The Blacklisted King

The drive to Northcrest Academy was a thirty-minute exercise in suffocation.

Marcus had insisted we arrive together in the back of the black Maybach. "Unity, children," he’d said with that shark-like smile. "The paparazzi are always at the gates. We are one family now."

I sat as far away from Roman as the leather bench allowed, staring out the window at the blurred palms of Malibu. Roman didn't look at me. He was scrolling through his phone, his jaw set, his presence taking up all the oxygen in the car.

"Don't look so miserable, Scarlett," he said, his voice a low drawl that didn't match his cold eyes. "You’re an actress. Put on the mask."

"I'm not miserable," I lied, clutching my bag. "I’m just wondering how long it’ll take for you to grow up."

He finally looked at me, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face. "In this school? I’m the one who decides who gets to stay a child and who gets ruined. Stay out of my way, and you might just survive the semester."

______________

Northcrest wasn't a school; it was a gothic cathedral for the rich and depraved. As the car pulled up to the circular stone driveway, a sea of students in charcoal blazers parted like the Red Sea.

I stepped out, expecting the usual—whispers, maybe a few hidden phone cameras, people wanting to be near the "rising star."

Instead, I got a wall of ice.

As I walked up the marble steps, students turned their backs. Conversations died as I passed. It wasn't just a cold shoulder; it was a coordinated blackout.

"Looking for a fan club, Wood?"

A girl with platinum blonde hair and a blazer tailored to within an inch of its life stepped into my path. Sienna Rose. I recognized her from the tabloids—the heiress to a hotel empire and, according to the rumors, Roman’s shadow.

"I'm just looking for the registrar," I said, keeping my voice "pure" and professional.

Sienna laughed, a sharp, metallic sound. She leaned in, her perfume cloying. "Roman told us you were coming. He told us you like to play the victim. Just a warning—we don't do 'innocent' here. We do 'useful.' And right now? You’re just a distraction."

She looked past me and smiled. I turned. Roman was standing five feet away, leaning against a stone pillar, watching us with bored indifference. He didn't defend me. He didn't even acknowledge we’d shared a car. He just nodded at Sienna, and she tucked her arm into his like she owned him.

"Welcome to Northcrest, sister," Roman called out, the word hitting me like a slap.

___________________

By third period, I was shaking with rage. I found him in the back of the library—a massive, multi-level room filled with ancient books and shadows. He was sitting at a secluded table in the "Stacks," his boots up on a mahogany desk.

"What is your problem?" I hissed, slamming my bag down on the table.

Roman didn't look up from his book. "You’re loud, Scarlett. This is a library."

"You told them to ignore me! You told Sienna to go after me! Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He stood up slowly, his height looming over me. He walked around the table until he was inches away, forcing me back against a bookshelf. The smell of old paper and his leather jacket wrapped around me.

"I didn't tell them anything they didn't already want to do," he whispered, his hand coming up to rest on the shelf beside my ear. "You think your Hollywood fame matters here? Here, you’re just the girl who’s sleeping in my father’s house because your mother is a gold-digger."

"My mother loves Marcus!"

"Your mother loves his bank account. And you? You love the attention." He leaned in, his lips hovering dangerously close to mine. I could feel the heat of his body, the familiar, terrifying pull of him. "Here is the rule, Scarlett. At home, you can pretend we’re family. But here? You don't look at me. You don't speak to me. And you definitely don't let anyone know we ever touched."

"Or what?" I challenged, my heart racing. "You'll tell Marcus?"

"No," he growled, his hand moving from the shelf to the back of my neck, his thumb grazing my jawline. The touch was electric, making my knees weak. "I’ll tell the world what you sounded like three years ago on the cliffs. I’ll tell them that the 'Nation's Sweetheart' used to beg me to—"

"Stop it," I breathed, my eyes fluttering shut.

"Then stay in your lane," he said, his voice dropping to a low, husky vibration. He leaned down, his nose brushing against mine. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me—right there, in the middle of the school.

The door to the stacks creaked open.

"Roman? You back there, man?"

A tall, athletic guy with messy blonde hair stepped around the corner. Zane Miller. He froze when he saw us, his eyes widening with a slow, mischievous grin.

"Whoa. Didn't realize you were getting 'acquainted' with the new girl already."

Roman didn't jump back. He let go of my neck slowly, his eyes never leaving mine for a beat too long before turning to his friend. "She was lost, Zane. Just showing her the exit."

Zane looked me up and down, a predatory glint in his eye. He stepped closer, brushing past Roman to offer me a hand. "I’m Zane. If Roman is being a prick—which he usually is—I’m much better company. Want a tour, Scarlett? I promise I won't bite... unless you ask."

I saw Roman’s jaw lock. His fist clenched at his side, the knuckles turning white. The "Blacklisted King" mask was back, but for one tiny second, the jealousy had been loud and clear.

"She's busy, Zane," Roman said, his voice like ice.

"I think I can decide that for myself," I said, taking Zane’s hand just to watch the fire in Roman’s eyes. "A tour sounds lovely, Zane."

As I walked away with Zane, I could feel Roman’s stare burning a hole in my back. I’d started something. And I knew, deep down, I had no idea how to finish it.