006: The Eclipse Effect

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:LEXTER ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

✦ ✧ ✦

I am a jerk.

Yes.

And I enjoy it.

But something about Sloane Carter throwing it in my face got me fingers-twitching mad.

I couldn't forget that look.

That exact moment when I drove the knife in and twisted.

{I wouldn't fuck you if my life depended on it.}

The way her lips trembled when I said those words. How her eyes went glossy. The precise second each feature crumbled. It was like watching an eclipse… devastating and beautiful and I should have looked away but I couldn't.

Usually, when I crush someone, I enjoy it. Remember it just long enough to feel good. Then forget.

Except this time, I couldn't.

So here I was, trying to bleed it out through pencil and paper. Sketching that look for the fourth time since she left.

That broken expression. Those wide eyes. The way her mouth opened like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

I'm sketching her pain like some kind of psychopath.

And I can't stop.

My phone had been vibrating nonstop. Ashley. Obviously. I'd never kicked everyone out like that before. Never brought a girl up to my bedroom.

In my pool. In the lounge. My guest suite. Anywhere but my bedroom. That wasn't a Lexter thing to do.

But I wasn't thinking about rules when Sloane didn't come back up. When the water stayed still too long. When something cold wrapped around my chest.

Fear.

Not like I care about Sloane Carter. But watching her drown? That's Owen all over again. And I wouldn't survive that twice.

You know what else I should forget? That kiss. My finger inside her. Those broken, breathless sounds she made like I was ruining her and saving her at the same time.

And that mouth. Christ, that mouth wasn't just good for kissing. It knew how to burn too.

{You have ice where your heart should be.}

She's not wrong.

I ripped the sketch in half.

Just go to sleep, Lexter. You'll forget by morning.

"LEXTER!"

No.

What the fuck is he doing here?

I scrambled, shoving sketches into my desk drawer. Locked it. Zachary Gray would rather watch me commit murder than catch me doing "idle artwork." Gray heirs didn't waste time.

We made empires. We crushed competitors. We didn't sketch sad girls we'd deliberately ruined.

My door slammed open without a knock.

"Dad."

He filled my doorway in his usual three-piece murder suit. Dark hair slicked back. Dead eyes. The energy of a mob boss.

"What's the point of a mobile phone if you refuse to answer it?"

Zachary Gray. CEO. Psychopath. Father—in that order.

I'd spent my whole life trying to impress him. Anticipating his mood. His expectations. His next move.

It never worked.

"Maybe try giving a heads-up before showing up."

"So you can keep fooling around?" He walked in like he was inspecting property he was considering condemning. "This place smells like a frat house."

"I'm an adult. You can't just barge in whenever you feel like it."

"Adult." He turned that word into an insult. "You're a Gray. That means you stopped being a regular person the day you were born. College isn't freedom, Lexter. It's training."

Here we go.

"I just spent four hours convincing the board you're ready to lead the Gray Global beauty division."

Now I feel sick.

"You didn't think to ask me first?"

"Ask you?" He turned, and I saw that look. "You don't get a choice. Your future is set. You prove yourself capable or you prove me wrong. And I don't like being wrong."

My hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms.

I wanted to tell him to fuck off. To get out. That I didn't ask to be born into this nightmare dynasty where everything I do is measured against some impossible standard.

But I didn't.

Because I never do.

"Since hockey is suspended thanks to that weak-ass friend of yours, you need new ways to shine."

Owen.

My chest pinched itself.

My bestfriend. One second he was shooting the puck on a normal Tuesday practice, the next he was on the ice. Not moving.

Ruptured aneurysm, the doctors said. No warning. Just… death.

And the really disgusting part? No one really cared. His parents blamed the medical team. The university launched an investigation. Everyone moved on.

Except me.

I still see him falling. Still hear the sound his head made hitting the ice.

Watching Sloane sink under that water brought it all back. That helpless feeling. That terror of being too late.

"Don't call him weak," I said quietly.

"Excuse me?"

"Owen. Don't call him weak." My voice came out harder than I meant it to. "He's dead. Show some respect."

Dad's expression didn't change.

"Respect doesn't build empires, son. Results do."

Of course.

"I'm still working on lifting the suspension," he continued like I hadn't spoken. "But you need to impress the board in the meantime."

Translation: Owen died. No hockey. Dad had nothing to brag about. No championships. No press. No proof his son was worth the Gray name.

"I hear the Alexander Project is kicking off."

I froze.

"Are you seriously stalking my school activities now?"

"I read ScorchWire like everyone else." He sat on my couch without being invited. King of my fucking bedroom. "The Alexander Project. That's your opportunity."

"It's a school project, Dad."

"It's a gateway." His eyes locked on mine. "Gray Global dominates everything that matters—real estate, tech, finance, energy, media, private security. But beauty? That's the one industry we don't control yet. And Alexander Beauty is the gatekeeper. You win that project, you get their attention."

"I have zero interest in playing partner on some beauty project."

He was in front of me in seconds. Grabbed my chin. Forced my head up.

"Doesn't matter what interests you. It matters what interests the board. You win this, you prove you're ready. I'll grease the palms I need to. But you carry your weight."

Fuck.

Work with the girl who told me I have ice in place of a heart. The girl who said she never wants to see me again.

Sloane Carter in close quarters for months. Her, hating me. Me, hating that I can't forget how she tastes.

"Where's your watch?"

His voice bulldozed through.

"What?"

"Your watch. Where is it?" His eyes scanned my wrist like I'd committed treason. "You're not supposed to take it off. Ever."

I looked down.

Bare.

I hadn't even noticed since the pool. Since 'her'.

"It's just jewelry, Dad."

Wrong thing to say.

He ground his teeth once. That vein in his temple pulsed.

"It's not jewelry. It's an heirloom. Four generations of Grays have worn that watch. Your grandfather gave it to me on his deathbed."

I rolled my eyes. "Well maybe you shouldn't have given it to me if it's so precious."

"After your mother proved to be a disappointment, I couldn't exactly leave it with her, could I?"

Ofcourse.

He'd never miss a chance to remind me.

"I'll find it."

"You better." He stepped back like I was contaminated. "And you reek. Of cheap soap." His eyes scanned me like I was defective. "If you're going to mess around, at least do it with someone who can afford proper fragrance."

He adjusted his suit.

"Alexander Project. That's where your focus should be." His hand clamped on my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "Don't disappoint me, son."

He let go. Checked his watch like I'd already wasted enough of his time. Then walked out without looking back.

The door clicked shut.

I slumped against my desk.

Fuck.

I hate that man.

I hate that I still want to impress him.

And Sloane Carter…

She clocked back into my head.

She hates me. How the hell could I work with her on the project that decides if I'm a worthy Gray heir or just another disappointment?

My eyes dropped to my bare wrist where the vintage Patek Philippe watch should be.

Probably somewhere at the bottom of my pool.

When did I lose it?

When I made her come so hard she bit my shoulder? My fingers instinctively traced the marks... still tender.

Or when I dove in after she fell?

She just let herself go under like that. Like she'd rather drown than fight.

Why the fuck would she even do that?

Why the fuck do I care?

She's still breathing.

Now I'm thinking about her eyes. Those brown things that looked at me like I'd given her the moon and snatched it away.

Hell no.

I am not working with the girl I ruined. The whole point of ruining something is to forget it.

I grabbed my keys.

The watch can wait until morning.

I need to get reassigned. Tonight.