Claiming The Archduchess

Oh, to be young, desired, and so utterly fucked.

My best friend, Chloe, and I had spent the better part of the afternoon unknown to us orchestrating my own downfall, one perfectly angled snapshot at a time.

The lighting in my dorm room was a bitch, but we had to make it work. She’d draped a cheap red satin sheet over my desk lamp, casting the whole space in a beautiful intimate glow. We had a system. I was posing and she was clicking away on my DSLR.

Clothed, then shirtless. A teasing hand on the waistband of my jeans. A half-lidded gaze, lips parted as if mid-moan. We were going for art, but the pictures were looking as straight-up p**n with better lighting.

“Goddamn, Jules. For fuck’s sake,” Chloe breathed, lowering the camera. She scrolled through the previews on the little screen, her eyes wide. “You look… edible. Seriously. If I were into dick, I’d be on my knees for you right now.”

I laughed, a nervous, breathy sound, and ran a hand through my messy hair. “You’re just saying that ‘cause you love me. You can’t be objective.”

“Objective? My pussy is pulsing, Jules. That’s pretty fucking objective.” She turned the screen to me. A picture of me, sprawled on my bed, stared back. I was shirtless, the low-slung jeans doing a terrible job of hiding the fact I was commando and already half-hard. My head was thrown back, the line of my throat exposed, a sheen of sweat on my collarbones making my skin look like polished gold. “Look at that. This is Fire. You should definitely send that to Leo.”

My heart did a stupid little flip at his name, Leo. My beautiful, infuriating, commitment-phobic ex who I was still hopelessly hung up on.

“I don’t know,” I hedged. “That one’s a bit much.”

“‘A bit much’? Jules, he’s been ghosting you for three weeks. A bit much is exactly the push He needs to come running back to you.” She swiped to another photo. This one was from behind. I was on my hands and knees, looking over my shoulder at the camera, my back arched, the jeans clinging to my ass like a second skin. “Send this one too. Give him options. You know, for when he’s, ya know…” She mimed a jerking motion with her free hand, “…handling his business.”

I snatched the camera from her, my own breath catching as I looked at the images. She was right. They were hot. Hell, I was getting turned on looking at them. I could only imagine what they would do to Leo. The thought of him, alone in his apartment, scrolling through these pictures, his hand slipping down his pants… it sent a jolt straight to my groin.

“Fine,” I conceded, my voice barely a whisper. I transferred the two best shots to my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen. My contact list was a minefield. I found his name easily, Leo Sterling. I attached the photos, my thumbs typing out a caption that was both confident and desperate. Thinking of you.

I hit send before I could chicken out.

A triumphant grin spread across Chloe’s face. “There. Mission accomplished. Now we wait for the groveling and the inevitable come over text.”

I flopped back on my bed, my phone resting on my chest. The thought of seeing Leo again, of finally maybe breaking this stalemate, made me feel giddy and sick all at once. We’d been on-again, off-again since high school, a whirlwind of intense chemistry and emotional whiplash. He was the golden boy, charming and popular, the kind of guy everyone wanted. And for a while, he’d wanted me. But his father, the formidable Alistair Sterling, never approved. Said I was a distraction. Then came the college acceptance letters, him to a business powerhouse, me to a fine arts conservatory on a scholarship and Leo had used it as the perfect out.

“He’s been such a tease lately,” I confessed to the ceiling, thinking of the sporadic, flirty texts that would go nowhere. “He’ll send me a good morning, beautiful and then nothing for a week.”

“Classic Leo” Chloe scoffed. “He likes to keep you on the hook. Well, consider this the shark that’s about to bite that hook right off his line.”

An hour passed. Then two. My phone remained silent. The giddy feeling curdled into a cold, heavy dread. This wasn’t like Leo. He was an immediate texter, a master of the quick, witty reply. Silence was not his language.

Maybe I’d misjudged. Maybe the pictures were too much. Maybe I looked desperate. Oh god, what if he thought I was pathetic? My cheeks burned with a fresh wave of humiliation. I shouldn’t have listened to Chloe.

At four p.m., my phone buzzed. I nearly jumped out of my skin. My hands trembled as I unlocked the screen.

Mr. Sterling: Julian, I don’t believe this is an appropriate way to correspond.

My blood ran cold. Mr. Sterling? No. No, no, no. My eyes shot up to the contact name I’d sent the pictures to. Leo Sterling. But the reply… it was too formal. Too cold. I frantically scrolled through my contact list, my heart hammering against my ribs. And there it was. Two entries. Leo Sterling. And Mr. Sterling. His father. Alistair Sterling, the university’s biggest benefactor, a man who wielded more power on this campus than the dean. A man I’d met exactly twice, and whose icy stare had made me feel like an insignificant bug.

I hadn’t sent them to Leo. I’d sent them to his father.

Me: Oh my god. I am so, so sorry, Mr. Sterling. That was a horrible mistake. I meant to send those to someone else. Please, please delete them. I am so embarrassed.

I buried my face in my pillow, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. My life was over. He’d tell my scholarship committee. He’d tell my parents. He’d have me expelled.

His reply was almost instant.

Mr. Sterling: There’s no need for embarrassment, Julian. You’re a very… photogenic young man.

I stared at the words, a confusing mix of terror and something else, something hot and twisted, coiling in my stomach. He was nearly my father’s age, but he was undeniably handsome in a severe, tailored-suit kind of way. The kind of handsome that came with money and power.

Me: Thanks.

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? ‘You’re welcome’? ‘I know, right?’ This was a thousand times worse than talking to Leo. This was the fucking father of my ex, the man who thought I was trash.

He didn’t reply again. I spent the rest of the day hiding in my room, ignoring Chloe’s texts and my own spiraling thoughts. The only thing that kept running through my head was his response: You’re a very photogenic young man. He did not sound angry at all . It was sounding as if he was… impressed. Surprised?

The next morning, a new text came through, making my heart seize.

Mr. Sterling: I look forward to seeing you at the donor gala tonight, Julian.

The gala. A black-tie event I was required to attend as a scholarship recipient. An event where both Leo and his father would be. I was going to have to look him in the eye after he’d seen me on my knees, begging for it with my eyes.

I was so fucked.