Love, Vogue and the CEO 2

"There she is."

I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Four years of this had taught me to recognize the particular brand of cruelty in Carson's voice, the way it dripped with anticipation like he was about to do something he'd been looking forward to all day.

I kept walking, clutching my textbook tighter against my chest, praying that if I ignored them, they'd get bored and leave me alone.

They never did.

But hope was a stupid, stubborn thing.

"Hey, Rosie-Posie!" Carson called out, louder this time. "Don't you dare fucking ignore us when we're talking to you."

My sneakers squeaked against the polished floor as I stopped, my entire body going rigid. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but my legs had turned to lead.

I turned slowly, and there they were. Five of them, blocking the corridor like a wall of malice. Carson with his letterman jacket and that grin that made my stomach turn. Marcus, who'd made it his personal mission to document my humiliation on social media. Ryan, who never said much but always laughed the loudest. Two others whose names I'd stopped bothering to remember because they were interchangeable in their cruelty.

And Grayson Holt.

Leaning against the lockers with his arms crossed, watching me with those cold gray eyes that had haunted my nightmares since freshman year. He looked bored, like tormenting me was just another item on his to-do list. His dark hair fell carelessly across his forehead, and his jaw was set in that sharp, devastating line that made half the school worship him and made me want to disappear.

"What do you want?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"What do we want?" Marcus repeated, grinning. "That's a good question. See, we were just having a conversation about you, and we couldn't agree on something. So we figured we'd come straight to the source."

I didn't respond. Experience had taught me that anything I said would just be twisted into another reason to mock me.

"We were wondering," Carson continued, taking a step closer, "what it's like being the school's biggest charity case. I mean, you walk around here every day looking like that, wearing those baggy clothes, hiding in corners. It's honestly impressive how invisible you manage to make yourself."

"I'm not invisible to you, apparently," I muttered before I could stop myself.

Wrong thing to say.

Carson's grin widened. "Oh, she's got jokes now. Look at that, boys. Little Rosie-Posie is trying to be funny."

"It's not funny," Marcus said, circling around to my other side. "It's actually kind of sad. Like, does she really think talking back is going to make us respect her or something?"

"I don't want your respect," I said, my voice shaking now. "I just want you to leave me alone."

"But we can't do that," Carson said, his voice taking on a mock-sympathetic tone. "Because, see, we're concerned citizens. We care about our fellow students. And we've noticed that you seem really lonely, Eva. Really desperate for attention."

My stomach twisted. Where was this going?

"In fact," he continued, pulling out his phone, "we saw something really interesting earlier today. Something that made us think maybe we've been underestimating you all this time."

“What are you talking about?”

"Oh, she doesn't know," Marcus said, exchanging glances with the others. "Should we tell her, or should we let her figure it out on her own?"

"Tell me what?" I asked, my stomach already twisting with dread.

Grayson pushed off the lockers and walked toward me with slow, deliberate steps. His hands were in his pockets, his expression calm and almost thoughtful. When he stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him, he pulled out his phone.

"I did you a favor, Rosie-Posie," he said, his voice quiet and conversational. "A really big favor, actually. And I think you should thank me."

"A favor?" I repeated, confused and terrified in equal measure.

He tapped his phone screen a few times, then turned it toward me.

The world tilted.

It was a photo of me. Standing in my bathroom at home, in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but my bra and underwear. Every curve, every roll, every inch of skin I'd spent years trying to hide was on full display.

And beneath it, posted from an account with my name and photo, was a caption that made my blood run cold:

Looking for a guy to disvirgin me. Serious offers only. I'm desperate and I don't care who it is.