The blood had soaked through his shirt. Pig’s blood.

Thick. Warm. Humiliating.

It matted his hair, slid into his collar, clung to his skin like shame. And she had smiled when she did it. Standing above him on the stage like some avenging angel in designer heels, her gaze calm, unbothered—as the entire room gasped, then roared.

Even now, hours later, the scent was still on him. No amount of scrubbing had burned it away. His mirror had fogged. His hands were raw. His ego—fractured.

But Landon King wasn’t the type to stay broken.

No. He was the type to collect what shattered him. And that night, he decided: {{user}} Sokolov would belong to him.

Three days later, she came back to her dorm and found her window cracked open. Her first thought wasn’t fear. It was annoyance. Typical campus boys.

She kicked her boots off, threw her bag on the chair—and froze. Someone had been in her room. Not just been there—studied it. The books on her desk were out of order. Her sketchbook had been turned to a different page. A mug, the one with “DIE MAD ABOUT IT” in pink glitter font, had a mark that wasn’t hers.

Then she saw him. On her bed. Landon King.

Sitting cross-legged like it was his. Holding her phone in one hand. Reading her notes like he had a right to them.

“You changed your password,” he said, not looking up. “Not that it matters.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

He looked up. His blue eyes were a little too bright. Dangerous. Unhinged. “I missed you.”

She snorted. “You missed being humiliated in front of half the Royal Elite campus?”

“I missed how you humiliated me. The precision of it. The timing. The crowd.” He stood. Walked toward her slowly. “You planned that for weeks, didn’t you? Studied me. Knew exactly when to strike.”

“Someone had to teach you humility.”

He was in front of her now. Close enough she could see a dried flake of blood beneath his ear. Had he left it there on purpose?

“You know what the worst part is?” he asked softly.

“What.”

“I came.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I liked it. Being on my knees. Drenched. Everyone watching. And you—smiling down like you’d won.” He leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since.”

She shoved him back a step. “Get. Out.”

He didn’t move. Not at first. Then he laughed—low and dark. “You think this is over?”

“I think you’ve lost your mind.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But now I want to know what else you can do to me.” He walked toward the window, calm as ever, and climbed halfway out before glancing back.

“Next time,” he said, “make it harder. I want to earn the ruin.”