A Pucking Lesson in Forbidden

Dahlia's POV

I hurried past the hallways as fast as I could because the way I'm desperate right now, I've never been more desperate in my entire life.

The letter I was holding in my hands had crumpled badly, tearing from how many times I had folded it and unfolded it over and over again since I collected it last week. I paused as I got to Dean Prescott's office in this school, Bellmont Academy, my worn out shoes making squeaking noises on the marble floors. 

‘Please, please just give me until the end this month. The pay from my part time job will soon come in. I swear, it will.’ I rehearsed my speech in my head. I've muttered this speech many times than I'd like to admit, but I don't care.

The only reason I've been able to stay in this school and breathe the same air as the other rich kids that attended this school with a silver spoon in their mouths was because of this scholarship. But now, as the deadline for tuition payment is coming and with my mother still recovering from the surgery that has drained our little savings, I was running out of options and time.

The entire school was now empty as almost all the students had left home for the weekend. The hallways were quiet as I walked through. I passed through the trophy case and saw my reflection staring back at me. My black hair packed in a tight ponytail and green tired eyes. My thrifted…clothes that made me look like I'm suffering, which, to be honest, I was. 

But I can't afford to think of all these now. I had myself and my mother to save. 

Man, I was so tired.

I was still mentally preparing my speech for Dean Prescott when I turned the corner and noticed that her door was slightly open.

Through the gap, I saw him. 

Vincent Carrington. 

Of course. Who else would it be if not Vincent Carrington? The golden, untouchable boy of Bellmont Academy. Hockey captain. Heir to the Carrington fortune. The Carrington fortune was so big that if his father wanted to buy the school and turn it into a parking lot, he would. He was the boy that almost every girl wanted and every teacher feared low key. 

My breath caught in my throat.

Inside Dean Prescott's office, she was bent over her desk, her expensive green gown was unbuttoned and the gown was bunched around her hips. Vincent was behind her, his dick buried inside her as he trusted in and out of her mercilessly. She cried in a moan, while one of his hands gripped her waist, the other slapping her ass. 

They were having sex right there, without bothering to close the door. In her office!

I felt the blood drain from my face. I should have looked away. I should have backed up, pretended I saw nothing, and disappeared down the hallway like the invisible scholarship student I'd always been.

But I couldn't move.

Not because I was shocked, though I was. But watching Vincent Carrington even when he was doing something bad made my heart hurt with that silly feeling I had been carrying around for three years.

I had a thing for Vincent Carrington since the time I saw him skate at the Bellmont rink. He was so good at it. He looked really powerful. I thought he was out of my reach. I would sit in the bleachers. Watch him with my sketchbook on my lap, drawing pictures of him with charcoal and pencil. I remembered the way his dark hair fell on his forehead, the way he held his jaw like he thought he was better than everyone and the rare times when I saw something sad in his cold blue eyes. 

I knew it was pathetic. I knew he would never look twice at someone like me, because I was the scholarship girl in thrift store clothes who could barely afford lunch. But knowing something and feeling it were entirely different things, and my heart had never been very good at listening to reason.

Now, watching him take a woman old enough to be his mother on her own desk, that pathetic heart of mine was finally getting the wake-up call it desperately needed.

This is who he really is. This is all he'll ever be.

My sketchbook slipped from my trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a loud thud that echoed down the empty hallway.

Vincent's head snapped up.

For one terrible moment, our eyes met through the gap in the door. I saw the flash of recognition in his gaze. That cold, calculating recognition of someone who had just been caught. And then he was moving, pulling out of Dean Prescott with a very high speed, his long legs eating up the distance between us.

I didn't wait.

I ran.

I ran faster than I'd ever run. My heart pounded against my ribs as I rounded corners and ducked through hallways, my sneakers slapping against the marble floors with desperate, frantic steps. I could hear him behind me, his footsteps heavy and I knew I couldn't outrun him forever. He was an athlete. He was built for this.

But I had to try.

I made a sharp turn toward the bookcase lockers to a narrow room I had discovered in my freshman year, hidden away from the main hallways where I hid when the bullying got too much.

 If I could just make it there, maybe I could—

His hand closed around my arm.

I gasped as my back slammed against the metal lockers, the impact knocking the breath out of my lungs. Vincent was there, pressing me against the cold surface with a strength that made struggle feel pointless. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, the other planted flat against the locker beside my head, caging me in.

We were both breathing hard. His chest heaved against mine, his face inches from my own, and I could smell the expensive cologne he always wore mixed with the faint scent of sex.

I hated that he still looked beautiful. Even now like this.

"You saw nothing," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

I couldn't speak. My throat was too tight. I just stared at him with wide eyes, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it.

"Look at me, little scholarship mouse."

I lifted my chin, trying to find some scrap of courage. But my voice came out as barely a whisper. "I... I didn't mean to see anything. I was just walking by. Please, I won't tell anyone. I swear."

His eyes narrowed. He studied me for a moment, those cold blue eyes raking over my face like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve.

"The valedictorian," he said slowly. "Dahlia Vance. I've seen you in the library. Always reading and alone. You think you're better than everyone else, don't you?”

"No, I don't think that," I stammered. "I just... I'm just trying to—”

"I know exactly what you were doing," he continued, ignoring me. 

“But if you speak, I know you have a mother and I'll go after her.”

My heart skipped a beat. My mom? No. Not my mother. 

"Please," I whispered. "I won't say anything. I swear. I'll forget everything I saw."

His smile was sharp and predatory. "You think I'm going to trust you? A girl who has nothing to lose? A girl who might use this against me when she runs out of options?"

I shook my head frantically. "I wouldn't do that. I'm not that kind of person."

"You're exactly that kind of person," he said softly. "Everyone is. When you're desperate enough, you'll do anything. I've seen it before."

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blinked them back furiously. I would not cry in front of him. I would not give him that satisfaction.

"Please," I said again, my voice breaking. "I just want to go home. I won't tell anyone. I promise."

He studied me for a long moment. I could feel his eyes on me, weighing me, judging me. I felt so small. So invisible. So completely powerless.

"I could tell everyone you were the one with Dean Prescott," he said finally. "Scholarship girl desperate to keep her place. Word travels fast at Ashford, mouse. You'd be ruined."

The threat hit me like a physical blow. "Please," I begged. "Please don't. I have nothing. My mother is sick. If I lose this scholarship, everything is over. Please. I swear I won't say anything."

"Swear to me."

"I swear it. On my mother's life. I won't tell anyone what I saw."

He stared at me for a long moment. And then, slowly, his grip on my wrists loosened.

"Get out of my sight," he said flatly.

I didn't need to be told twice. I slid out from under his arm and started walking away, my legs shaking so badly I could barely stand.

But then his voice stopped me.

"One more thing, mouse."

I froze.

"If I ever find out you said anything to anyone, I won't just ruin you. I'll ruin your mother too. Understand?"