Chapter 5 Dorian Klient!?

Annabella.

His fingers were burning hot against my skin.

I tried to yank my arm back, but his grip didn't budge.

He didn't hurt me—not exactly—but he was solid, a heavy anchor pulling me backward out of the hallway traffic.

Before I could even open my mouth to scream or curse or bite him, he dragged me through a heavy fire door and into the east wing stairwell.

The door clicked shut behind us, cutting off the roaring noise of the cafeteria rush. It was suddenly too quiet. The air smelled like cold concrete and old dust.

"Let go of me!" I snapped, my voice echoing off the high brick walls.

I finally wrenched my wrist out of his hand, stumbling back a step until my spine hit the cold metal handrail.

Dorian didn't step back. He moved closer, using his height to completely trap me in the corner of the landing.

He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his shoulders tense, his blue eyes boring into mine with a look that was pure, unfiltered irritation.

"Why did you run?" he demanded. His voice was lower here, vibrating in the narrow space. "I told you to wait. I told you I’d drive you home, and the second I turn my back, you clip your shoes and sprint out of my building like a lunatic."

"I didn't ask for a ride!" I shot back, my chest heaving as I tried to swallow down the sheer terror and confusion twisting in my gut. "I didn't ask for any of it! I woke up, I was embarrassed, and I left. It’s a free country."

"You left your dignity on my sidewalk, green dress," he sneered, a sharp, ugly edge creeping into his tone. He leaned in a fraction closer, his jaw tight. "Let's talk about last night. You assault me in the street. You throw yourself at a stranger, pull this pathetic damsel-in-distress act, and kiss me out of nowhere just to save your own skin. Is that your usual move? You just wander around dark streets looking for random guys to throw yourself at?"

My jaw tightened. "It was an emergency, you jerk."

"Right. An emergency." He let out a dry, nasty little laugh that made my blood run cold. It was that same entitled, mocking sound from eleven years ago, amplified by a deeper chest. "Sure looked like you knew exactly what you were doing. Tell me, do you do that every weekend? Just pick a target, lock lips, and see whose bed you can slide into for the night? Because honestly, it makes you look like a total—"

Crack.

The sound was incredibly loud in the empty stairwell.

My palm connected with his left cheek with every ounce of strength I had left. The impact rattled all the way up my elbow.

Dorian’s head snapped to the side.

Silence fell over the stairwell. Heavy, suffocating, terrifying silence.

He didn't move for three long seconds. His hands stayed in his pockets, but his shoulders went absolutely rigid.

Slowly, incredibly slowly, he turned his head back to face me.

The pale skin of his cheek was already flushing a deep, angry crimson where my fingers had left their mark.

His blue eyes weren't just cold anymore; they were lethal.

My breath caught in my throat. My heart was pounding so hard against my ribs I thought it would burst.

Oh, god. What did I just do?

I stared at him, my hand still trembling in the air between us. I wanted to back away, but there was nowhere to go. My back was glued to the railing.

My eyes darted around his face, looking for a way out, looking for anything—and then they dropped.

Right there, pinned to the lapel of his dark school blazer, was a temporary plastic visitor's pass. The kind the front office prints out for new students before they get their permanent plastic IDs.

The bold, black marker ink stared back at me.

DORIAN KLIENT.

Everything stopped. The blood in my veins completely turned to ice. The concrete floor beneath my feet felt like it was falling away, dropping me into a dark, bottomless void.

The face. The voice. The arrogant smirk. The broken finger scar on his hand.

It all slammed into me like a high-speed collision. The guy from the party.

The guy who held my waist in the dark. The guy whose bed I had just slept in. It wasn't just some rich, random stranger.

It was him!

"Wait..."

My voice didn't even sound like mine. It was a hollow, breathless whisper. My stomach dropped into a sickening, heavy pit.

"You're D-dorian?"

He frowned, his brow furrowing as he glared down at me, his hand finally coming out of his pocket to touch his bruised cheek.

"Yeah. Obviously. Why?"

I stared at him. I couldn't breathe. My brain was actively rejecting the reality happening right in front of me.

No.

No freaking way.

The universe couldn't be this cruel. Out of all the people in this city, out of all the streets, out of all the cars to run toward... I chose his. I chose the monster.

I chose the boy who had destroyed my childhood, who had gotten my mother fired, who had forced us into poverty while his perfect little family moved away to a fancy private school.

The confusion vanished, instantly swallowed whole by a massive, roaring tidal wave of pure, unadulterated venom.

The seven-year-old girl inside me woke up, and she was absolutely furious.

I straightened my spine, looking him dead in his icy blue eyes, my teeth grinding together so hard my jaw cracked.

"I'm Anabella McCain, you asshole!”