Chapter 1: Shattered Pretense in the Study
The bass from downstairs thrummed through the floorboards like a second heartbeat, muffled and persistent. I pressed my palm flat against the study door, feeling the vibrations travel up my arm. The hallway was empty, the party noise a distant roar of laughter and clinking glasses that felt a thousand miles away.
I'd slipped away from my cousin's endless questions about my degree, from my aunt's pointed comments about my weight, from the weight of all those expectant eyes. Chidi's study had always been my escape, the one place in this house where I could breathe. He kept a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer of his desk, and right now, I needed a swallow of something that burned.
The door wasn't fully closed. A sliver of warm light spilled through the gap, and I could hear something. A rhythmic creaking, the protest of old hinges. My hand froze on the brass handle, and I pushed the door open just enough to look inside.
I stopped breathing.
Hugo Vidal was bent over Chidi's desk, one hand braced on the polished mahogany surface, the other gripping the hip of a woman I didn't recognize. She was leaning forward, her palms flat on the leather blotter, her skirt rucked up around her waist. Hugo's jeans were pooled around his ankles, and he was driving into her from behind with a rhythm that made the desk groan with every thrust.
I should have left. I should have pulled the door shut and walked away and pretended I'd never seen anything. But my feet were rooted to the floor, my hand still frozen on the handle, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Hugo's head snapped up. His eyes locked on mine, those sharp hazel eyes that always seemed to see straight through me. A slow smirk curved his lips, and his gaze swept over me, taking in my dress, my bare shoulders, the way I was standing there with my mouth hanging open. His eyes darkened, and he didn't slow down. If anything, he went harder, the woman underneath him letting out a breathless gasp that she muffled against her arm.
The bass from downstairs seemed to throb in time with the desk. I watched his muscles flex beneath his black t-shirt, watched the coiled snake tattoo ripple on his bicep with each thrust. He kept his eyes on me the whole time, watching me watch him, that smirk never leaving his face.
My mouth went dry. Some part of me knew I should look away. This was Chidi's best friend, the reckless bastard who had called me spoiled and soft and useless for years. The boy who had once told me I'd never survive a single day in his world. The man who made my blood boil every time he opened his mouth.
But my blood wasn't boiling now. It was heating, spreading through my chest and down into my stomach, pooling low and hot and shameful. The woman moaned, a sharp sound that cut through the muffled bass, and Hugo's jaw tightened. He pulled out, and I heard the woman's protest, but he just grabbed her hips and flipped her over, laying her out on the desk. Her head lolled back, dark hair spilling across the leather, and he climbed over her.
He looked at me again as he positioned himself between her thighs and drove back in. His eyes never left mine. There was something in them now, a challenge, a dare. He'd caught me in the act of watching, and now he was going to make me watch.
I should have left. I should have turned around and walked back down the stairs and taken my aunt's pointed questions like the good girl everyone thought I was. But my hand was still on the door handle, my knuckles white, and I couldn't move.
The woman cried out, her back arching off the blotter, and Hugo leaned down, his mouth against her throat. He said something I couldn't hear, something that made her laugh breathlessly, and then he straightened up and picked up his pace. The desk slammed against the wall with every thrust. I felt it in my chest, in my stomach, in the ache between my legs that I was trying very hard to ignore.
He was still looking at me. His eyes were half-lidded, dark, hungry. Not for her. I knew that look. I'd seen him aim it at me before, in the kitchen at dawn when I'd come down for water and found him drinking coffee at the counter. I'd called him a thug and he'd called me a princess and we'd circled each other like dogs waiting for a fight.
This wasn't a fight. This was something else entirely.
I watched his hand slide down the woman's thigh, his fingers curling around her knee and pushing it up and open. She gasped, her nails digging into the leather, and he thrust deeper. His gaze flicked from my face down to my chest, to the gold chain resting against my collarbone that was rising and falling with my shallow breaths, and then back up to my eyes.
"Enjoying the show?" His voice was rough, breathless, and I felt it like a physical touch.
