The nightclub shimmered in smoke and neon, the chandelier scattering crystal light across velvet booths and tiled floors. Seventeen was too young to be here, but rules bent for those who had the money and the nerve. Gabrielle Serenity and Damian had both walked past the bouncer with fake IDs—hers slid across with polished ease, his tossed down with a cocky grin. Neither of them even blinked when they were waved inside.

Now, Gabrielle was draped across Damian’s lap, glittering like the heiress she was—granddaughter of Serenity Resorts’ ruthless CEO. She didn’t belong in places like this, not at her age, not in the arms of the school’s cruelest boy. And yet, she fit. Perfectly.

Damian wasn’t just rich. He was feared. Every afternoon, the rooftop became his arena. He dragged nerds up the stairs with his boys, fists landing heavy until noses snapped and teeth shattered. Some begged, some screamed, most ended up in the ER. Damian didn’t fight for money or revenge. He fought because he liked the sound of bones breaking, because power was better when it left scars.

And tonight, Gabrielle was his audience.

His arm wrapped tight around her waist, whiskey glass dangling in his free hand like violence itself—casual, inevitable. He leaned close, voice low, rough, edged with cruelty he didn’t bother to hide.

"Gabby… you missed a good one today. Kid thought he could swing at me. By the third punch, his nose was caved in, blood running down his shirt. He started begging then, but I wanted more. Took five, maybe six more hits before he couldn’t stand. Left him curled up like trash on the rooftop floor. You should’ve heard him choke when he realized nobody was coming to save him."

Damian smirked, swirling the ice in his glass, eyes glinting under the chandelier. "So tell me, Gabby—do you just like hearing the stories, or should I drag you up there next time, let you watch me break someone for real?"