CHAPTER 3: A MOMENT OF ESCAPE

Nathan stumbled out of the building, his vision blurred by unshed tears. A silent scream of frustration clawed at his throat, each step away from Noah’s quarters feeling like a victory and a defeat all at once.

He cursed Noah in his mind, furiously, but it did nothing to ease the ache in his legs or the heavier ache in his chest.

He was still weaving unsteadily toward the school’s main gates when a sharp, impatient car horn cut through the haze of his thoughts. He ignored it, head down, but it sounded again—insistent and demanding . Reluctantly, he looked sideways.

Parked in the visitor’s circle was a sleek, silver luxury sedan. He knew that car, it's Noah’s mother’s car.

His stomach twisted. What now?

He forced his breathing to steady, wiped his face with the back of his hand, and composed his features into something neutral before walking over.

As he approached, the driver’s side window slid down with a soft hum. Sarah Grayson sat behind the wheel, an elegant woman in her early forties, her dark sunglasses reflecting his tired face back at him. She adjusted them slightly.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice cool and assessing.

Nathan looked at her in disbelief, because off course: The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. He dipped his head slightly. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“You’re in my son’s class, aren’t you? Nathan, right? I see you two together quite often. And you’re coming from his building.” She let the observation hang, her gaze sharp even behind the shades. “What business do you have with Noah?”

For a moment, Nathan was speechless.

Madam, I have no goddamn business with your son. Your son is the psychopath here!

But the words burned on his tongue. Instead, he swallowed them down, his survival instinct kicking in. “No, I’m just a classmate. I was… dropping off a notebook. The teacher asked me to.”

She studied him, her lips a thin, painted line. “I see. Well, even though I’ve heard you’re top of the class, I wouldn’t want my son associating with you.” She said it plainly, a simple statement of fact without a hint of remorse. And there it is, Nathan thought numbly. That’s where he gets it.

“Why is that?” Nathan asked, summoning every ounce of courage he had left.

She finally removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes as cold and calculating as her son’s. “Aren’t you the scholarship student? The one with the… medical condition?” Her gaze flickered dismissively over him.

He could only nod, a hot shame spreading through him. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“So, you understand. I wouldn’t want my son associating with poverty.” She stated it as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Her words were brutal, and final. Nathan felt the ground beneath him grow unsteady, as he wished, for a fleeting, desperate second, that it would simply open up and swallow him whole.

He managed a weak, brittle smile. “It’s not my fault, you know.”

“It’s not mine, either,” she replied after a beat, her tone utterly dismissive. “You can leave.”

As he turned, his heart lurched. Standing just a few feet away, still in his singlet from their earlier… encounter, was Noah. A woman, which presumably his mother’s assistant—stood behind him, holding his blazer and bag. Noah’s expression was unreadable, a blank mask, but his eyes were fixed on Nathan. He had heard everything.

“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” Nathan whispered, his voice barely audible. He didn’t spare another glance for either of them, turning on his heel and walking away as quickly as his uncooperative legs would allow, pushing through the school gates and into the uncertain freedom beyond.

Noah watched him until he disappeared from sight, a strange, tight feeling in his own chest.

“Are you getting in, or will you stand there all day?” Sarah’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Noah let out a low hiss, yanking open the passenger door and slumping into the leather seat. He didn’t wait for the car to start. “What were you talking to him about?”

“That’s not how you greet your mother,” Sarah said, starting the engine.

“I don’t care. I want to know what you said to him,” Noah pressed, a frown darkening his features.

Sarah sighed, a sound of profound irritation. “I see you two together constantly, and you refuse to tell me anything about him. I was merely gathering information.”

Noah heaved a frustrated breath, staring out the window as the city blurred past. “It’s none of your business.”

“I know you bully him, Noah,” she stated flatly, not taking her eyes off the road.

Noah shot her a sharp glance. “So what? What’s it to you? I can have my fun if I want to.”

“I don’t care about your ‘fun.’ I just wanted to be sure.” Her voice was all business. “And don’t let it become public. You know your father’s reputation is on the line.” With that, the conversation was effectively ended. She didn’t press further, and Noah sank into a brooding silence, the elite world he was born into feeling suddenly more like a cage.

NEXT DAY

A cold breeze swept across the school quad, carrying the distant sounds of laughter from the students in the field. Nathan sat alone at a weathered picnic table, a half-eaten sandwich in his hands. It was the lunch break, and the knot of dread in his stomach had been tightening with each passing minute. It was only a matter of time before Noah found him.

