NO ONE HAD EVER BEEN STUPID ENOUGH TO CROSS THAT LINE.

Chapter 8

DREYVEN

"I'm not weak." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Yeah?" I watched it happen in real time, the exact microsecond where everything inside her would shatter into pieces too small to ever fit back together.

And I wanted to do exactly that.

"Then why are you about to cry right now? Why do you apologize for breathing? Why do you dress like you're trying to hide your entire body?"

My gaze traveled down her frame, slow and methodical. The expensive bag slung across her shoulder, probably more than her monthly rent.

That expensive sweater peeking out from under the oversized jacket she wore like armor, like if she buried herself deep enough in fabric, maybe the world would stop looking.

The way she held herself, shoulders curved inward, spine bent like she was trying to compress her own existence into something smaller, something that wouldn't take up so much offensive space.

Something about it clicked into place. A puzzle I hadn't realized I was solving.

"You know what's actually pathetic?" The words came out lower now, more intimate. Like I was sharing a secret only the two of us could understand.

"You actually tried today. I can see it. You put on clothes that fit properly. Did your hair, probably stood in front of the mirror working on it for twenty minutes. Spent an extra five minutes this morning looking at yourself and thinking, just for a moment, that you looked good enough."

Her eyes widened, just slightly. I watched as something fragile and hopeful flickered behind those green eyes before dying completely, snuffed out like a candle in a storm.

I pressed in closer. My voice shifted, became almost conversational. Casual. Like we were just two people having a friendly chat about nothing important.

"But here's what I don't understand about you." I tilted my head, studying the way her breathing had gone shallow, the way her fingers had started trembling against her bag strap.

"Your family's broke, aren't they? Probably drowning in debt so deep they'll never see daylight. So they sent their precious daughter to this university thinking, hoping, praying that maybe she'd catch the attention of someone with actual money. That she could seduce her way into a life she could never earn herself."

The color drained from her face so fast I could track it, watch it bleed out until she looked like a ghost. Like I'd reached into her chest and ripped something vital out, left her hollow and gasping.

"But the sad part?" I studied her like she was an interesting specimen under glass, something to be examined and catalogued.

"They looked at you and actually believed this would work. That somehow, despite failing at literally everything else in their miserable lives, they'd succeeded in creating something valuable. Something marketable."

I stepped back, giving myself space to really look at her. To let her feel the full weight of my assessment pressing down on her shoulders.

"Some people are just meant to be invisible. You're one of them. No amount of nice clothes, no amount of effort is going to change that fundamental truth about who you are." I let the words settle between us, heavy and final.

"So do yourself a favor and stop trying. It's honestly sad to watch."

I turned away from her, heading toward the bookshelves like the conversation was already over.

Like she wasn't even worth the energy it took to look at her anymore. Like she'd already ceased to exist the moment I stopped paying attention.

My footsteps echoed against the wooden floor. One. Two. Three.

Then I heard her shift, fabric rustling, a shoe scuffing against polished wood.

The sound came before the impact. A sharp intake of breath. A sudden rush of movement.

SMACK

Pain exploded across my left cheek like a firework going off inside my skull.

My head snapped sideways from the pure force of it, the world tilting dangerously on its axis for one suspended moment.

The slap had been loud, shockingly, impossibly loud in the quiet library, and the sting bloomed across my face like someone had pressed a brand against my skin.

I stood there, frozen. Time seemed to move differently, stretching and warping around me while I tried to process what had just happened.

She'd hit me.

This crying, trembling girl. This invisible nothing I'd just systematically destroyed, had actually put her hands on me.

I turned slowly. My hand rose to my cheek almost independently of my brain.

The skin was already burning, hot and throbbing with each pulse of my heartbeat.

I could feel the exact shape of her palm, could map out the pressure points where each of her fingers had connected.

The sensation felt foreign, invasive. Wrong in a way that went deeper than just physical pain.

"Did she..." Dreyden's voice suddenly cut through the earpiece, sharp with pure disbelief. I'd forgotten about the muted call. They must have heard the slap clearly through the connection, must have been listening to this entire encounter. "Did she just fucking hit you?"

She was backing away from me now, her eyes wide with shock at what her own body had just done.

One hand pressed against her mouth like she couldn't quite believe what she'd accomplished. Her whole frame shook, whether from fear or adrenaline or savage satisfaction, I couldn't tell.

I stared at her. My ears rang with a high-pitched whine. My face burned like someone had set it on fire. Deep in my chest, something dark and furious was building, expanding, threatening to consume me entirely from the inside out.

No one touched me. Ever. That was a fundamental rule of my existence, everyone knew it, everyone respected it, everyone was smart enough to maintain that careful distance.

No one had ever been stupid enough to cross that line.

"Ven?" Dreyden's voice came again, more insistent now. More worried. "Talk to us. What the hell is happening?"

She'd reached the elevator, jabbing the button repeatedly with shaking fingers. Her breathing came in ragged gasps.

Tears continued streaming down her face, cutting clean tracks through whatever makeup she'd bothered with, but there was something else in her expression now too.

Something that looked almost like triumph. Like hitting me had been worth whatever came next.

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open with their usual mechanical whisper.

She threw herself inside like she was escaping a burning building. For just a moment, one single, suspended heartbeat, our eyes locked.

Her green eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, still wet with tears, but there was no regret in them. No apology forming on her lips. No fear of consequences.

Just raw, matching fury. A mirror of my own rage staring back at me.

Then the doors closed. She was gone.

I stood in the middle of the fifth floor, my hand pressed against my burning cheek, my entire body trembling with an anger so intense it felt like it might tear me apart from the inside out.

Like I might just explode into a thousand pieces right here in this empty library.

"Ven." Dreylen's voice was careful now, controlled in a way that made something in my chest twist uncomfortably. "Are you okay?"

I lowered my hand and looked at my fingers. They were shaking. I stared at them like they belonged to someone else, like they'd been attached to my body by mistake.

Was I okay?