CHAPTER 2

Kate

My stomach lurches. I think I might actually vomit. The room tilts, my body disconnecting from reality as if I’m floating somewhere above myself, staring down at the three of them standing in a neat little row, waiting for me to react. Like they’re an execution squad aiming right at my chest.

Maybe I’ll just collapse, I tell myself, strangely calm about the possibility. The thought is almost laughable, except there’s nothing funny here. This is pure disaster, not some dark comedy.

The only time I’ve ever passed out before was at one of my late mother’s chemo sessions. She insisted I stay focused on school, but I already knew the truth. She was slipping away, no matter how hard my parents tried to paint over it.

Don’t faint, Katherine. I order myself now. Not because of this.

“It’s a lot to absorb,” my father says.

“Yeah,” I echo flatly, my voice mechanical.

He clears his throat. “Dorian mentioned he knows you pretty well from school.”

I shoot Dorian a hard look, silently daring him to shut his mouth. Of course, he doesn’t. That crooked grin spreads across his face like he’s enjoying the show. My stomach twists. Did he already know about their little secret before…before what happened between us? The thought makes me want to retch.

“Brighton’s small,” Dorian replies. “Everyone’s in everyone’s business. Practically inbred.”

Ella Reed pales instantly. My father clears his throat again. If I weren’t so furious, I’d almost laugh at his discomfort. Senator Jed Harrison does not handle words like inbred very well.

“Dorian,” Ella snaps. “Maybe we should step aside and let Katherine and her father talk.”

That is the last thing I want. I don’t need his explanations, his excuses about keeping their relationship private. I don’t need to be reminded of campaign strategies or public appearances.

God. If anyone uncovers what happened between me and Dorian… Before, it was just a reckless mistake. Now it’s twisted. Forbidden. Incestuous.

My lungs tighten. Breathing feels impossible. “I need a second,” I mutter, turning away.

I don’t register their responses. I move quickly, past the immaculate furniture, through this sterile house that has never felt like mine. My father bought it after my mother passed. Then he shipped me off to Brighton, conveniently out of the way.

I push open the first door at the far end of the hallway. It’s his office, not the bathroom. I can’t even remember where the bathroom is anymore. Pathetic. But then again, this doesn’t really feel like my home.

I shut the door behind me and lean against it, letting the silence settle around me like a blanket. The walls are plastered with photographs—my father posing with politicians, clasping hands, flashing polished smiles, sealing deals. And sitting proudly on his desk, displayed like some prized possession, is a silver frame.

Inside the frame is a photo of my father and Ella Reed, faces pressed close together, grinning like idiots at the camera.

I want to grab it and hurl it across the room. To watch the glass explode into glittering shards. But I don’t. Katherine Harrison would never dare something so reckless.

Then again, Katherine Harrison wasn’t supposed to sleep with Dorian Reed either.

He stormed into Brighton Academy like a hurricane. Everyone already knew his name, but Dorian wasn’t just gossip. He was an event. A spectacle.

I was primed to despise him, but even without the stories, I would’ve loathed him on sight. The ripped designer denim, the faded, too-cool t-shirt, the air of rebellion clinging to him. He radiated trouble. He’d offered my best friend Sara a personal dorm tour. She refused. He only laughed, threw her a wink, and turned that same invitation on me.

If I could have rolled my eyes harder, they would have popped out of my head.

During the two years that followed, Dorian managed to prove every tabloid rumor about him dead-on, racking up offense after offense at school… sneaking cigarettes, drinking underage, messing with drugs, sneaking girls into his room. Every incident mysteriously brushed aside. 

Checks were written. It didn’t hurt that Dorian’s rebellion came in waves, and when he turned on the charm, he could win over anyone he wanted. And yes, I mean exactly that. Dorian worked his way through most of the senior girls. Not Sara—my best friend, but honestly, if she hadn’t been hopelessly loyal to her boyfriend, she probably would have taken him up on it.

The truth is, even when he first showed up, Dorian’s reputation between the sheets was already louder than his reputation outside of them. The things he could do with his tongue were infamous. Just the thought of him between my thighs makes my skin heat.

The door shifts behind me, snapping me out of the spiral, and thank God, because the last thing I need is to be replaying what went down with Dorian Reed.

The fact that I gave my first time to him is already mortifying without the added circus of chaos attached to it.

Anyway, that was the past. Practically prehistoric. So what if it happened only a week and a half ago? It’s one of those mistakes that never should have existed in the first place.

I back away from the door, and it swings inward instantly. My lungs tighten, preparing for the unavoidable talk with my father.

Except it isn’t him. It’s Dorian. A sharp breath escapes me. I realize I need to confront him eventually, but right now? Whatever offense I committed to deserve this avalanche of cosmic punishment, I swear I’ll undo it.

“Hello, sis,” he drawls, dragging the word out as he shuts the door and props himself against it. If he owns another expression besides that smug bastard smirk, I’ve never seen it. He ought to be just as disgusted as I feel, but of course he isn’t. He’s Dorian. For someone like him, this only boosts the already notorious Reed reputation.

“Don’t call me that,” I bite out.

“Oh, but you heard dear father, Angel,” he says. “We’re going to be family now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I retort. Why do I constantly feel the violent urge to slap him whenever he opens his mouth? Every word he speaks scrapes at my nerves.

Dorian chuckles. “Damn,” he mutters. “Living life with that pole shoved up your ass must be exhausting.”

“Shut it!” I spit, glaring hard. “Did you know about this before you and I…you know?”

He pushes off the door and strides closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath brushes the space between us. “You know…?” he repeats softly. “What exactly are you asking, Angel?”

Blood pounds through my skull. “Quit using that name, Dorian,” I warn. “Or I’ll start calling you shithead.”

He tilts nearer, his lips brushing almost against my ear. “Then you can call me Oh God,” he murmurs. “The way you did before. When we were…you know.”

Damn it. Fire scorches my cheeks, and I shove against his chest to get him away from me.

“Go to hell, Dorian.”

Still laughing, he sweeps back the stray lock of sandy hair falling across his brow. “Too late, Harvard,” he replies. “You already did that. And if memory serves, it came with you screaming…Oh God, don’t stop, Oh God, Dorian, Dorian…” He pitches his voice high, airy, and mocking, the sound bouncing off the walls of my father’s office, magnified in the confined room.

What follows isn’t like me at all. I don’t even register the decision until it’s done.

I march forward and strike him across the face, the sharp smack of my palm against his cheek cracking loud in the still air. I’m not sure who looks more shocked—him or me. My hand jerks back instantly like I pressed it against a live wire, and I stumble backward, horrified.