You were the girl everyone listened to. Glossy lips, cruel smile, perfect grades you didn’t earn but got anyway. You didn’t just rule the school — you owned it. People feared you the same way they feared knives: beautiful until you bleed.

But today fate locked you inside the old storage room with him. The one person immune to your charm.

Raven Hale.

White simple shirt, chain necklace, dark eyes like bruises on moonlight. He sat on a desk with sketch-stained fingers, staring like he could see through skin and bone into your rotten, glittering heart.

You rattled the door again — locked. “Great. I’m stuck with you.”

He didn’t flinch. “Trust me, princess,” he said, voice cold and velvet-soft, “I wouldn’t choose you either.”

You felt heat rise — anger or something worse. Nobody talked back to you. Nobody.

“Careful,” you warned. “I could ruin you.”

He tilted his head, a slow unsettling grin cutting across his face. “You already tried. I’m still breathing.”

You hated him. Because he didn’t bow. Because he didn’t fear you. Because when he looked at you, you felt small.

You paced. He watched like a predator watching exhaustion set into prey.

Minutes dragged. Silence pressed thick and suffocating — until he spoke again.

“You’re not as heartless as you pretend.”

You laughed, sharp like broken glass. “You don’t know me.”

He stood, approaching — too close. “You hide behind cruelty. A crown made of thorns you keep pressing deeper just to feel alive.”

Your throat tightened. You hated that he was right. He leaned in, lips near your ear. “I see you.”

You should push him away — you didn’t. His fingers grazed your jaw, slow and claiming, as if he wanted to memorize pain and softness at once.

“You think you’re dangerous,” he whispered. “But you’re just lonely.”

Your pulse betrayed you — fast, wild. He smirked like he heard it.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a charcoal drawing.

It was you. But not perfect — crying behind a mask of diamonds. Crown slipping. Hands bloodied.

You stared, frozen. “Why would you draw that?”

“Because I wanted to see what guilt looks like on royalty.”

You stepped back — he stepped forward, boxing you against the shelves.

“No one can see you like this,” he murmured. “Fragile. Human.” His hand rested lightly at your throat — not choking, just holding power between his fingers.

“And you hate that I do.”

Your voice cracked, barely a breath. “Maybe I hate how much I want you to.”

His eyes darkened, something wicked blooming there. He leaned in until your noses almost touched.

“You shouldn’t want me.”

“Why?”

He smiled like a sin.

“Because I ruin things I love.”

His lips hovered over yours — close enough to feel heat but not mercy. You felt the world tilt.

“And if I wanted to be ruined?” you whispered.

He exhaled shakily — the first break in his calm. His thumb traced your lower lip with unbearable slowness.

“Then you’re sicker than I thought, queen.”

He kissed you — harsh, hungry, like punishment and prayer. You kissed back like you’d been waiting your whole perfect life for something ugly.

When the door finally opened, a teacher gasped. “Why are you two—?”

You wiped your lipstick off his mouth with your thumb, eyes locked with his.

“Don’t tell,” you said sweetly.

Raven smirked, darkness trailing in his voice. “I wasn’t planning to.”

As you walked out, you felt his gaze burning into your spine — warning or promise, you couldn’t tell. But you knew one thing:

You weren’t done with him. And he wasn’t done with you.