The sorority house throbbed with the beat of heavy bass, each pulse traveling through the floor and up through Ginny's heels.
The rooms were packed, a blur of tangled bodies, stolen kisses, and careless touches. Everywhere she looked, people were pressed close, their hands finding each other with easy intimacy that seemed to echo through every college party she'd ever been to.
So when the guy—still nameless, and truthfully, Ginny didn't care to change that—kept his arm loose around her waist and pulled her toward a quieter hallway, she didn't resist. It was normal, expected even.
They slipped through the crowd, his hand finding hers as he led her past couples entwined against the walls, his fingers tracing up her arm with a steady pressure.
She glanced at him, catching the heavy-lidded look in his eyes. It was almost familiar—the kind of look that told her exactly what he was after.
They reached a dim corner where the music dulled, just enough to hear each other's breath. He dropped into a chair, flashing her a grin, and with a quick tug, pulled her down onto his lap. His hands settled on her waist, gripping her closer as his mouth found hers in an insistent, hurried kiss.
Ginny tried to relax into it, to match his rhythm.
But his kiss was too hard, his lips pressing hers with a roughness that felt more like possession than anything else. His mouth was hot, his breath rushed, his tongue insistent in a way that made her skin prickle with discomfort.
She shifted, hoping he'd get the hint, but his hands only moved lower, his fingers slipping under the edge of her dress, pressing too firmly against her thigh. She swallowed down her unease, telling herself to brush it off, to wait a few minutes and then make an excuse to leave.
But then his mouth slid to her neck, pressing harder, teeth grazing her skin as his grip tightened. He started to suck at a spot below her jaw, his fingers pressing deeper, as though he wanted to leave his mark.
Ginny froze, a surge of irritation breaking through.
"Hey," she said, twisting in his lap, nudging him back. "Stop. I don't want that."
He pulled back, blinking at her, as if she'd just told him something completely outrageous. His mouth twisted into a lazy smirk.
"What? Relax, it's just a hickey," he muttered, like she was the one overreacting. "Just go with it."
"No," Ginny's voice grew firmer. "I said, stop."
A flicker of annoyance passed over his face, and he looked her over, his smirk darkening into something sharper, colder.
"Seriously? Come on, Imogen," he said, his voice dropping as his gaze narrowed. "I thought you'd be used to this by now. You're practically their little toy, aren't you? Bet you've done way worse with the Thorne twins, heard those twins share a fair lot."
Ginny felt his words slice through her, each one sharp and stinging. Anger surged in her chest, quick and hot, until it clawed up her throat, leaving her hands shaking.
Without thinking, she raised her hand and slapped him.
Hard.
His head jerked to the side, his hand dropping away from her thigh as he stared back at her, stunned. Ginny scrambled off his lap, wiping her mouth, every inch of her skin crawling with disgust.
"You're an asshole," she spat, the words slipping out before she could even think. "Pathetic, arrogant, and you don't even know how to kiss."
His face twisted into a sneer, his pride stung.
"Oh, please. Don't be such a prude," he shot back, leaning forward, his voice dripping with contempt. "Dressed like that, you're practically asking for it. Besides, everyone knows you're a whore—"
Ginny's fists clenched, but she held herself back. Her voice came out steady, cold.
"I'd rather be a prude than waste another second with someone who thinks this is how you treat people-!"
But even as she tried to walk away, she noticed the flashing lights from phones, heard the faint laughs and murmurs from people hovering nearby. Faces stared back at her, eyes flicking with cruel amusement as they watched the scene unfold, like she was some spectacle meant to entertain them.
The flashes grew faster, whispers merging into a wall of mocking sounds that wrapped around her like a cage. Panic rose in her throat, and she tried to push through the circle of onlookers, to block out the taunts and laughter, but the noise only grew louder.
Her vision blurred, her breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. Tomorrow, everyone would see. The videos would spread, and she'd be the new scandal, the latest punchline. Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin hot with humiliation.
And then, just as the voices and flashes closed in, she felt a warm weight settle over her shoulders—a dark jacket, blocking her from the prying eyes.
"Just keep moving," a voice murmured near her ear, calm and steady. "Ignore them. Head down."
She didn't look up, couldn't even speak. She let him guide her, focusing on the warmth of the jacket, on his hand gently pressing her forward, his scent—a faint mix of cedar and something comforting—filling her senses as they moved out of the crowd.
They slipped outside into the cool night air, away from the heat and noise, until she could breathe again. Ginny lifted the jacket, glancing out from under it, the last remnants of panic loosening in her chest.
Finally, she looked up at her rescuer.
He was tall, with dark hair that caught in the moonlight and green eyes that met hers with a calm, steady reassurance.
"Sorry for pulling you out like that," he said, his voice low and apologetic. "But I couldn't just stand there and watch them treat you like that."
Ginny swallowed, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
"Thanks, but if you're expecting some kind of points from Lyle or Cass for playing hero, you can drop the act now."
He blinked, eyebrows furrowing.
"I'm… not sure who you're talking about."
She raised her head, studying his face, trying to find any hint of recognition. But his gaze was clear, curious.
"Wait… you don't know who they are?"
He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Should I?"
She blinked, momentarily speechless, her mind struggling to process this. It felt like the ground had shifted beneath her, and she couldn't help the flicker of hope that rose in her chest.
"You don't even know who I am?"
He chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"I just transferred here. Haven't exactly had time to study the social circles." He extended a hand, his smile warming as he looked down at her. "Oliver Sinclair. But you can call me Ollie."