The rest of the weekend passed in a haze of exhaustion. I spent most of it in bed, staring at the ceiling, drifting between sleep and the gnawing weight of my thoughts. Saturday morning blended into Saturday night with the only notable change being the position of the sun outside my window. My phone stayed silent. No messages, no calls, just an empty void that matched the way I felt inside. I slept, woke up, and repeated the cycle.
By Sunday night, the silence in my head was broken when Solana barged into the room. "Anna, are you sick? What's wrong with you I had to do your Sunday chores," she said, her brow furrowed as she stood in the doorway, arms crossed.
I couldn't handle her right now. I was too tired, too overwhelmed. The memory of her abandoning me at the party surged forward, and the anger I had been suppressing bubbled to the surface.
"Piss off, Solana," I snapped, not even looking up at her. "You left me at the party. Where the hell were you when I needed you?"
Her face hardened, and she stormed further into the room. "Are you serious right now? I decided to have fun with my boyfriend for one night and suddenly I'm the bad guy?"
"Boyfriend," I scoff, rolling my eyes.
"Don't do that!" She scolds. "Don't be a bitch!"
I look away, averting from her cold gave. "You love to call me a bitch when I tell you the truth," I shot back, my voice rising. "You left me alone. You can't just throw me aside for some boy."
"Anna having a boyfriend means having to actually spend time with that person. I can't just be with you at all times!"
I ride from my bed. "Seriously!? I was always there for you! Now all you want to do is have a relationship with a boy that doesn't even exist in your planet."
Solana's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, I saw her snap. "You think this is all about you, Anna? I've been dealing with my own crap too! Not just Jake! You're not the only one with problems, and whenever I try to help you shut me out!"
Her words stung, but the anger inside me was too far gone to stop. "You don't get it, Solana. You never do."
She stared at me, shaking her head. "Maybe I don't. But you can't keep pushing me away every time something bad happens. One day, I won't come back."
With that, she left, slamming the door behind her. The silence that followed was deafening, but I didn't care. I was too numb to feel anything else. I crawled back into bed, closing my eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly and let me forget about everything.
—
Monday hit me like a truck. Friday still clung to me, heavy and suffocating, and I barely dragged myself out of bed. My head pounded, my body ached, and there was an overwhelming sense of dread that I couldn't shake. But one small relief: no texts from Marcus. No cryptic messages. No threats.
He listened to my one request. Now he could deal with his step-brothers shit alone.
After getting dressed, I headed to my classics class, trying to pretend everything was normal. The lecture was a blur—words about Greek tragedies, mythologies I usually loved, all became nonsense. My head was too clouded, too distracted.
When the class finally ended, I headed to the classics library, needing some quiet, some space to think. I wandered down the familiar aisles of books, fingers brushing the spines, trying to ground myself.
As I stood by one of the shelves, lost in my thoughts, I jumped at the sudden warmth of someone's presence behind me. I turned sharply, only to see Atlas standing there, a playful smile on his face.
His hair was ruffled, a playful smirk on his face as he leaned against the shelf. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he said softly, reaching out to take my hand. His fingers laced through mine effortlessly, and he pulled me just a little closer. "You're cute when you get all flustered."
I felt my face flush immediately, the heat rising to my cheeks. My heart fluttered in my chest, but before I could say anything, my gaze flickered over his shoulder, landing on something that made the warmth drain from my body.
Damon Saint-Hayes stood by the door, his eyes fixed on me, staring intently as if he could see straight through me. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity in his gaze sent a cold shiver down my spine. Atlas didn't seem to notice him, too focused on me, but I couldn't look away.
Everything felt like it was crashing down again, and whatever brief moment of peace I had with Atlas was shattered in an instant.
As the tension mounted between Atlas and me, I took a deep breath, tugging him away from the shelves to a quiet corner in the library. He followed, his expression tinged with curiosity and a hint of concern.
I pulled him to the side, out of Damon's view. I grabbed my hand to stop it from shaking.
"Anna, what's going on?" he asked, his brows furrowed, clearly picking up on my unease.
I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. This wasn't going to be easy to say, especially after everything. "Look, Atlas," I began slowly, feeling my stomach twist with nerves. "I think ... I think we need to keep this between us."
His confusion deepened, and I could already see the flicker of hurt in his eyes. "What do you mean, keep this between us? Like, a secret?" His voice was calm but laced with disappointment.
I nodded, looking away, unable to meet his gaze for too long. "Yeah. Just ... no one else has to know. I don't need the attention, you know? I'd be fine if we could just keep things private. You and me, alone."
