Chapter 6
2100words
The next day at school, like a lone wolf that had locked onto its prey, he found me with precision amid the lunchtime crowd and cornered me in the nearly empty reference section of the library.
"Be my girlfriend."
This wasn't a question but a command—concise, rough, leaving no room for negotiation, just like his kiss from the night before.
I looked at him. He wore a clean white T-shirt and black jeans. The earth-shattering madness from last night seemed to have faded, but those eyes still concealed an undeniable obsession.
"Why?" My voice was barely a whisper, a question I found ridiculous even to myself.
"Because from now on, I won't allow you to look at anyone else." He stepped forward, his breath enveloping me. "Especially Ryder Kang."
When he said that name, the line of his jaw tensed tight, as if he were chewing on glass shards.
I didn't answer, just silently looked at him. My brain was in chaos, half screaming to run away, while the other half was pinned to the spot by his domineering, completely focused gaze. For someone like me who was used to being ignored, this kind of intense attention was itself a deadly poison.
"Jules," seeing my prolonged silence, his voice finally revealed a barely perceptible crack, "answer me."
"If I agree," I finally found my voice, though it still trembled slightly, "what will we do? Everyone saw you drag me away from Ryder."
"Then let them keep guessing," the corner of his mouth curled into a cold arc, like a sharp knife. "I like games, Jules, especially games where only the two of us know the rules."
Taboo, secrets, games. These words coursed through my body like electric currents, bringing a shiver of fear and equally intense, shameful excitement.
I looked into his unfathomable eyes and slowly nodded.
And so, the game began.
Our romance was a secret adventure conducted under the watchful eyes of everyone, like dancing on a tightrope. We passed each other in the hallway as strangers; in the classroom, he sat in the back row while I sat in the front, our eyes never meeting.
But when no one was around, everything changed.
He would pull me into empty stairwells, silencing my gasp with a burning, urgent kiss until my legs weakened from lack of oxygen. He would find my car in the parking lot and suddenly open the passenger door before I started the engine, just to leave his mark on my lips.
Our favorite secret hideout was the school's art studio.
After school, when everyone rushed home or to club activities, it became our Eden. Through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows streamed an orange-red sunset, while the room filled with the mixed scent of turpentine and paint.
Leo would continue working on his enormous canvases, while I sat on a stool in the corner, nominally doing homework, but in reality, my entire attention was focused on him.
"Come here," he commanded without looking up.
I put down my pen and walked to his side. He was applying background color to a painting, a deep black that seemed capable of swallowing everything.
He put down his brush, turned around, and naturally wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me toward him. His T-shirt was stained with splotches of paint—white, blue, and a splash of glaring crimson.
"You smell like paint," I said softly.
"Now you do too," he lowered his head and gently rubbed his paint-covered cheek against mine, creating a stark contrast between the cool paint and his burning skin.
Then he would kiss me, a kiss different from all the stolen, hasty ones we'd shared. It was a long, gentle, exploring kiss, like his paintbrush tracing the shape he desired on my body.
In these secret moments, I began to see a different Leo. A Leo who would curse in frustration over a slight imperfection in his painting, a Leo who would look at me intently, as if I were the most worthy art piece in the world to study.
But when it all ended, as we walked out of the studio one after another, rejoining the flow of people, we turned back into two unrelated strangers.
This sense of disconnection tormented me, yet I was utterly addicted to it.
We pushed this adventure to the extreme. A few weeks later, on a Friday night, he sent me a text with nothing but an address.
It was an old warehouse in the city's industrial district, looking ordinary from the outside, even somewhat dilapidated. But when I opened the heavy iron door with the password he gave me, a whole new world unfolded before me.
This wasn't the public studio at school; this was a creative space that belonged to him alone.
It was three times larger than the school's studio, with professional lighting equipment hanging from the high ceiling. The walls were covered with completed large-scale paintings, each one full of tension, intense colors, and filled with pain, anger, and struggle. This was Leo Vance's soul laid bare.
In the center of the studio, a huge canvas stood on an easel, with only a vague outline sketched in charcoal.
"You came." He emerged from the shadows, holding a bottle of red wine and two glasses.
"This is..." I was too stunned to speak.
"My place," he answered simply, handing me a glass of wine. "A place where no one can disturb us."
We didn't turn on the main lights, only keeping a few spotlights on, which cut the entire space into secret corners of intermingling light and shadow. We leaned against the huge old sofa on the floor covered with a dust sheet, slowly drinking.
The alcohol made my body warm and soft, and also made me bolder.
"Those paintings," I pointed at the disturbing works on the wall, "what are they depicting?"
"Nightmares." He took a sip of his drink, his Adam's apple moving slightly. "I paint them out, so they won't scream inside my head anymore."
His voice was calm, but beneath the calmness was an unfathomable sadness. I suddenly remembered the rumors about him, about his dead friend, about the accident that completely tore him and Ryder apart.
I didn't ask further, just reached out and gently placed my hand over his that was resting on the sofa. His hand was cold, with long, strong fingers.