He took a mechanical bite, chewing without tasting, his eyes tracing the carefree movements of the other students. They played soccer, joked, lived in a world without burdens. They have none, he thought bitterly.

But me?

The money Noah had forced on him yesterday had been a twisted lifeline. He’d managed to pay down a sliver of the debt hanging over his family and buy the medication his sister desperately needed. He carried that weight every single day. The budurn of his parents.

He was lifting the sandwich for another bite when a younger student, his eyes downcast, hurried over and slipped a folded note onto the table before scurrying away without a word.

Nathan’s blood ran cold, as he didn’t need to open it to know. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the paper. The handwriting was sharp, arrogant, unmistakable.

COME TO MY QUARTERS. NOW. - N

He sighed, a deep, weary sound that came from his very core. He looked around the bustling quad.

No one paid him any mind. No one gives a fuck about him.

The truth of it was almost a relief, because it meant no witnesses.

Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet, his legs immediately protesting, muscles cramping from the strain of the previous day and the constant tension. He began the familiar, hated trek toward the exclusive dormitory wing.

As he rounded a corner, he froze. There, blocking the main path, were Marcus, Tyler, and Jax—Noah’s usual entourage—engaged in a loud, raucous conversation.

Panic, sharp and immediate, seized him. He couldn’t pass them. They’d delay him, taunt him, maybe worse. He’d be late, and Noah’s anger would be even more volatile.

His heart hammering against his ribs, he pressed himself back against the rough brick wall, out of sight. He had no choice. He’d have to take the long way—around the entire back of the science block, a route that was all uneven gravel and neglected pathways.

He looked down at his own legs, a helpless anger rising in him. But the risk was too great. Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward.

The journey was a quiet agony. Every few steps, his legs would tremble, threatening to buckle. He’d have to stop, leaning against a wall or a tree, gasping for breath, as he continue to pressure himself.

Just get there. Just get through this.

He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the world narrowing to the crunch of gravel under his shoes and the burning in his thighs.

When the familiar door finally came into view, a wave of nausea washed over him. He paused, gripping the doorframe, breathing heavily to steady himself before turning the handle and stepping inside.

Noah’s room was, as always, a display of privileged excess. Cozy and warm, it was littered with the trappings of a spoiled high school athlete: baseball gloves, a basketball, expensive sneakers tossed carelessly in a corner, sleek gadgets charging on every surface. Nathan’s gaze swept over it all, a stark reminder of the chasm between their lives.

He was still leaning against the closed door, trying to support his weight, when the interior bathroom door opened.

Noah emerged, a towel slung around his neck, his hair damp. He didn’t seem surprised to see him. He padded across the room to his desk, his movements relaxed, in control.

“Heard you were eating a sandwich out there,” Noah said casually, finally turning to face him. A faint, mocking smile played on his lips. “From the French cafe, no less.”

Nathan dropped his gaze, a fresh wave of humiliation heating his face. “Thanks to you,” he muttered, the words thick with resentment.

“Yeah,” Noah murmured. He began to move closer, his presence filling the small space between the door and the desk. “Yesterday proved something to me, Nate. You’ll actually do anything for money.”

Nathan squeezed his eyes shut for a second, gathering himself. “Why am I here?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“What do you think? You’re here to do as I say.” Noah stopped directly in front of him, crowding him against the door. Nathan stared up, feeling utterly trapped and helpless.

“So, Nate,” Noah’s voice dropped, becoming tauntingly intimate. “How’d that little ‘payment’ feel last night? Worth every penny, right? Got to eat something fancy for once.”

Nathan remained silent. There were no words left to fight back with.

Noah’s hand came up, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate line from Nathan’s jaw down the side of his neck. Nathan flinched but didn’t pull away. “Bet you’d do it again for double,” Noah whispered, his breath warm against Nathan’s ear. He pulled another, thicker wad of cash from his pocket and waved it slowly, tantalizingly, in the space between them.

“This is sexual abuse,” Nathan forced out, swallowing hard.

“No,” Noah corrected, his voice low and sure. “I’m paying you. You’re getting paid for a service. Remember?” The reminder made Nathan whimper, a soft, broken sound. “You’re selling it to me. It’s for sale. And… you know, you could get down on your knees right now, make me cum, and I could…” He pressed his thumb gently against Nathan’s throat. “Double this. You could feed yourself, take care of that sister of yours, for three months. Easy.”

“Easy for you to say,” Nathan breathed, but something was shifting inside him. A desperate, survivalist cunning began to stir, cutting through the fear.

