(Nova's POV)
I shouldn't have been here.
I knew it the instant I slipped into the room and saw the paintings. Chaos and shadows tangled together, violent strokes across the canvas that felt like they were breathing. One piece in particular made my stomach knot, like it had teeth.
Then the air changed.
A voice rolled through it, deep, low, dangerous.
"What are you doing here?"
Damien.
I spun, breath catching. He stood in the doorway, half-dressed, a towel hanging from his neck. His hair was damp, beads of water sliding down the sharp cut of his chest. Sweatpants slung low on his hips, doing nothing to hide the breadth of him, the perfection of his build.
My mouth went dry. My pulse stuttered. He looked like sin carved into flesh.
I stumbled back and hit a frame. The painting toppled and split against the floor with a sharp crack.
"Damn— I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click. The sound echoed like a lock on a cage.
"This is my room, Sinclair." His voice was silk dragged over steel. "And you don't belong here."
"I was just… looking," I whispered, heat crawling up my neck.
His eyes flicked to the broken painting, then back to me. A slow, crooked smirk curled his lips. "Curiosity." He circled me, moving like a predator that already knew it had its prey cornered. "But do you know what happens to curious little things who wander where they shouldn't?"
I swallowed. "You're trying to scare me."
He leaned closer, his breath brushing my ear, sending shivers skittering down my spine. "Not trying, Sinclair. Teaching."
My chest tightened as his presence swallowed the space around me. He smelled like soap, heat, and something darker, something male that made me dizzy. His body radiated warmth, strength, danger.
"You don't walk into a stranger's room, close the door behind you, and expect safety," he murmured, eyes fixed on mine. "Not when the man you're trapped with is built to take what he wants." His gaze dropped briefly to my lips, then lower, a silent reminder of everything I couldn't unsee.
I tried to look away, but he angled his head, forcing my chin back toward him with the barest brush of his fingers. The touch wasn't gentle. It wasn't cruel. It was claiming.
"You don't know me, Nova. Not what I've done. Not what I could do." His voice roughened, velvet threaded with fire. "But you walked right in, like you wanted me to prove it."
My throat worked, but no words came out. He was too close—his chest bare inches from my dress, his heat searing through the thin fabric, his body a wall of strength that stole my breath.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked, his smirk widening. "That little flutter in your pulse. You're not sure if it's terror or something far more dangerous. You can't decide if you should scream, or… if you'd let me show you what happens when you play with fire."
I bit my lip, trembling, caught between running and leaning in.
He braced one hand beside my head, boxing me in. The other hovered at his side, veins carved into his forearm, tension thrumming through him like a live wire. His eyes—dark, devilish—burned straight into me.
"You walked into a stranger's room. Closed doors. No one around. Do you have the faintest idea what that means, Nova? What could happen to you if the man you found wasn't me but someone worse?"
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
He tilted his head, studying me like I was another canvas to dissect. "You think danger wears a sign? That you'd see it coming? No. It's quiet. It looks like this." His eyes locked on mine, sharp enough to cut. "A girl alone. A man between her and the door. And every choice in his hands."
My throat worked. "You wouldn't—"
"You don't know what I would." His voice dropped, softer, scarier. "That's the point. You don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of. But you gave me the chance to show you."
I swallowed hard, heat prickling down my spine.
"You're lucky I prefer teaching lessons to breaking things." He finally stepped back, giving me air. His smirk returned, lazy but lethal. "So here's your lesson, Sinclair—don't wander blind into places you don't understand. And don't ever mistake curiosity for safety."
I pressed against the door, my chest heaving.
He glanced once at the ruined canvas on the floor, then back at me. "Next time, Nova, you may not get to walk out."
The silence pressed in as I fumbled for the handle, pulling the door open with shaking hands.
Damien didn't stop me. He only chuckled, dark and certain.
"Run if you want. But remember this…" His gaze burned through me as I slipped out. "I don't give the same warning twice."
The hallway felt colder after that room.
But I wasn't cold. My skin burned, my pulse still frantic from the way Damien had pinned me with nothing but his voice, his nearness. You should be scared. The words haunted me like teeth grazing bare skin. I didn't know if he'd meant to hurt me… or if he'd been promising something far worse.
I dragged in a shaky breath, trying to steady my steps. My reflection in the glass window caught me — flushed, lips swollen from biting back words I never should've swallowed. Damn him.
Then I collided with someone.
I staggered back, heat flooding my cheeks, only to freeze when I met her eyes.
The girl from earlier.
Damien's sister.
Her gaze was sharp, deliberate, dragging down me like knives. For a heartbeat, she didn't even blink. Then, her lips curved into something between a smirk and a sneer.
"Father asked me to check on you," she said, her tone sweet as spoiled fruit. "I didn't realize that meant catching you sneaking out of locked rooms like a thief."
I stiffened. Of course. She didn't look like Damien, not exactly — but the arrogance, the cool disdain dripping from her voice? That was all Blackwood.
"I wasn't—" I started, but her steps silenced me.
She moved closer, circling me the way Damien had minutes ago. The air shifted again, predatory, suffocating. My heart hammered, traitorous déjà vu strangling my chest.
Her eyes gleamed as she leaned in, voice cutting low.
"You're flushed," she murmured, like she'd caught me red-handed. "Your pulse is racing. Did you see something you shouldn't? Or…" She tilted her head, smile razor-sharp. "…did someone touch you in a way they shouldn't have?"
My breath hitched. I hated that she noticed. Hated that she was right.
She stopped in front of me, too close, her perfume sharp and dizzying. The sweetness in her tone vanished, replaced by venom.
"I know your type. The needy kind. The desperate kind. The kind that would claw and whimper just to get my brother's attention."
The words landed like poison, but it wasn't just cruelty I heard in her voice. There was something else. Something sharper. Almost… jealous.
Her eyes burned into mine.
"Do you really think you're different? That he'll keep you longer than the others? He'll chew you up, spit you out. He always does. And when he's bored—" She leaned even closer, lips brushing my ear. "—you'll be nothing."
Heat slammed into my chest — rage, confusion, humiliation, everything at once. For one insane second, I wondered if she hated me… or hated the thought of me near Damien.
I opened my mouth to snap back, but the air changed again.
The dining hall doors creaked open.
The principal. The Alpha.
They stepped out, voices still carrying the weight of their conversation, only to falter when their eyes landed on us. On her leaning too close, her words still buzzing in my ear like venom. On me flushed, cornered, guilty.
The sister didn't move away. She only smiled. Sweet. Cruel. Like she wanted me to burn.
And I knew if even one word of what she'd said had been overheard — "slut," "my brother," "needy" — it could destroy me before I even had a chance to fight back.
Fuck.
I needed to get out of here.