been waging against each other, but his easy dismissal of me had proven otherwise.

We had a couple of classes together since we were both first year students, English being one of them and Biology another. In both, he’d come into class after me, eyes scanning over the available seats, calculating angles and distances, then choosing the one farthest away from me. At first, it had bothered me, but as the year wore on, I found his dedication to ignoring me to be admirable.

I’d never wanted anything as badly as Fletcher wanted me to go away.

“That’s correct,” I said.

At my confirmation, Fletcher frowned at the chalkboard, jaw tense as he stared straight ahead.

“The two of you are the last pair then. Since you weren’t listening, make sure he catches you up on the assignment.” Mr. Smith snapped his folio closed just as the bell rang.

Fletcher was up and out of his seat before I even had time to think about how to best approach him. I knew he wasn’t going to make it easy, but I also wasn’t going to fail this class on account of him. There weren’t many things my parents expected of me, but not failing out of Rose Hill was one of them. The course of my life had been very clearly telegraphed for as long as I could remember.

Get good grades.

Do all the extracurriculars my mother wanted.

Graduate from Rose Hill Prep and funnel myself right into Rose Hill University.

Ensure the longevity of the North name.

I figured the North name carved into stone over the doors to the library meant it would live on long enough, but that wasn’t what my parents had meant and we all knew it. I came from a complicated family with a complicated life, and my father had spent years padding the pockets of senators and congressmen and CEOs to ensure he had enough money to continue the habit.

I’d never understood the incessant need my father had for control over everything and everyone around him, but my understanding had always come secondary. As long as I did what I was told, there was peace. I was left alone to read my books and swim and play piano. If I stepped out of line…all of those things went away. The first time I failed a class had also been the last time, the grade resulting in my piano being thrown into the pool.

My father hurtthingsto hurt people and I never understood why. There had to be a better way to get what you wanted in life.

Wasn’t it better to be respected than feared?

He didn’t think so, and the North name ensured I’d never be able to find out.

“It’s a book report.”

Fletcher’s voice from above drew my attention away from the memory of losing my piano. I looked up at him, breath catching in my throat the way it did every time I saw him. Fletcher was tall and broader than any fifteen year-old had a right to be. He had shiny black hair and piercingly cruel blue eyes, a mouth that always frowned, a jaw that always ticked.

“What is?” I asked.

“The assignment.” His frown deepened.

“Oh, right.”

“Have you read the book?” he asked.

“Probably.”

“You don’t…” Fletcher trailed off, groaning under his breath, the hot puff of his frustrated exhale blowing across the top of my head.

“I’ve read it,” I told him.

It had been so much easier to approach him at the beginning of the school year, back when I thought the two of us might have had a chance at being anyone besides who we were. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in changing the status quo, so I’d let him be. It was better for both of us that way.

“What’s your phone number?” he asked, the words sounding so foreign coming out of his mouth my brain struggled to make sense of the simple request.