He stared at me for a moment, his face tight with disbelief. "Anna," he said softly, shaking his head, "are you serious? You want to hide this? Hide us?"
I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "It's not like that, I swear. I just don't need people talking or making things weird. I've already got enough going on, and—"
"Enough going on?" he interrupted, his voice rising just slightly. "So what, I'm just supposed to be your secret now? Because you don't want the attention?"
"It's not about you!" I blurted, frustration creeping into my voice. "I don't need the extra weight, Atlas. I don't need people asking questions or giving me looks. I don't need any of that."
His jaw clenched, and I could tell he was offended. "So you want to be with me, but only if no one else knows about it? Do you know how awful that sounds?"
I winced at his words, guilt washing over me. "Atlas, no, it's not like that. I just—" I faltered, struggling to make him understand. "I like you. I really do. But I can't handle everyone knowing about us right now."
He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at the floor, clearly disappointed. "I want to be with you, Anna. Out in the open. Not in hiding."
"I know," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "But I can't."
There was a long pause as he processed my words, the silence between us growing heavier. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally nodded, though the sadness in his eyes was unmistakable.
"Alright," he said quietly, his voice thick with disappointment. "If that's what you want, I'll keep this between us. But …" He hesitated for a moment before his hand slipped into mine, his fingers intertwining with mine gently. "I still want to hold you. I don't care if it has to be in secret. I'm still here."
I felt a rush of warmth at his words, my chest tightening with emotion. Atlas had every reason to walk away right now, to call me out for being selfish, but instead, he was still standing by my side, willing to compromise for me. His touch grounded me, and in that moment, I realized just how much he cared.
We stood there for a few minutes in silence, just holding each other's gaze. I could feel the sincerity in his grip, and for a moment, I let myself believe that everything might be okay, even if it had to be in the shadows.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my voice cracking slightly. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just... I don't know what I'm doing."
Atlas gave me a small, sad smile, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. "I know, Anna. And I get it. But you're worth more than being a secret. Just remember that."
I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, a shadow loomed at the end of the aisle. Both of us tensed, our moment of quiet intimacy shattered as Damon appeared, his cold eyes locking onto mine.
He didn't even acknowledge Atlas as he walked closer, his presence radiating an unsettling tension that made my stomach knot. "Anna," he said, his voice clipped and authoritative. "We need to talk. Alone."
Atlas glanced between the two of us, confusion flickering across his face. "Um, what is this about?" he asked, clearly not understanding why Damon was even here, let alone demanding to speak with me.
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "Atlas, it's fine," I said softly, giving him a tight smile, even though my heart was racing. "I'll handle it."
His eyes searched mine, hesitant and unsure. He didn't like this, and I didn't blame him. But he knew better than to push back, especially with Damon Saint-Hayes was involved. After a moment, he nodded reluctantly, releasing my hand.
"Alright," he said, his voice tense. "I'll go." But before he left, he shot Damon a hard look, his jaw set in warning. "Don't try anything funny."
Damon didn't respond, his focus entirely on me. Atlas gave me one last tight smile before turning and walking away, leaving me alone with the man who now stood too close for comfort.
As soon as Atlas was out of sight, Damon's expression hardened even more. "We have some things to go over," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
And suddenly, that heavy weight I'd felt all weekend came crashing down again, suffocating me as I stood frozen in place.
Damon's voice cut through the quiet library like a knife. "What the hell were you doing outside the music room?"
I froze, my heart hammering in my chest. I didn't expect him to confront me, especially not like this. I had hoped to keep my distance, stay out of sight after that close call, but Damon had caught me, and now I was trapped, backed into a corner both literally and figuratively.
"What? I wasn't—" I started, trying to play it off, but the sharpness in his eyes told me he wasn't buying it.
"Don't bullshit me," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous as he took a step forward. "Was it Marcus who put you up to this? What the hell does he want?"
My mouth went dry as panic surged through me. "I wasn't—It's not what you think," I stammered, backing up until my spine pressed against the bookshelf. Damon towered over me now, his arms braced on either side, caging me in.
"Wrong place, wrong time, is that it?" he scoffed. "You expect me to believe you just happened to be there by coincidence?" His voice was biting, dripping with suspicion. "Cut the crap. We both know that's bullshit."
I could feel my pulse in my throat, and the walls seemed to close in around me. Damon's intense glare pinned me in place, and I could sense the weight of his accusation settling over me like a cloud.
"I swear," I tried, though my voice wavered. "I wasn't sent by Marcus."
