Chapter 1 - Stay

 

Troy

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Troy steps in under the blue laser lights flashing around the club, over sweaty, moving bodies. It smells like smoke, alcohol, and lost inhibitions.

This is it.

Soon she will breathe the same air as him again.

Every day since that day, fifteen years ago, has been building up to right now.

She is finally going to start acting out her plan—a plan to make him fall in love with her.

Hopelessly and desperately.

And then obliterate his cold… fucking… heart.

Fifteen years ago, he locked her in that orphanage closet and left with his rich, new parents. She screamed and pounded her little hands until the warden got her out hours later.

By then, he was gone.

Most girls would go on with their lives. But she stayed behind in that closet, and molded her whole existence around one face. One set of grey eyes.

Dorian Vanderbilt.

Her so-called orphan brother.

The one she loved the most. The closest thing she ever had to a god.

The one she has to destroy.

Tonight, she wears a sheer black dress with a slit so high it leaves little to the imagination. Just for him.

Her dark hair falls in sultry waves over her shoulder, paired with dark eye makeup, red lips, and black contact lenses hiding her green eyes.

She scans through the crowd, trying to spot a man with silver hair.

But when she can't find him, she climbs the stairs to the quiet VIP rooms. From what she'd seen on social media, he is high up in the social circles.

Here, the atmosphere feels intimate. Girls walk past her, giggling. Men beam with satisfied grins.

The rooms reek of alcohol, tobacco, and expensive drugs.

But he isn't there either.

That's when she looks towards the dimly lit, dark hallway.

The intimate rooms. Rooms made for only two people.

This feels different.

The doors are half open, and no one cares. Bass drifts through the walls, but it can't drown out the moans coming from most of them.

Bodies on bodies.

All fucking.

She moves quickly, scanning, searching.

Until she finds one door that is completely shut. A red door. And she instinctively knows she should leave it that way.

Her fingers linger on the doorknob for a second before she turns it and opens the door slowly.

That's when she finally sees him.

Long, silver, braided hair falls over his shoulder, with tattoos next to his head, just above his ears.

It's him.

Dorian.

And his face is buried between another woman's legs.

Troy slaps a hand over her mouth.

The woman makes a breathless sound, rubbing her breasts through her dress as pleasure takes her. He spreads her legs, slowly, sensually, feeling over her thighs.

And then his eyes suddenly flick up, as if he can sense her standing there.

His eyes lock with hers. And the world suddenly empties around her.

Silver grey eyes.

The same ones that belong to the eight-year-old boy with dusty silver spikes on his head.

All the memories pool into this one moment.

He slowly lifts his head and wipes his mouth before rising, exposing his tall, muscular body. Tribal tattoos spill over every muscle in his naked upper body.

"Close your legs." He says, covering the woman’s lap with her dress.

Then he slowly walks over to the door where Troy is still staring at him, wiping his mouth once more.

In that moment, all of her plans leave her brain. What remains is a fuckload of mixed emotions.

Troy's stomach twists into a tight knot.

Jealousy. Disgust. Anger. Awe.

She can't even tell them apart.

All she knows is that she wants the woman gone.

The realization horrifies her, and every carefully rehearsed speech vanishes from her mind.

Because he isn't a ghost anymore. He's a man. Living, breathing, and now, standing right in front of her.  

In a millisecond, she takes everything in.

The effortless way he moves his toned body. The black rings on his fingers and black earrings in his ears. Silver eyes underneath dark, frowning brows.

"Are you lost?" he says softly. His voice sounds like velvet against your skin. Or satin.

"I..." She tries to think of something to say, but nothing comes.

He gives her a second more, and the corner of his mouth turns upward, only slightly.

"Do you want to watch?"

"What?" Troy finally finds her voice. "No, I was... looking for someone. Sorry to disturb you."

But she can't move from the spot.

He doesn't either. He stares down at her, and she quivers under the intensity.

"A boyfriend?" He tilts his head.

But it doesn't feel like flirting. It feels as though he's searching for something.

His eyes move over her face, almost impatiently, as if the answer should be obvious and somehow isn't.

Her fingers tighten around the door.

"No."

"A girlfriend then?"

"Also... no."

Silence stretches again.

She doesn't even know how long she's been standing there.

Or why he doesn't close the door and proceed with whatever the hell he was about to do to that… fucking…woman.

He keeps looking at her with the same faint frown. The same strange concentration. As if she reminds him of something he can't quite reach.

After a few seconds, he finally breaks eye contact and glances down the hallway.

Then his gaze returns to her.

"Well, if it's not a boyfriend or a girlfriend..." His eyes linger on her a moment longer. "Why don't you come inside?"

She grips the door until her fingers hurt. Her mind starts spinning.

He is... him. Her obsession. And not in a good way. In a very disturbing way.

If he only knew exactly how much she stalked him, he probably wouldn't invite her in.

But he does.

And it feels impossible to move away, as if his presence itself is a siren's song.

"I'm... no... thank you." She manages to choke it out.

"Are you afraid?" He smiles softly, and it reaches his eyes.

"No... well... maybe."

He looks around and nods, his smile fading. "Then you should probably... walk away."

"Yes, I should."

He opens the door entirely.

Her hand leaves the door, and she awkwardly crosses her arms.

"So why don't you?"

"I'm going to. Right now... actually." Troy turns and moves out of the doorway into the hallway in one swift motion. Then she starts walking.

"Hey!" His voice sounds urgent.

She stops and takes a deep breath, one that doesn't feel within reach. Then turns around again.

This time, he swallows deeply, and the smile is entirely gone.

"Do you know the date of your death?" He takes a step towards her.

Troy shakes her head. A small, disbelieving laugh escapes her. "What the—?"

"Do you know how long you'll live?"

He is entirely serious, it seems.

"No, of course not."

"Neither do I." His gaze holds hers, frowning.

Troy swallows hard, too.

"Strange, isn't it?" He glances toward the exit. "People spend their whole lives acting as though they're guaranteed another year, or another day, even another minute." Then he looks back at her. "One could argue, running from things is irresponsible."

She shakes her head in disbelief, but she doesn't have the words to argue. "I'm not running," she chokes the words out of her throat.

"Then..." He walks up to her slowly until he stands in front of her. Then he gently holds out his hand. "Stay."