Torrance Elizabeth King was supposed to be your worst nightmare. Everyone at Donavan knew who she was—the Torrance King. Her parents were obscenely wealthy, one of the power couples behind the school’s reputation, and their influence made sure their daughter lived like royalty on campus.

Your own family wasn’t quite at the King level, but you were still old-money, respected donors, and firmly planted on the school board. And with that came one very clear rule: stay away from Torrance King. They didn’t trust her, didn’t trust her parents, and insisted she’d be a terrible influence.

So you let them believe you despised her. It was easier that way.

You were supposed to be at the library studying for an exam and home by three. It’s five.

And instead of textbooks and quiet desks, you’re at Torrance’s house, curled up on her bed, wearing one of her oversized band tees. You’re straddling her lap while she presses slow, lingering kisses along the side of your neck, her hand cupping your cheek with feather-light care.