But Damon wasn't convinced. His jaw clenched, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot against my cheek as he snarled. He smelled like light cologne and cigarettes'. "Of course it was Marcus. My dear stepbrother always has some underhanded plan, doesn't he? So, what is it this time? What does he want?"
I shook my head, desperately trying to think of something that would satisfy him, something that would make him back off. But my mind was racing, and I couldn't find the words. His presence was overwhelming, and before I could stop myself, I let the truth slip.
"He ... He thinks you're sleeping with Mrs. Margot."
Damon stiffened at that, his whole body going rigid. His eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, I saw a flicker of something—guilt? Fear? I couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, it only confirmed my worst suspicions.
"Fucking joke," he growled, straightening up, his tone dangerously calm. "That's what this is about?"
I could barely breathe, my heart pounding in my chest. Damon's expression hardened, and he took a step back, his eyes narrowing. "It's none of your damn business. You're just pawns in his little games. You don't know anything."
His words stung, but it wasn't the accusation that hit the hardest. It was the way he said it—like I was nothing. And then, his eyes flickered with something else, something sharper. He crossed his arms, his lips curling into a mocking smile. "And you're one to talk, aren't you? You've been pretty busy yourself, with Marcus and now with Atlas. Or does Atlas not know about your little relationship with Marcus?"
The implication hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt my blood run cold. "That's not fair," I spat, anger rising in my throat. "You don't know anything about me."
Damon chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "Oh, but I do. You're two-timing, Anna, and you want to know what they call someone like that?"
The insult stung deep, but it was his next words that sent a chill down my spine. "Maybe I should let Atlas know what his cute little girl's been up to. I'm sure he'd love to hear about your arrangement with my step-brother. He already seems to hate me and I don't even know him. Wonder what he'll think of you."
My breath caught in my throat. He had me cornered, and he knew it. The thought of Atlas finding out, of him knowing everything, made my chest tighten with dread.
"Don't," I said, my voice barely a whisper. But the fear only seemed to fuel Damon's twisted sense of satisfaction.
"Why not?" he taunted, stepping closer. "Scared Atlas won't look at you the same way? That he'll see you for what you really are?"
That was it. I snapped. Before I could stop myself, the words came tumbling out. "Fuck you!" My voice was louder than I intended, sharp enough to catch the attention of a few students nearby, who turned to look in confusion.
Damon's jaw tightened, and he quickly cleared his throat, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me toward the exit. "Keep your voice down," he hissed, dragging me out of the library and into a nearby storage room, where the dim light made everything feel even more claustrophobic.
"Fuck you," I hissed, my voice harshly low. "You can't judge me when you don't know the full fucking story! I'm not … I don't just hook up with Marcus causally."
He raises his brow, and I expect him to get angry at insulting him. Instead, he seems calm, composed. He leans against a shelf of bins, the dim lighting shining a hue on him.
"Fine. Now, explain," he demanded, crossing his arms, his eyes cold and unforgiving.
I stood there, shaking, every part of me on edge. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to relive it, but he had backed me into a corner, and I had no choice.
Taking a deep breath, I finally spoke. "It's not what you think," I muttered, my voice low. "It's not some ... relationship. Marcus ... Marcus has been doing this to me since freshman year."
Damon's expression shifted, the mocking amusement draining from his face. He didn't move, but I could see the subtle tightening of his jaw, the way his posture stiffened as the weight of my words settled in.
"He's been ... threatening me," I continued, hating how vulnerable I sounded, but there was no point hiding it anymore. "I found out about something he didn't want people knowing. He used my mother and bestfriend as blackmail. He'd destroy there lives if I told someone."
Damon shifted, growing uncomfortable. "What? Why didn't you tell someone?"
"It's not that simple!" I yell a little too loudly. "He … I was too scared to think more clearly, and I thought no one, not even the administration could stop someone like him. He … began to call on me for things. Stuff like homework, chores, and getting his friends the things they needed until it turned … twisted like sex. It's always been this predator-prey thing with him. I've never wanted any of it."
For the first time since we started this conversation, Damon seemed genuinely shocked. His cold, detached demeanor faltered for a second, his eyes widening just enough for me to notice. But then, just as quickly, he forced himself back into control. "I didn't know," he said, though the words sounded awkward, almost forced. "I thought you were just another of his hook-ups."
I could tell he was struggling with this—struggling to reconcile the image of me as someone caught in Marcus' twisted web with the person he thought I was. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he couldn't seem to get the words out.
"Of course, you didn't," I snapped, bitterness creeping into my tone. "You don't care. You just see what you want to see. And now you want to shame me for something you know nothing about?"
