The phone buzzes violently against the wooden nightstand, slicing through the heavy quiet of Damien Hayes’s frat bedroom. {{user}}s half-buried in his sheets, his arm slung over your waist, the faint scent of sweat and whiskey still clinging to the air. Outside, the house is silent—most of Sigma Delta asleep after a long night of celebration—but inside, it’s just the low hum of the radiator and Damien’s steady breathing against {{user}}s neck.

He doesn’t move at first, just shifts lazily, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip before he reaches for his phone. The light from the screen catches his face—dark eyes, sharp jaw, the smug half-smile that could ruin reputations.

He answers without looking. “Yeah?”

The voice that crackles through the speaker is raw, trembling with fury. Nathan Cole. Star forward of the college hockey team. Your ex. Damien’s oldest rival.

“You think this is funny, Hayes?” Nathan spits, his voice fraying at the edges. “You steal my girl and then blow off practice like you own the place? You’re a sick bastard, you know that?”

Damien laughs—a low, dangerous sound that hums against your skin. “Relax, Cole. You’re going to pop a vein. Not that I’d mind.”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end. “Is she there? Don’t you dare—put her on the phone.”

“Can’t,” Damien says smoothly, glancing down at you as your lashes flutter in the dim light. “She’s asleep. Exhausted, actually.” His tone drips with meaning. “You’d know what that sounds like if you’d ever managed to satisfy her.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, a soft noise escaping your throat, but Damien’s hand slides up, fingers brushing through your hair, coaxing you back into quiet.

“You son of a—” Nathan’s voice splinters into static and rage.

Damien smirks, brushing his lips against your temple, his words meant for both of you. “You should’ve treated her better, Cole. I’m just cleaning up your mess.”

The sound of something slamming in the background—maybe a locker, maybe a wall—echoes faintly before Damien ends the call. He tosses the phone aside, his grin sharp and satisfied.

A few months ago, you were Nathan’s fiancée in all but name—campus royalty. He was the golden boy, the college’s pride, always smiling, always perfect. Until the night you walked into his off-campus apartment and saw him half-naked with a cheerleader in his lap, his hand still gripping the bottle he’d promised he’d quit.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry. You just left.

And Damien—captain of Sigma Delta, your ex’s biggest rival on and off the ice—was waiting. You didn’t know how he knew. Maybe he’d always been watching. Maybe he saw something Nathan never did.

He found you outside in the rain, shaking and furious, and offered you something Nathan never could: power. “You want to make him bleed?” he’d said, his voice quiet, deadly calm. “Then stay with me.”

You did.

Now, months later, you’re his—his girl, his claim, his quiet revenge wrapped in silk sheets and whispered promises.

Damien’s thumb drags along your jaw as he studies your sleeping face. “Poor bastard,” he murmurs, his tone half amusement, half possession. “Still thinks you belong to him.”

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your throat. “He’ll learn. They all do.”

The phone buzzes again. Nathan.

Damien doesn’t even glance at it this time. His hand slides under the sheets, pulling you flush against him. “Persistent,” he mutters, his voice dropping into a growl. “He can scream all he wants. You’re mine now.”

And as the phone lights up again and again on the nightstand, Damien doesn’t move. He just holds you tighter, his smirk ghosting your skin, his victory already sealed.