Chapter three

HAZEL POV

The campus clock tower chimed midnight. Cold wind whipped my long black hair across my face as I stood outside the campus maintenance garage. The massive metal doors were cracked open just an inch, a sliver of harsh yellow light cutting through the pitch-black darkness.

My phone weighed a thousand pounds in my pocket. If I turned around and went back to my dorm, my past would be uploaded to the forum by 12:01. The fat girl from London. The girl who was locked in a janitor’s closet for hours while classmates laughed outside. I had spent three years starving myself, running until my lungs burned, and rewriting my entire identity to bury that girl. I couldn't let Killian dig her back up.

I pushed the heavy metal door open. It screeched against the concrete floor.

The garage smelled of engine oil, gasoline, and stale cigarette smoke. Three sleek, black motorcycles were parked in a neat row. Sitting on the hood of a dismantled sports car was Lucian Vane, tossing a silver pocket knife casually in the air. Jason Jax stood near a workbench, drinking a beer.

And in the center of it all was Killian Blackwood.

He was leaning against his bike, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He wore his heavy leather motorcycle jacket, the collar popped against the chill. He was rolling a lighter across his knuckles, click, flash, click, flash. The flame illuminated his sharp jawline and the predatory gleam in his dark eyes.

"Look who decided to be a good girl," Jason mocked, slamming his beer bottle down on the workbench. "I told you she'd show, Killian. She's terrified of you."

"Shut up, Jason," Killian said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like iron. Jason instantly went quiet.

Killian stopped flicking the lighter. He stood up straight, his six-foot frame instantly throwing a long shadow over me. He walked toward me slowly, his heavy boots echoing against the concrete. I instinctively took a step back, but my spine hit the cold metal door. I was trapped.

He stopped just inches away. The scent of leather and cold rain enveloped me, making my heart race.

"You're late, sweetpea," Killian murmured, checking his watch. "12:02. I almost pressed upload."

"You have what you want," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound brave. "I’m here. Delete the video."

Killian chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated right through my chest. He reached out, his thumb slowly tracing my jawline. His skin was freezing, sending a sharp jolt of electricity down my spine. "Delete it? We're just getting started, Hazel. You don't get off that easy."

"What do you want from me, Killian?" I demanded, shoving his hand away from my face. "You already ruined my life once in London. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you ran," he whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. "And I hate it when my favorite toys run away. You think a glow-up changes who you are? You're still mine to break."

Lucian laughed from the background, the sound unhinged and mocking. "Tell her the terms, Blackwood. The clock is ticking."

Killian pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and flicked it open. He slammed it against the metal door right next to my head. "This is your new reality, freshman. You sign this contract. For the next thirty days, you are my personal assistant. You do whatever I say, you write my essays, and you show up whenever I call. If you skip a single day, the video goes public."

"That’s slavery," I breathed, staring at the typed lines on the paper.

"It's a deal," Killian corrected, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intense, suffocating grip. "You protect your precious secret, and I get what I want."

"And what happens after thirty days?" I asked, my breathing shallow.

Killian leaned in closer, his chest pressing lightly against mine. I could feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the terrifying warmth of his body. "After thirty days, I delete the video, and I let you go. If you survive."

Jason walked over, tossing a black pen onto the hood of the car. "Sign it, freshman. Or I upload the video right now. My finger is on the button."

I looked at the pen. I looked at Killian’s toxic, victorious smirk. My hands shook as I reached out and picked up the pen. If I signed this, I was entering the lion's den. But if I didn't, my life at legacy Thorne was over before it even began.

I pressed the paper against the metal door and scribbled my name at the bottom.

My signature looked wrong on the page, too small, too shaky, nothing like the version of myself I’d spent three years building. For one wild second I thought about tearing it in half, running, taking my chances with the video instead of whatever this was. But my hand wouldn’t move. Some part of me, the part that still remembered the janitor’s closet, had already decided I would rather belong to a devil than be laughed at again.

Killian snatched the paper away immediately, folding it and sliding it back into his jacket. A dark, terrifying smile spread across his face. He reached out, his long fingers tangling into my black hair, forcing my head back so I had to look at him.

"Good girl," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips. "Your first task starts right now. Follow me."

He turned and walked toward the back office of the garage, leaving me standing there in the cold. My stomach twisted into a painful knot. I had just signed my soul over to the devil.