The woman turned her head, finally noticing me. Her eyes widened, and she made a sound that might have been embarrassment, but Hugo didn't stop. He drove into her with a steady rhythm and said, "Don't mind her. She's just Chidi's little sister."
Little sister. The words landed like a slap. I saw red, the same flash of fury I got every time someone called me that. But it tangled with something else, something darker and hotter that I didn't want to name.
I let go of the door handle. It swung closed behind me with a soft click, and the lock engaged with a sound that felt louder than the bass downstairs. Hugo's smile widened, a slow, dangerous thing, as I took a step into the room.
He was watching me like I was the one on the desk. Like the woman beneath him was nothing but a prop, a warm body that would be forgotten the moment this was over. And I hated him for it. I hated the way he made me feel caught, seen, undone.
And I hated how much I wanted to stay.
The lock clicked and the world narrowed to the sound of skin on skin, the wet rhythm of Hugo driving into her, the woman's breathless cries muffled against her own arm. I stood in the doorway like a criminal caught mid-act, but I didn't run. Hugo's eyes tracked me with that predatory focus, never breaking rhythm, and something inside me snapped.
My hand moved before I could stop it. My fingers found the hem of my dress, slipping beneath the green fabric and sliding up my thigh. The lace of my underwear was already damp, and I felt a shameful thrill at that discovery. I pressed my palm against myself through the fabric, a choked breath escaping my lips. Hugo's smirk deepened, his gaze dropping to where my hand disappeared under my skirt.
"That's it, princess," he said, his voice rough. "Show me what you've been hiding."
The woman beneath him whimpered louder, a broken sound that vibrated through the desk. Hugo didn't look at her. His eyes stayed locked on mine, on the slow circle my fingers were tracing through damp lace, and his jaw tightened.
"Look at you," he breathed, voice ragged. "The good girl, touching herself in her brother's study while I fuck someone else."
The woman arched beneath him, a sharp cry tearing from her throat, and Hugo slammed into her hard enough to make the lamp on the desk wobble. But his attention never wavered from me. He was riding her like a machine, punishing and relentless, and yet everything about him was focused on the way my fingers moved, on the flush creeping down my chest.
I pressed harder, the heel of my palm grinding against myself through the fabric, and a low moan escaped my lips before I could catch it. His smirk widened, feral and hungry.
"Good," he said. "Now take it off."
The word hit me like cold water. My hand froze beneath my dress, and the heat that had been pooling low in my stomach curdled into something sharp and sick. What was I doing? This was Chidi's study. Chidi's desk. His best friend, with some woman spread out on the leather blotter like a sacrifice, and I was standing here with my fingers inside my underwear like I'd lost every ounce of sense I'd ever had.
Hugo saw the change. His rhythm faltered for half a second, his eyes narrowing, and that smirk flickered at the edges. "Don't you dare run, princess."
I ran.
The lock clicked open and I was through the door before he could say another word, the heavy wood swinging shut behind me and cutting off the woman's startled cry. I didn't stop. I flew down the hallway, my heels skidding on the polished floor, the bass from downstairs thudding in my chest like a second heartbeat. My breath came in ragged gasps, my skin burning with shame, with anger, with something I refused to name.
Behind me, I heard the door slam open.
I found the bathroom at the end of the hall and threw myself inside, fumbling with the lock until it clicked. My back hit the door, my breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps that echoed off the white tiles. I pressed my palms against the cool surface and squeezed my eyes shut, willing my heart to slow.
But the image was burned into my eyelids. Hugo's hands on that woman's hips. The way his eyes had never left mine, dark and hungry and full of a dare I hadn't been brave enough to take. My fingers still smelled faintly of my own arousal, and I hated myself for it. I hated him for it.
The bass thrummed through the floor, muffled now, distant. I turned to the sink and ran cold water, splashing it onto my face, watching the flush creep down my neck. The gold chain against my collarbone felt heavy, accusing.