The words Achilles drops before walking off echo in my head, louder than the chatter of the lecture hall.
Mated to Valentine?
What does that even mean? I barely pay attention as the professor drones on about economic structures. My notes remain blank, my pen idle in my hand.
Every time I try to focus, those words creep back in, clawing at my concentration.
The professor clears his throat, breaking my reverie. "Miss, uh…" His voice cuts through the fog in my head. "Do you have something to add, or is daydreaming your new specialty?"
Snickers ripple through the class, and I look up, startled. Before I can respond, Dorothy pipes up from the back row, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Maybe she's thinking about her new boyfriend."
The laughter that follows doesn't sting as much as I expect it to. For some reason, embarrassment feels like an afterthought compared to everything else I'm dealing with.
I slowly turn to her, meeting her smug gaze, and let the first thing that comes to mind slip out.
"How many boys are you thinking about, Dorothy? Just curious."
The laughter dies instantly, replaced by a collective gasp. Her face reddens, and her mouth flaps open like a fish, searching for a comeback.
Before she can spit something out, the professor clears his throat again.
"Alright, that's enough," he says, shooting me a sharp look before returning to his notes. "Let's get back to the topic at hand."
I glance at Dorothy one last time. Her hands are balled into fists on her desk, and I can practically see the steam rising from her ears.
The rest of the class drags on, but the hateful glares between us both remains. I know she'll come for me later, and for once, I don't care.
When the lecture ends, I barely make it past the door before Dorothy and her two shadows, Jesse and Bailey, corner me.
"Who do you think you are?" she snaps, her perfectly manicured finger jabbing toward my chest. "You think you can humiliate me like that?"
"Dorothy," I sigh, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder. "It was a joke. Don't be so sensitive."
"Sensitive?" she hisses, stepping closer. "You've been acting like you're better than everyone else since this week. Well, let me remind you that no matter how hot your boyfriend is, you're still a turtle and he's probably with you because he pities you."
If only she knows who the real man after me is. Valentine is a thousand times more attractive than Achilles... I'm not ever going to admit that to him...
I roll my eyes. "Right. Got it. Can I go now?"
"No," she snaps. Before I can react, she shoves me. It's not hard, but it's enough to ignite something in me.
I feel the slap before I register it, my palm connecting with her cheek with enough force to send her stumbling to the ground.
Her friends gasp and rush to help her up, but she glares at me from where she sits, her face flushed with anger.
"You're crazy!" she yells, her voice shrill. "Completely insane!"
"Maybe," I say calmly, stepping closer. "But you might want to think twice before you try that again."
The feeling coursing through my veins...the superiority. Maybe it comes with what I am now, and I love it every single second. I never thought a day would come when I'd have her in this position.
Beneath me.
Before she can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.
"Everything alright here?"
I turn to see Achilles leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a faint smirk on his face. The sight of him instantly drains the adrenaline from my veins.
Dorothy's friends mutter something about being late and drag her away, shooting me dirty looks as they go.
Once they're out of earshot, I exhale and glance at him. "You just happen to show up at the perfect time, don't you?"
He shrugs. "Boss's orders."
I narrow my eyes. "You've been following me?"
"Not following," he says, holding up his hands in mock defense. "Just…keeping an eye out. You're not exactly safe here, you know."
I groan and start walking, not waiting to see if he follows. Of course, he does, falling into step beside me.
"Do you want a ride home?" he asks after a moment.
I stop and look at him. "Did Valentine tell you to do that too?"
He grins. "What do you think?"
I roll my eyes but nod. "Fine. Let's go."
The ride is quiet at first, but there are somethings that I can't but think about. Things that need answers.
I stare out the window, watching the buildings blur past, but my thoughts are anything but calm.
Finally, I break the silence. "What did you mean earlier? About me being mated to Valentine?"
He doesn't respond right away, his eyes fixed on the road.
"Well?" I press. "Aren't you going to tell me?"
"It's not my place," he says finally. "You'll have to ask him."
I scoff. "Of course. Why is it that no one can give me a straight answer around here?"
He chuckles, the sound low and amused. "You'll get your answers, eventually. Patience, honey."
I glare at him, but he doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he doesn't care.
"Seriously," I say, crossing my arms. "You know, don't you? Why can't you just tell me?"
He glances at me, his grin widening. "Because it's a conversation you need to have with him, not me."
"I always need to have conversations with him, huh?" I mutter under my breath and sink lower in my seat.
"Relax," he teases. "You'll figure it out soon enough."
I don't respond, staring out the window again. My thoughts are a chaotic mess, a swirling storm of confusion and frustration.
When we finally pull up to my building, he turns to me, his expression softening. "For what it's worth," he says, "you're handling all this better than most would."
I snort. "Yeah, sure."
As I get out of the car, he leans over and grins at me. "Good luck with Valentine. You're going to need it."
I slam the door without responding, his laughter echoing behind me as I head inside.
Fucking Valentine and Valentine's lackey.
The weight of everything Achilles said—and didn't say—presses down on me as I climb the stairs to my apartment.
My mind keeps circling back to one thing: Mated to Valentine. What the hell does that mean?