“Easy for you to do, Nathan. Just do it, and—”

“How about tonight?” Nathan interrupted, the idea forming fully in his mind. He lifted his eyes to meet Noah’s. “We can’t… do this here. Not now. Can we?” He injected a false note of pragmatic concern into his voice.

Noah blinked, caught off guard. He looked around his own room as if seeing it for the first time, then his gaze snapped back to Nathan. A slow, surprised smile spread across his face. The composure he’d worn like armor began to crack, revealing the raw, eager excitement beneath. “So… you’re gonna do it?” he asked, the hunger in his voice unmistakable.

“Yes,” Nathan whispered, wiping at an errant tear with a shaking hand. “Anything for the money.”

“Cool,” Noah said, the word bursting out of him. He ran a hand through his damp hair, a nervous, thrilled gesture. “Then we’ll meet here. Tonight. Right?”

“Yes. I’ll do it.”

Noah chuckled, a low, victorious sound. “Okay. You can go… and get ready for tonight.” He took a step back, granting space.

But Nathan didn’t move. He summoned every scrap of false boldness he possessed. “Actually,” he said, his body tense, “can I get the money now?”

Noah’s smile vanished. “What the fuck? You get paid after. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“Why not?” Nathan pressed, holding his ground.

“So you don’t just take it and not show up?”

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Nathan. He wasn’t a fool. “You know I can’t run away. Even if I don’t come tonight, you’ll find me tomorrow at school. And you’ll do something way worse than this to me.” He saw a flicker of acknowledgment in Noah’s eyes. The logic was sound, but Noah still hesitated, suspicion warring with his clear, desperate want.

“But I’m still not giving it to you now,” Noah stated, crossing his arms.

“And I’m not doing it, then,” Nathan replied, his voice flat and final.

“What?” The word was a sharp crack in the quiet room. Noah’s carefully constructed control shattered, replaced by boiling frustration.

Nathan didn’t answer. Instead, he turned, his hand reaching for the doorknob. It was a bluff, a desperate gamble.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Noah snarled, grabbing his shoulder and shoving him back against the door. The desperation in his voice was now a palpable, frantic energy in the room.

Nathan, his heart hammering, knew he had seized a sliver of control. “You said you can’t pay upfront. So I’m leaving.” He spoke through gritted teeth, meeting Noah’s furious gaze.

Noah dragged a hand through his hair, his frustration evident in every tense line of his body. “So you just leave? We can talk this out, you know.”

“No,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk. It’s simple. You give me the money now, or we forget about it.”

Noah stared at him, his eyes searching Nathan’s face for any sign of weakness. He found none. Nathan held his gaze, seeing the dead-serious resolve, Noah’s own desperation won out.

“Fuck! Okay, fine. Just… wait.” The surrender in his voice was stunning. He swallowed hard, looking around the room as if the answer were hidden in the clutter.

“I want to sit down,” Nathan said, the bold request surprising even himself.

Noah let out a long, exasperated sigh. His eyes traveled from Nathan’s trembling legs up to his determined face. “Okay. Fuck. Take a seat.” The permission, so casually granted, was a shock. Nathan had never been allowed to just… sit here. The only time he’d occupied a chair in this room was under duress, doing Noah’s homework.

Nathan didn’t hesitate. He moved to a wooden chair near the door and lowered himself into it, relief flooding his aching muscles. He watched, almost disbelieving, as Noah strode to his expensive oak wardrobe.

Noah rummaged inside, the sounds of shifting items loud in the tense silence. He pulled out a small metal safe from the back, worked the combination, and began counting out bills. He gathered more from a drawer, his movements hurried. Finally, he stuffed a thick stack of cash into a plain white envelope and turned back.

“This is it,” he said, holding it out. His hand wasn’t quite steady.

Nathan took it. His fingers trembled as he opened the flap and peered inside. It was more money than he’d ever held in his life. It was complete.

“So? Do we have a deal?” Noah asked. The desperation was back, naked and unmasked now, coloring every word.

Nathan looked up from the envelope into the face of the boy who had made his life a living hell. In that moment, he knew with absolute certainty he would never see him again after today. He was going to run, and run far away.

“Yes,” Nathan said, his voice surprisingly steady. “Deal. I’ll be here tonight.” The lie came smoothly, a final performance.

A glimmer of triumphant excitement lit up Noah’s eyes, and he licked his lips in anticipation. “Don’t disappoint me, Nate,” he warned, but the threat was hollow, overwhelmed by his own eager want.

Nathan looked directly at him, committing this last, twisted moment to memory. “No,” he said, the lie tasting like freedom. “I won’t disappoint you, Noah.”