Chapter 6 Bad news

DAPHNE POV

For the first time in a very long time, everything actually felt right. I was going to get my grades up, I’d be getting paid a thousand dollars every month, and for once, I could actually see myself having a real shot with Asher. I’d even managed to slip my mum's two hundred dollars back into her purse first thing this morning.

All thanks to Killian.

I won't lie—I felt a little bad for using him. I wasn’t that type of girl, and my mama definitely raised me better than to blackmail people. But I was desperate, and I fully intended to keep my end of the bargain. His secret was completely safe with me.

The moment the clock struck 5:00 PM, I grabbed my textbooks and headed straight for the east wing.

As I passed the glass doors leading to the courtyard, I spotted Asher sitting on one of the stone benches, taking a phone call. He was smiling, his head thrown back in a laugh, and a sudden pinch of curiosity hit me. I desperately wanted to know who he was talking to. But before he could catch me staring, I forced my eyes away and hurried down the long hallway toward Killian’s wing.

I knocked on the heavy wooden door of his private quarters. Two minutes later, it swung open.

Killian stood there, looking infuriatingly good in all his glory. Clad in a simple black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, the smug bastard looked like he could easily pass for a Calvin Klein model.

“Tutoring time!” I said cheerfully, offering him a bright, forced smile.

He didn't smile back. Instead, his icy blue eyes slowly looked me up and down, taking in my tattered clothes. I was wearing a worn-out, oversized brown t-shirt, a long, fluffy red skirt, and my curly hair was a complete wild mess on top of my head.

“Come in,” he said, stepping out of the way.

I walked inside, immediately scanning his private sitting room. The place was practically a physical manifestation of his personality. A massive flat-screen TV took up most of the far wall, facing a low-profile black leather couch. Heavy black blackout curtains blocked out every hint of the afternoon sun, turning the room into an endless void of darkness. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and clean leather. No photos, no personal clutter, nothing. It looked less like a living space and more like a high-end bunker.

“I have a literature test in two weeks, so I think it's better if we start there,” I announced, making myself at home and plopping down onto the ridiculously soft couch.

Killian dragged a rolling gaming chair over, sliding it right up to the edge of the couch, and sat down. “Okay.”

Okay? Is he being serious right now?

“Okay? Seriously?” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Let’s get to work and stop sitting there just looking pretty.”

A slow smirk curled the corner of his lips. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I have eyes. Besides, my roommates practically talk about you every single day,” I shrugged, refusing to let him see me sweat.

He hummed, not pushing the topic. “Do you have notes?”

I hurriedly gave him my literature notebook.

“That’s everything I have so far.”

Killian took the notebook, carelessly flipping through the pages. He didn’t even bother to actually read the text. “This is nothing,” he said flatly, tossing it onto the table. “Do you even attend classes?”

“I do attend classes!” I defended, my cheeks warming up. “But sometimes I have to run off to my part-time shifts, so it’s hard to keep up with every single lecture.”

“Okay,” he said, his tone entirely level. “I’m going to teach you the most important concepts that will actually show up on your test. I'll cover half today, and the rest tomorrow. I expect you to learn fast, because I won’t be going back to literature.”

For the next forty minutes, my brain was subjected to absolute torture.

"No, cook's daughter," Killian muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose for the fourth time after I completely misinterpreted a Shakespearean sonnet. "The protagonist isn't 'wilding out.' It's a metaphor for grief."

"Well, Shakespeare should have just said that then!" I argued, tapping my pencil aggressively against the textbook. "Why use fifty words about a dying rose when you can just say 'I'm sad'?"

Killian stared at me like I was a strange species of insect he wanted to squish.

"Because it's art. Something you clearly have no grasp of."

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Ice King, protector of the arts," I shot back, sticking my tongue out at him. "I'm a realist. If a rose dies, you buy a new one."

