Aurora Rae Winters' POV
"You stole my pen."
Aiden blinked at me like I'd just accused him of murder. Then, like a true idiot, he grinned. "Darling, if I stole your pen, I would've left a ransom note, maybe even a kiss print."
I glared at him. "You left teeth marks."
"So technically it was shared ownership," he said, twirling my now-chewed-on pen between his fingers. "We're bonding. Isn't that what friends do?"
"We're not friends," I said coolly.
He gasped dramatically, clutching his heart like he'd been stabbed. "You wound me, Rae. And here I thought we were practically trauma-bonded. You broke someone's wrist and I laughed. That's soulmate energy."
My lip curled. "I'm going to shove that pen somewhere medically significant."
"And I'll write poems from the hospital bed," he chirped, flipping the pen between his fingers.
God, I hated him. And yet, in a way that made my eye twitch, I didn't.
The rest of the day trudged by with the artificial hum of academic monotony. The boy who had smirked at me during class—who had ignited something that felt too close to obsession—was nowhere to be seen. He disappeared after lunch like a magician vanishing into smoke.
I didn't like that.
I noticed things. I catalogued them. And when pieces went missing from the puzzle, it made me want to break the board.
Crownwood's halls emptied as the sun drooped behind the old stone buildings, casting a moody gold over the campus. I walked alongside Aiden, who had managed to monologue about the tragic death of his fake houseplant for almost five minutes straight.
"I think Fernie knew he was unloved," he sighed. "Plastic or not, he deserved better."
"He was literally made of polyester."
"All the more reason to give him dignity in death."
I might've said something crueler if I hadn't smelled the smoke.
And then we heard the shouting.
We reached the parking area just as chaos bloomed into flames.
A luxury black Mercedes roared with fire. People circled it with phones out, voices rising in panicked awe. I stopped, arms crossed, watching the show.
Valentina's scream sliced through the air.
"MY MERCEDES!"
There she was—flawless, furious, and feral—storming toward the inferno in stilettos and threats. Students parted for her like fearful petals.
And then her eyes locked on mine.
"YOU!"
Here we go.
"You psychotic, four-eyed bitch!"
The irony. I hadn't worn glasses since she broke them. Just shadows where the lenses used to be.
I smirked. "Ironic, accusing someone who doesn't light matches of arson. You might want to rethink your detective career."
"You're the only one who hates me enough to do this!"
"I didn't say I don't hate you," I replied smoothly. "I just prefer psychological warfare over gasoline."
Her fury snapped through her limbs as she advanced, teeth bared like a rabid heiress. But before she could scream again, she noticed the paper.
A small, charred note fluttering under the wiper blade.
She snatched it.
Her eyes scanned. Her jaw slackened.
Then she read it aloud:
"That's the first and last warning for you. If you ever break something that belongs to me again, you won't watch your car burn. You'll be the one burning."
There was a beat of silence. Even the fire seemed to hush.
She turned the paper.
— A. K. Blackgrave.
Her hands dropped. Her lips quivered.
I stepped closer.
"Well," I said with honeyed poison, "looks like you made an enemy. And this one doesn't play with matches. He brings infernos."
She didn't respond. Couldn't.
I turned my gaze outward, hunting through the crowd, and found him—finally. Leaning against a dark car beneath a tree like he'd been watching the whole world perform for his amusement.
Augustus Kaz Blackgrave.
And he was smirking again.
God, that smirk.
It wasn't cocky. It was knowing. Dangerous. Like he was ten moves ahead and bored by your attempts to catch up.
We locked eyes.
And I saw it all in that gaze—sharpness wrapped in silk. Intelligence dipped in venom. The kind of boy who would whisper beautiful things while holding your throat.
I smiled back, slowly.
Not seductively. Not softly.
Like a predator meeting another predator.
---
The next morning, Valentina was absent.
Rumors shot across the academy like wildfire. Some said she fainted. Others swore she locked herself in the girl's bathroom and screamed until her voice cracked. Someone even claimed her family was hiring private security.
Cowardice wrapped in designer.
I strutted into class wearing the same subtle smile I wore when stepping on insects. Aiden, of course, was already there—lounging in his seat like he owned it.
"Our Lady of Eternal Rage isn't here today," he whispered the moment I sat. "Do you think she's getting exorcised, or just practicing her ugly cry?"
"Both," I replied.
"Should we send flowers or a fire extinguisher?"
"Send her therapy. And a leash."
Aiden snorted, then leaned close. Too close. "You looked at him like you wanted to lick his soul."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Blackgrave. Yesterday. Your eyes practically screamed 'claim.'"
I curled my lip. "I don't claim people, Aiden. I devour them."
He clasped his hands dramatically. "God, that was hot. You scare me so good sometimes."
I leaned toward him, voice silken and sharp. "Keep talking and I'll rearrange your face like an abstract painting."
He smiled wider. "That's my girl."
The classroom door opened, and in came Augustus.
He took his seat in the back again—silent, elegant, untouched by the noise.
Aiden saw my eyes flick toward him.
"You're so obsessed."
"I'm intrigued. That's different."
"Right. Like how you were 'intrigued' by that rich girl in Geneva and then she mysteriously transferred two weeks later?"
I smiled without teeth. "Accidents happen."
Aiden laughed like I'd just told him a bedtime story. "Well, if you need help turning Blackgrave into your pet, I want naming rights."
"I'll let you name his ashes."
"So thoughtful."
---
Lunch came and went. Augustus didn't speak to anyone. People avoided him like a ghost who could curse with eye contact.
I liked it.
I liked the way the air shifted when he entered a room. The way silence clung to him like silk.
And when he looked at me—really looked—
It was like being dissected by a man who already knew what to keep and what to break.
He didn't flirt. He didn't smile wider. He just smirked like he already owned the ending.
And maybe he did.
Maybe we both did.
---
At the end of the school day, I lingered near the front entrance, watching the students scatter like ants. They buzzed and chattered, but I wasn't listening to any of them. I was waiting for him.
Augustus Kaz Blackgrave.
I'd caught glimpses of him again throughout the day, a quiet storm in the distance. But now, as the sun dipped lower, I knew—he would come.
And when he did, my world would change.
And so, he appeared. Like clockwork, stepping out of the shadows, his black coat billowing behind him, his eyes locked on mine.
The distance between us was the same as it had always been. He wasn't close. But he didn't need to be.
I had already decided.
Augustus Kaz Blackgrave would belong to me.
He smirked. And that smirk—more dangerous than any fire—set the flames of my ambition roaring.
I wasn't going to play him.
I was going to own him.
—He's mine.