He stiffened, turning his head to look at me.
In the dim light, the obsession and coldness in his eyes seemed to have melted away, leaving only a fragile, unfathomably deep pool. He gazed at me, his eyes scanning my face inch by inch. Without my usual disguise and makeup, every acne mark on my face and the braces on my teeth were completely exposed.
I instinctively wanted to turn my face away, but he held my chin.
"Don't move," his voice was extremely hoarse. "You're perfect just like this."
He leaned down, and this time, his kiss was neither punishment nor game, but a confirmation bordering on reverence. He gently licked the scar on my lip that he himself had bitten open, his tongue tentatively tracing my cold braces with a strange, heartbreaking tenderness.
My body completely melted under his touch, and those high walls built from my insecurities crumbled piece by piece in his focused and gentle kisses.
I began to clumsily respond to him, and he let out a satisfied sigh, tightening his arms to pull me entirely into his embrace.
Our clothes were removed at some point, and the cold air gave me goosebumps, but his burning body quickly enveloped me. He picked me up and walked toward the enormous easel at the center of the studio.
He placed me on the large dust cover in front of the easel, a cloth stained with traces of various paints, resembling an abstract starry sky. He knelt on this starry sky, looking down at me intently.
"Jules," he called my name over and over again, his voice filled with extreme restraint and desire, "you are mine."
When he entered my body, a sharp pain made me gasp, but that pain was quickly replaced by an unprecedented feeling of being filled, of being possessed.
This wasn't just sex.
This was a sacrifice.
I sacrificed all my insecurity, my fear, my past to him. And he, with all his darkness, obsession and struggle, completely devoured me.
He was patient, guiding me, teaching me how to adapt to his rhythm. The moonlight shone through the high window, outlining the smooth and powerful muscle lines on his back, with sweat sliding down his spine like shattered diamonds.
At the peak of desire, he stared intently into my eyes, as if looking deep into my soul. I saw the madness in his eyes intertwined with my reflection, and at that moment, there were no more secrets between us.
We were accomplices.
This underground love affair was like a wildfire burning stronger by the day, threatening to consume us at any moment, but neither of us could stop.
That night, we drove to a hilltop overlooking the entire city's night view. In his car, a cramped space surrounded by leather, his scent, and his favorite dark woody cologne, desire always came particularly quickly.
We kissed frantically as he pulled me onto his lap, skillfully unbuttoning my shirt. The car windows soon fogged up with a thin layer of mist, isolating us from the outside world.
Just as he pulled down the zipper of my jeans, a blinding headlight suddenly swept across from behind our car.
A black Range Rover stopped next to us.
My heart instantly stopped beating.
Leo's reaction was astonishingly quick; he abruptly pushed me down, completely shielding me with his body while rapidly pulling up my pants.
I curled up under his seat, my heart pounding wildly in my chest, almost bursting out.
I heard the car door open on the opposite side, then the sound of high heels on gravel, getting closer and closer.
"Leo? Is that really you?" It was Savannah Pierce's voice, sickeningly sweet, yet with a hint of uncertainty.
"What is it?" Leo's voice returned to its icy normal state, showing no emotion.
"Nothing, just saw a familiar car and came over to say hello." Savannah chuckled lightly. "It's so late, are you here alone enjoying the night view? I thought you might have someone hidden in your car."
Her tone was joking, but the malicious probing felt like needles stabbing through.
I could feel Leo's body instantly tense up.
"I like the quiet," he replied coldly, completely shutting down the conversation.
"Well, how boring." Savannah seemed to shrug her shoulders. "I'll go first then, don't stay outside too long, it gets quite cold at night."
The sound of high heels gradually faded away, the car door closed, and the Range Rover let out a low growl as it turned around and left.
Only when the two red taillights completely disappeared around the bend in the mountain road did Leo finally breathe a sigh of relief. He pulled me up from under the seat.
"It's okay now." He helped me straighten my disheveled clothes and hair, but I was still shaking uncontrollably.
"Did she see?" My voice was trembling beyond recognition.
"No," Leo said with certainty, "she didn't see anything."
As he spoke, he lowered his head to kiss me, but I turned my head away. The fear of nearly being exposed had doused all my desire like a bucket of ice water.
Leo didn't force me, he just started the car.
On the way back, we didn't say a word. I looked at the street lights quickly receding outside the window, feeling like a criminal who had just fled from a crime scene.
I knew Leo was right, Savannah couldn't have seen my face clearly.
But in that moment when her headlights swept over us, I saw her through the foggy window. She was sitting in the driver's seat, with perfect makeup, wearing that habitual, superior perfect smile.
However, beneath that smile, I clearly saw a fleeting, undisguised jealousy and suspicion. She had seen something, perhaps a glimpse of clothing color that didn't belong to Leo, or maybe that unnatural fog on the window.
She didn't know it was me yet.
But now, she knows Leo has a secret.
The next morning, my phone received a message from an unknown number:
"Your secret with Leo, I'll find out soon. —S"
