2-THE BET.

SLOANE'S POINT OF VIEW.

His voice was soft and silky when he said, “Date me.”

Two words.

One smirk.

And just like that, Lucien Knox Ravenscroft had flipped my world upside down— all over again.

All of a sudden, the hall became quiet; it already was, but for some reason, it was like all I could sense was the fact that it was just us two in this part of the school, something that had never happened.

Lucien stood in front of me, commanding my attention; his aura always called for everyone, every living thing to him. 

The aura of a Ravenscroft. 

He looks me dead in the eye, his blue orbs not once straying from mine, as he awaits my response.

I blinked once, twice. “What the hell did you just say?” Asking just to be sure I heard him right, and not imagining things.

Did the king of the school and practically all of America and Europe ask me to fake date him? 

Me?

The daughter of the help?

The charity case of the school?

The girl had dumped a bottle of expired milk all over because I had dared to walk past him, brushing his shoulder by mistake.

It was an accident. I had been rushing to class, intent on ensuring my record clean sheet was kept in this school, especially because I had to work as hard based on my scholarship status.

The rich kids always have to be excellent, or it's a teacher's job and legacy on the line. The memory of what happened to Miss Blaine six months ago comes to mind.

She had failed a paper, thinking it was one of the scholarship kids, but unknown to her, it was Lucien's. 

Not even twenty-four hours later, she had been blacklisted, fired, and cast out of the school and any reasonable job in the country, and all of Europe.

He leaned down, breath brushing my cheek. “Fake date me, scholarship girl. You want to make him jealous. I want to ruin her. You hate them both. I hate being bored.”

My hands tightened around my books. “You’re insane.”

He grinned, slow and wicked. “Takes one to know one.”

All of a sudden, the once-dead hall becomes alive with chatter, the voices of students and their hushed whispers filling the hallway, lighting the place.

We're no longer alone.

"Let me go," I whisper, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Everyone's eyes were on me.

Over a hundred eyes, as well as those probably already filming, saw the sight of the school's golden boy, the king of Ravenscroft, and the scholarship girl, the daughter of the help, in such proximity.

The horror.

I could feel Matt staring, too, or more like he was gawking, but instead of  Lucien moving farther away, he leaned closer.

After two years of pretending I wasn’t more than a wallflower, I knew Matt’s eyes would not move from me, especially in this position.

After years of him treating me like he couldn't see my stares of longing, my affection, every time I made myself available to him for whatever he needed, even if it would be at my detriment, because all I’d hoped for was that he would once, finally, notice me.

The girl he almost turned into a spectacle amongst his other rich friends.

I once blamed my status on it, thinking that if I had been rich, he would at least like me, at least treat me like a girl, and not one of the bros.

Lucien looked down at me with eyes like frostbite and wildfire, blue and burning.

“You in or not?” he asked, still smirking.

I didn’t answer.

Not then.

Taking a chance into my hand, and praying to God that it would work, I duck under his arm, and rush out of the hall like my feet are on fire, escaping the eyes of every student there.

And especially, Lucien.

That night, as I lay in my bed, a memory came to me, one I cherished close to my heart.

When I was nine, Matt taught me how to ride a bike. The memory of my screeches and squeals in the air as he held onto the handle of the bike with me, his knowledge of my fear palpable to him as he guided me. I remember falling when I got too scared, thinking he was still holding the handle, only to realise he wasn't anymore. With a scream, I had fallen, calling out his name.

Not that of my dad.

Or my grandfather, but his.

I scraped my knees, and he kissed them better.

I fell, and he caught me.

He told me I'd always have him.

I believed him.

Now I wonder if the devil tells bedtime stories too, after all, so did Matt.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING.

I found him by the east library balcony, leaning against the railing like he was posing for a damn photoshoot. One arm slung lazily over the edge, the other bringing a black flask to his lips. The wind tousled his golden hair just enough to make him look sinful.

It should be a crime for anyone to look that good, to have such good form, such a good body, such a handsome face.

No.

A face out of this world.

I wanted to hate him, I'm supposed to hate him, but instead, I wanted to touch him.

Even if it burned.

