Aria’s POV
I wasn’t supposed to be there. Not at the Wolfe mansion. Not in Ivy’s vintage Dior. And definitely not in the west wing hallway where the lights were dimmed just enough to scream *wrong turn*. But tell that to the vodka in my bloodstream and the God complex I’d developed since being sentenced to Bellmere like it was some kind of elite prison cell wrapped in ivy. I blame the heels. Ivy’s were a half-size too small, and after two hours of mingling with rich kids and wannabe political heirs who all reeked of generational wealth, I needed air—or a scene. Maybe both. That’s how I ended up slipping past a red velvet rope like it wasn’t even there. One wrong turn. One open door. One choice that changed everything. The room was low-lit, warm-toned, and thick with a tension I didn’t understand until it was too late. The scent of sandalwood and leather hit me first, followed by a sharp click of something metallic. Chains? No. That had to be my imagination. But then I heard it—a moan. Raw. Real. Human. I froze. Voices whispered. Someone laughed. A soft whimper followed. I should’ve turned around. Instead, I stepped closer. A gloved hand grabbed mine. Large. Firm. Commanding. I didn’t scream. I didn’t even flinch. "You’re late," a deep voice said behind me. British accent, low and gravel-rich. It wasn’t familiar—but it wasn’t threatening either. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. My breath caught as a silk blindfold slipped over my eyes. “Wait—” “Shh.” Another hand cupped my chin, tilting it upward. Then the unmistakable sensation of warm breath against my neck. “Speak again without permission, and I’ll gag you.” My entire body tensed. I should’ve told him. I should’ve said, *I think you have the wrong girl*. But I didn’t. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the cold thrill racing down my spine. Or maybe—deep down—I wanted to know what it felt like to be owned, if only for a minute. “On your knees,” he commanded. I dropped. The rug was soft beneath me, but I barely noticed. Every sense was screaming. My hands trembled at my sides. “Hands behind your back.” I obeyed. A silk ribbon tied my wrists, not tight—but tight enough to promise consequences. “I don’t recognize you,” he murmured, circling me. I could feel the heat of him—towering, restrained, predatory. “But I don’t need to recognize you, do I?” I swallowed hard. Then came the first touch. A finger under my chin. A soft brush of leather against my cheek. “You’re shaking,” he observed. “Excited or scared?” I didn’t answer. A second later, I cried out. The sharp slap of a riding crop against my thigh made my skin erupt in heat. “Answer.” “Both.” A chuckle. Dark. Pleased. “I like honest girls.” Another strike. This one softer. Teasing. And just when I thought I couldn’t take another second of it— The blindfold came off. And I saw him. Sebastian Wolfe. The Dean of Bellmere. My father’s oldest friend. And the man whose eyes—silver, furious—locked onto mine like they could cut through bone. His expression went from curiosity to horror to something feral, all in the space of a heartbeat. Aria?" My name in his mouth was a curse. I nodded. He stepped back like I’d burned him. His hands curled into fists. The riding crop hit the floor with a dull thud. “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. I was still kneeling. Still bound. Still wearing the stupid blindfold pushed up to my forehead like a drunken crown. “I—I didn’t know,” I said. He stared. No words. Just a loaded silence that cracked like thunder between us. And then he turned, storming out without another word. I sank into the rug, still breathless, still burning. That was the first time I had spoken to Dean Wolfe in person. And it was the last time I felt like I was in control. —— The hangover came the next morning, hard and unforgiving. Bellmere’s sunlight had a way of being aggressively perfect—falling through ivy-laced windows like it belonged on a university brochure. My head throbbed as I stared up at the ceiling of my overpriced dorm room, silently cursing the vodka, the Dior dress crumpled on the floor, and the six-inch heels that destroyed the arch of my feet. Ivy had already texted me. **Where the hell did you take my dress???** Followed by: **Dad said Dean Wolfe wants to see you in his office.** That sobered me up faster than caffeine ever could. I barely made it out the door before Jules popped her head around the corner, a banana in one hand and a cup of iced coffee in the other. "You look like you got hit by a billionaire,” she said with a knowing grin. I paused mid-step. "What?" “Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve got post-scandal hair and a hickey on your thigh.” I pulled down my skirt. “You’re hallucinating.” “Sure,” she said, dragging out the word. “Where were you last night?”While Keisha and Ivy were having fun… Aria’s POV: I waited. And waited. Ivy still hadn’t replied to my text, even after I’d responded to her voice note. The clock ticked later into the night, my eyelids growing heavier by the second. With a sigh, I dragged the blanket up, curling onto my side, my back to the door. Just as I fluffed my pillow and sank into the mattress— *Click.* The door creaked open. I jolted, twisting around to glare at the intruder. “It’s me,” came Rand’s voice, hushed, his face half-hidden in the dim hallway light. “Sorry to disturb you.” *Again.* I clenched my jaw. “You could at least *knock*.” “Thought you were asleep,” he said, shifting awkwardly in the doorway. “Didn’t wanna disturb you.” I scoffed under my breath. “Like you don’t disturb me every other day.” “What was that?” He leaned in, brows furrowed. “Nothing,” I snapped. “What do you want, Rand?” He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “Just grabb