He let out a dry, low chuckle, and despite how much of an arrogant jerk he was, I found myself completely floored by how easily he explained things. He didn't even look at the textbook. He just knew the themes, the historical context, the grading rubrics—everything. The bastard was a literal academic genius.

Suddenly, a sharp, heavy knock rattled the front door of the lounge.

“Killian?”

Asher’s distinct voice rang out through the wood, and my heart completely stopped. My eyes went wide, and I almost ran mad with panic.

“Your brother?!” I hissed, my voice rising a frantic octave.

Before my brain could even process a single escape route, Killian rose from his chair. In one swift, powerful motion, his hands gripped my shoulders and he rolled my back forcefully down into the cushions of the couch, settling his massive frame directly over me.

He pinned my wrists above my head, his heavy chest pressing against mine, his face inches from my nose. The position screamed nothing but raw, unfiltered sex.

“Come in,” Killian called out smoothly, his gaze locked onto mine, completely unbothered.

I instantly shut my eyes in mortification as the door barged open. The sound of footsteps entered the sitting room. Trembling, I forced my eyes open, peeping frantically over Killian’s broad shoulder at his brother.

Asher stood in the entryway, his brows instantly furrowing into a deep, harsh line as he took in the sight of me pinned beneath his brother on the couch.

“What are you two doing?” Asher asked, his voice tight as he stepped fully into the room. “I thought you said you didn’t know her, Killian?”

Killian didn't look back at him. He just casually shrugged his shoulders against my chest. “I couldn’t exactly tell dad I was fucking the cook’s daughter, can I?”

My jaw practically dropped. First of all, he was not fucking me, and secondly, he seriously needed to stop using that stupid title.

Asher’s face darkened with pure disappointment. “I should have known you’re always up to something,” he spat, pointing a stiff finger toward his brother before his eyes flicked to me. “Don’t exploit that girl, Killian… And you,” he warned, looking straight at me, “stay away from him. He’s bad news.”

And just like that, Asher turned on his heel, slammed the door, and left.

The heavy click of the lock echoed, and I finally let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

My eyes clashed violently with Killian’s. He was still hovering directly over me, his cold blue eyes boring down into mine like he was trying to peel my clothes off with his gaze alone.

“What the hell was that?!” I glared, trying to shove his massive chest away.

Killian finally pushed off me, standing up seamlessly and shoving his hands deep into his sweatpants pockets. “You know if we are going to make the fake dating work, he has to get the impression we are actually together.”

I tilted my head to the side, sitting up and smoothing down my messy red skirt. “What do you mean by he?”

I didn't remember ever telling him the name of the guy I liked.

A dark, mocking smirk played on Killian’s lips. “Asher. You’re entirely too easy to read, cook’s daughter. You were practically drooling the second he walked in.”

I pulled myself fully upright on the couch, my cheeks burning. “Was I really that obvious?”

He gave a slow, definitive nod. “Too much.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “But that doesn’t mean you had to tell him we are fucking! He’s going to think I’m just one of your random whores now!”

“That’s exactly what he should think,” Killian countered, completely unbothered. “What did you expect when you asked me to fake date you? To hold hands in the hallway?”

I pouted, looking up at him. “Isn’t that how it usually goes?”

He let out a harsh, mocking scoff. “Asher will never buy that.”

“How will he buy it then?” I snapped.

Killian stepped closer, his gaze dropping heavily to the hem of my long skirt. “Maybe after he walks in on me stretching your cunt with my dick,” he said, his voice dangerously low and graphic.

He looked at me without the slightest trace of embarrassment.

“That’s believable.”

My jaw went entirely slack. Oh my god. I made a deal with a literal pervert.

“I have to go,” I choked out, scrambling to my feet and aggressively grabbing my literature books.

Killian just stood there, the dark smirk widening on his face, looking like he thoroughly enjoyed every single second of my mental breakdown. I didn't give him another second, spinning on my heel and bursting out of his wing into the safety of the hallway.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, my face completely on fire.

I was only asking him to fake date me. So why did he make it sound like I’d signed away my virginity too?