He flinched, just slightly, and I could tell my words had struck a nerve. But instead of responding, he just stood there, staring at me with that same cold, unreadable expression.
Finally, he spoke, but his voice was softer now, less confrontational. "I wasn't trying to … "
"Save it," I interrupted, turning away from him. "I don't need your fake apologies."
He hesitated for a moment before sighing, clearly struggling with what to say. "I'm not ... I didn't know. I'm sorry."
His apology was half-hearted, almost mechanical, and it only made me angrier.
"Fuck off, Damon," I muttered, shaking my head in frustration. "You think saying sorry makes any of this better? You think it fixes anything?"
He stayed silent, his expression hardening again as he realized there was nothing he could say to make me despise him any less.
Without another word, I turned my back on him and stormed out of the storage room, leaving Damon standing alone in the dark.
—
As I stepped out of the library, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. The screen lit up with a name I didn't want to see: Marcus. Shit. My stomach twisted into a familiar knot as I opened the message.
Come to the Velvet Room.
I sighed, my frustration building. I wasn't in the mood to deal with him, but ignoring Marcus had consequences. I didn't have the energy for one of his fits.
My fingers hesitated over the keys before sending the message. Okay. I trudged across campus, mentally preparing myself for whatever mood Marcus was in. I stayed hopeful he would keep his word.
The room was dim when I entered, with only a faint light from a corner lamp casting a shadow over the dark furniture. Marcus was there, sprawled on the couch, waiting for me. None of his friends were here, but surprisingly I found discomfort in their absence. His eyes locked on me the moment I stepped inside, and he didn't blink, didn't move—just watched.
"Hey," I muttered, standing near the door, unsure if I should even come any closer.
He didn't return the greeting. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze running over me like I was a possession he hadn't touched in too long. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked coldly, his voice lacking any hint of real concern.
"I've been busy," I said, keeping my tone neutral, knowing how easily he could snap.
"Busy?" he scoffed, pushing himself up from the couch. "Doing what? I haven't seen you on campus all weekend."
I swallowed hard, feeling the tension spike in the room. "Schoolwork," I lied, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "That's all."
His eyes darkened, and I could see his patience wearing thin. "Come here," he said, his voice low but with an edge that made my skin crawl.
I hesitated, not wanting to get too close. "Why? I really should be in class."
That answer clearly didn't sit well with him. His lips twisted into a sneer as he stood up, closing the space between us in an instant. I instinctively stepped back, my back hitting the wall behind me. His presence felt suffocating as he towered over me, his hand reaching up to cup my jaw, hard.
"Don't play games with me," he whispered, leaning in far too close for comfort.
I winced, turning my face away from his touch. "Marcus, stop," I murmured, my voice trembling.
His fingers tightened on my chin, forcing me to look at him. "What's your problem?" he demanded, his tone laced with annoyance. "You never say no."
"I just don't want to right now," I said, my words barely a whisper, but I forced them out anyway.
He stared at me, genuinely confused for a moment, like the concept of me saying no didn't compute. "What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, his grip tightening. "You always want to."
"We had a deal," I reminded him, my voice wavering. "At the party, you said you wouldn't call on me for a while."
He laughed darkly, stepping back just enough to give me space to breathe. "That was a joke, Anna," he said, shaking his head. "You're mine. That's how this works."
His words sent a jolt of anger through me. I glared at him, pulling myself together as much as I could. "No, that's not how this works. I'm not yours, Marcus. I told you—only if I consent."
His face twisted in fury, and he let out a bitter laugh. "You think you have a choice?" he snarled, his voice rising. He turned around and swept his arm across the table by us, knocking the vase onto the floor with a crash.
I flinched. My heart was racing, but I couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me scared. "You don't own me," I said, my voice shaking but firm.
He stopped, his back to me, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths. When he turned around, there was a cold fury in his eyes, the kind that made my blood run cold. He stalked toward me again, pinning me against the wall once more.
"You think you can walk away?" he hissed, his breath hot on my skin. "You're not going anywhere, Anna. You do what I say, when I say it."
"I'm leaving," I whispered, my voice trembling but resolute.
He smirked, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Try it," he said, the threat clear in his voice.
I didn't respond. My body trembled as I reached for the door. He didn't stop me this time, but his eyes followed my every move, seething with rage. As I turned the handle and stepped into the hallway, I felt the weight of his control loosen ever so slightly—but the fear still clung to me, wrapping around my heart like a vice.
I didn't dare look back, but I knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.