Ivy’s POV: My hands found her waist, fingers digging into the soft curves of her hips as I yanked her flush against me. The softness of her body sent a jolt through my veins—*God, she felt good* Keisha’s breath hitched, lips parting in silent invitation. But I didn’t kiss her. Not yet. Instead, I dragged my tongue along the column of her neck, slow and deliberate, letting the smudge of chocolate from my mouth stain her skin. Her pulse leapt beneath my lips, wild and frantic. “—Ugh—“ A soft, broken moan escaped her. I nipped at her throat—hard—just to hear that gasp again. Then I sucked, biting down until her skin flushed red, until her fingers twisted in my hair, tugging. “Ivy—“ Her voice was a whisper, a plea. “You started this,” I growled against her heated skin, my hands sliding down her back , beneath her shirt . One deft flick, and her bra came undone with a *click*. Her breasts spilled free, warm and perfect in my palms. I shoved her shirt up, wasting no tim
Ivy’s POV: The second shot burned just as much, but this time, I didn’t flinch—just hissed through my teeth as liquid fire pooled in my chest. Keisha smirked, already tipping the bottle for another. “Slow down,” I muttered, but she just laughed, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “You’re cute when you’re trying to be responsible.” She smirked, squinting her eyes. I rolled my eyes but didn’t stop her when she slid the next shot toward me. The liquor was doing its job—my limbs loosened, the tight coil in my shoulders unwinding. *Maybe Keisha had a point.* The gnawing worry from earlier had dulled to a whisper. By the fourth shot, the room glowed with a hazy warmth, and I was giggling at nothing—or maybe everything. Keisha leaned against the bar, bottle still in hand, her dark eyes glittering as she watched me. She was definitely halfway gone. “You’re blushing,” she announced, jabbing a finger at me with a grin too wide to be sober. “No, I’m not.” The de
Ivy’s POV I shoved my books into my bag and stood with a faint smirk. “Same time tomorrow?” Lucas leaned back in his chair, watching me. “Same time, same place.” “Yeah, whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes—though I almost smiled as I pushed open the café door. My first tutoring session with Lucas was actually tolerable. Barely. Not as bad as I had imagined. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Although..right now, I had better plans. My girlfriend lived across the city, and I’d promised to visit as soon as I got back to campus. Maybe even stay the weekend if she didn’t kick me out first. The bus stop was quiet, just the hum of distant traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves. I leaned against the pole,scanning the area until— *Beep. Beep.* Probably my girlfriend. I smirked, ignoring it. Surprising her was half the fun. But then my phone kept going off. *Beep. Beep. Beep.* Annoyed, I yanked it from my bag, ready to send some vague, teas
While Ivy was dealing with her shady tutor, Aria found herself locked in a silent battle—her thoughts relentlessly circling back to Kade.. Aria’s POV: The moment Kade left the doorway, I slammed the door shut, pressing my back against it, my pulse hammering in my throat. Slowly, I slid to the floor, the broken plate fragment clutched tight against my chest. I lifted it, turning the jagged edges between my fingers. *Why did he even give me this?* I thought. But deep down, I knew. I knew he gave me so I’d never forget, so I’d keep on reliving what had happened earlier. And *fuck* it was working. The memory hit me like a fever—his hand gripping mine, guiding it down the hard planes of his chest, lower, *lower*..before letting go. Leaving me burning. “Next time, I won’t stop.” That voice—dark, teasing, *dangerous*—curled around my thoughts like smoke. The way he’d looked at me.. like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he *wanted* me to break. And God, I wan
Ivy’s POV Professor Vance dropped the bomb like it was nothing. “Ivy, meet your new tutor.” *Hell no.* I didn’t need some calculus babysitter hovering over me, judging my every wrong answer. I could figure this out on my own. “Professor Vance,” I said, my voice tight as I glared at Lucas—*the tutor*—leaning against the wall like this was all some big joke. “I’m not interested.” Vance didn’t even blink. “Unfortunately that’s not one of the options.” He leaned forward, palms flat on his desk. “Either Lucas tutors you, or I call your father.” My throat closed up. *Damn it.* If my father found out I’d failed another exam, he’d be breathing down my neck—or worse, locking me in my room with a stack of textbooks until graduation. I clenched my fists, my nails biting into my palms. Vance just stared, unimpressed, while Lucas watched me like I was some fascinating experiment. “Ivy.” Vance snapped his fingers in front of my face. “We’re waiting.” He tapped