This game just leveled up

I slam the dorm room door shut behind me and toss my cleaning bag to the floor like it burned me.

Damien Wolfe is the devil.

A very fine, very rich, tattooed devil… but still. The devil.

I flop face-first onto my bed and groan into my pillow. My thighs are still trembling—and not from exhaustion. I hate that a single touch from him turns me into this… mess. This overheated, overstimulated, overthinking mess.

And the worst part?

He knows.

He lives for it.

Just as I start mentally stabbing his smug face with a fork, the door swings open with drama only Maya could deliver.

“Oh my God, Zara!” she gasps. “You look like someone just tried to either murder you… or f*ck you.”

I lift my head and squint at her. “Why are those your only two options?”

She kicks off her shoes and drops her tote. “Because I know that face. That’s not stress. That’s sexual tension.”

She hops onto the bed beside me like I’m her personal telenovela.

“Well?” she nudges. “Was it a hot guy? Did he touch you? Did you touch him? Zara, blink twice if you committed a sin.”

I bury my face deeper. “I hate you.”

“That’s a yes,” she beams, poking my ribs. “Now spill.”

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers to my very complicated emotional meltdown. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated means hot,” she says, eyes sparkling.

“It’s Damien Wolfe,” I mutter.

Maya gasps so hard I’m afraid she might choke.

“Mr. Penthouse?! Mr. Tall, dark, ruined-your-womb-with-a-glance Damien Wolfe?!”

I groan. “You make it sound worse.”

She grabs a pillow and clutches it dramatically. “Girl, you are playing with the kind of fire that burns souls. That man is a volcano in a suit.”

“He’s my boss.”

“Exactly why you shouldn’t be staring at his dick through his joggers.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You knew it was hard.”

I freeze.

She squints, then screams. “ZARA!”

“Shhh!” I clamp a hand over her mouth.

She licks my palm.

I yank it back. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re horny. We all have flaws.”

I sigh and sit up, my chest still fluttering with everything that just happened. “He’s playing a game, Maya. I’m just the newest toy.”

“But that’s just it,” she says quietly. “You’re not playing. You’re resisting. That’s why he wants you.”

I chew on my bottom lip. “I don’t want to be someone he uses. I’ve seen the kind of girls he goes through.”

She touches my shoulder. “Then don’t let him use you. Make him beg.”

Her words settle into my bones like a dare.

Make him beg.

A thrill dances through me. But I don’t get to sit in it for long.

I glance at the time and curse. “I’m gonna be late for class!”

I change in record time and dash out, my heart still pounding from everything—but not because I’m rushing.

By the time I reach the lecture hall, everyone’s already seated. I slip inside, trying not to draw attention, but eyes still follow me like I walked in naked.

I slide into my seat beside the only person I talk to on campus besides Maya: Grayson Hale.

Grayson is… a walking distraction. All smooth jawlines, soft brown skin, messy black curls, and that signature scent of mint and sandalwood. He looks like every broody book boyfriend brought to life.

But he’s my friend.

My safe place.

The only guy who talks to me without expecting something in return.

“Hey, buttercup,” he says, brushing a knuckle against my cheek. “You okay? You ghosted my texts.”

I open my mouth to answer—then the door opens.

And the air changes.

Every girl in the room shifts. Breath hitches. Whispers start.

Damien Wolfe walks in like he’s allergic to humility.

Tailored black suit. Lazy smirk. And eyes that flick around the room until they land—on me.

I freeze.

He doesn’t say a word. Just passes my row, close enough for his scent to flood my lungs—amber, spice, and sin.

I hate that I notice.

I hate that my thighs tighten under the desk.

I stare at my notes like they hold salvation.

“You okay?” Grayson murmurs beside me, concern laced in his voice.

“Yeah,” I say. Too fast. Too fake.

He raises a brow. “Tired? Or distracted by a certain six-foot-five billionaire with ruin on his resume?”

I shoot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He chuckles, leaning in. His shoulder brushes mine. It’s casual, comforting.

“You know,” he says quietly, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve got a little thing for your boss.”

“I do not,” I whisper-shout.

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes glinting. “Then look me in the eye and say you didn’t like the way he stared at you.”

My lips part—but nothing comes out.

Because I can’t say it.

Not honestly.

Grayson leans back, grinning like a man who just won the lottery. “Yeah. Thought so.”

I’m about to swat him with my notebook when I feel it.

The stare.

Heavy. Unblinking. Burning.

Damien Wolfe is watching us.

From the back of the room, his jaw ticks as his eyes flick between me and Grayson.

Then his gaze drops—to where Grayson’s hand still rests casually on my arm.

His fingers tighten around his pen.

I yank my hand back, suddenly flustered.

Grayson notices. He lifts both palms with a teasing smile. “Relax, man. I’m not stepping on your territory.”

The class laughs softly.

Damien doesn’t.

He leans back in his chair, tilts his head, and stares—like he’s already planning how to break this little moment apart.

And just before the professor starts, his phone lights up.

He lifts it. Types something. Locks eyes with me.

A second later, my phone buzzes.

Unknown Number:

“Enjoy the attention, little maid. You won’t like what happens next.”

My breath catches.

And just like that, I’m no longer sure if I’m the player in this game… or the prize