“You serious about earlier?” I asked, still refusing to believe that he was telling the truth.

Lucien didn’t look at me at first. Just took another sip. “I don’t joke.”

I folded my arms, standing stiff at the edge of his orbit. “You humiliated me in front of the entire school.”

“You could humiliate him,” Lucien says, finally turning. “Trust me, he could be the one bleeding by the time you're done with him.”

I hated how calm he sounded. Like this was just another Tuesday night for him, like ruining reputations and playing puppet master in his daddy’s kingdom, a kingdom his father carved out for his only son; placing the king and his servants in the same place was a sport.

For one goal.

To remind us all that he is our kind, and the rest of us, we're peasants, and we must kiss the fucking ring.

“I’m not your toy,” I said, trying to sound defiant and not afraid. Trying to hide how much he affects me.

He stepped closer, making me inhale his scent again, the rich, luxurious smell of his musky cologne wafts in my senses, making me see only him.

. “No. You’re my co-conspirator.” He corrects.

I stared up at him, the night air thick between us. “Why me?”

Lucien tilted his head, studying me like I was a riddle or a puzzle he planned to dismantle.

“Because you’re the only one who has nothing left to lose,” he said.

His words landed like a slap.

Sharp. Personal. True.

I swallowed hard. “And what do you get out of this?”

His smile returned—slow, dark, and looking delicious. “Roxanne. Watching me ‘fall’ for the scholarship girl will make her spiral.”

My lips twitched. “That’s twisted.”

“That’s strategy,” he replied. “And it works.”

I stepped back. “So I’m just a tool.”

“You’re the tool,” he said, with a spark in his eye. “Sharp. Useful. Dangerous.”

The worst part? I didn’t like hearing that.

Lucien leaned in again, lowering his voice like a secret meant just for me.

“If he notices you again, I'll help you destroy her.”

“And if he doesn’t?” I asked.

His gaze burned. “Then you’re mine.”

The air caught in my lungs.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare show him how much those words wrecked something in me.

But he saw it.

Of course he did.

Lucien Knox Ravenscroft didn’t miss things. He devoured them.

“I haven’t agreed to anything,” I said, voice barely steady.

“No rush,” he whispered. “But every second you wait, they win.”

He turned to leave, like the conversation didn’t gut me. But then he paused, looking over his shoulder one last time.

“Fire looks good on you, Sloane."

---------------------------

Walking down to aerobics class, a voice stops me in my tracks. 

It's Matt's and Roxanne's; the sight of two of them sends a dagger to my heart, the blow unrelenting, strong, and painful.

I saw Matt’s face.

His arm was around her waist as they snickered at something.

"Really? Is she that pathetic?" Roxanne asks, a smirk on her face as she holds a condescending twitch in her eye.

"Yes, it was so sad to see her like that. Her mother's a pathetic druggie who cannot control her desire for some smack, crack, and whatever dope she can get her hands on." He says, shocking me as his words about my mother leave his lips.

A secret he swore to never tell anyone.

A secret I whispered to him in confidence, my fear of rejection from the world palpable in that moment.

How could he do this?

The sight of Roxanne laughing hysterically rubs the wound in, like salt on a fresh wound, as I hiss internally from the pain.

My fists clench beside me, anger coursing through me in waves. 

Enough is enough.

Enough of being the weak one,

I found him again, this time in the courtyard after morning practice. Sweat clung to his neck, his jersey slung lazily over his shoulder. Girls watched him like he was a storm worth drowning in, worshipping the ground he walked on.

And he? Well, he looked bored.

Until he saw me.

I didn’t speak at first. Just walked right up to him. Met him toe to toe.

His eyebrow arched. “Change your mind?”

I looked him dead in the eye, heart racing like thunder in my chest.

“You want war?” I asked.

He nodded slowly. “Always.”

I extended my hand. “Then let’s burn.”

Lucien’s grin unfurled like a goddamn prophecy.

He stepped in, towering, tilting his head until his mouth brushed my ear, not caring about those watching us.

“Welcome to the dark side, scholarship girl,” he murmured, his voice rough, and velvety.

“We don’t do mercy here.”