Page 106 of Seeds of Malice

I turn to Ivy. "Are you sure you want to go in there?"

It's a normal question to solidify her downfall. Every step Ivy makes needs to be her choice. As things crumble around her, I'll remind her it was her decision—that she's the reason chaos is falling all around her. Then, I'll manipulate her further, driving her deeper into my destructive web of broken dreams.

My stomach churns. I stare at my little slut.

Tell me to take you back to my place.

Jesus, I'm becoming a pussy.

"Do you not want to be seen with me?" she questions with hurt in her voice.

It's the exact paranoia I want her to develop. I'd normally be giddy, yet right now, my groan is genuine and full of frustrated fear. "Ivy, get Avery's comments out of your head. She will never stop, so you'll have to get past it. I'd never want to hide you."

Ivy's face softens. "I'm sorry. You're right. I shouldn't let her comments get to me."

"The only person hiding us is you," I add.

She pins her eyebrows together, insisting, "I'm not hiding us."

"You're hiding us with your father."

"That's…that's different," she claims.

"Is it?"

She bites her lip and looks away.

And I'm back on track.

One thing I've learned about guilt is it'll make people do things they never thought they would. Ivy is no different. If anything, her genuine good-girl upbringing only speeds up the trajectory of my game.

She turns toward me with glassy eyes. "I promise you I will tell him about us."

I grab her hand and kiss it, then softly state, "Okay. But don't accuse me of things that aren't true."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm just..." She looks away.

"You're feeling paranoid. Is this normal for you?" I question, planting another seed for her to dwell on now and in the future.

She pauses, then claims, "No. I'm not a paranoid person."

I stroke her hand. "Okay, baby girl. Then stop listening to Avery."

She nods. "All right."

I point out the window. "Do you really want to go into the party?"

She glances at the house. Lights flash, music blares, and college kids dance and party all over the lawn.

She turns and locks her gaze with mine. "Yeah. Besides, you're the president. You need to be there."

Yes, I am the president, and they do what I say. Yet I keep those facts to myself. It's best not to reveal too much to her.

"All right then. Let's go," I order, then get out and meet Ivy at the front of the Porsche. I grab her hand and lead her into the party.

It's the same scene as every event. Smoke from vaping, cigarettes, and weed hangs in the air. Cocaine lines tables in long rows. Razors and straws sit next to them. Crowds hang close by, waiting for their turn to snort it.

The walls vibrate from the loud music. Everyone's drunk or high on something. Guys play beer pong. A few half-naked coeds that I recognize and a few new freshman faces sit on couches with guys who have paint on their chests.

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