Page 56 of Look What You Made Me Do

Picking my burger up, I take a bite and text him back one-handed.

Why don’t you just tell me what you want now and save us both the trouble?

The three little bubbles appear immediately, which means he was waiting for my response. Then a single word pops up on my screen.

Gwendolyn.

Shit.

It’s just my name, but for some reason, I feel the threat in that one word, and I wonder how wise it is to fuck around with the most powerful guy on campus. I should probably just see what he wants and get it over with. I won’t lie, though, it irks me that he has the power to make me jump to his beck and call.

Fine. Whatever. Give me a minute.

His reply comes immediately.

You can finish your fries on the way.

I’m just shoving a fry into my face and that statement makes me freeze again. Well, that’s just confirmation that he’s watching me. The sick fuck. Did he already have the camera up when the stranger came to my room last night? I wonder if I could get my hands on that footage. I could turn it over to the police, then they’d have to believe me, right? Let’s forget for a second that I’d essentially be handing over a damn sex tape to complete strangers. Would they see how much I actually enjoyed it?

Ugh.It feels like I’m in a lose-lose situation. No matter what I do, I’m judged, ignored, or made to feel like I’m going crazy.

I throw the uneaten fry into the paper bag and change quickly into a short dress. The Burning Crown has a dress code when it comes to official meetings—no bathing suits, or casual clothes. Once I’m dressed, I find some strappy wedges and grab my purse, then head out.

When I pull up to the house, there are already people coming and going. It’s always busy here, but because there’s a meeting tonight, there are more people hanging around than usual.

The front door is already open, and I just walk in, heading straight for the living room. All the regulars are here—Jackson is playing video games, and Christian is making out with his consort. She’s on his lap, practically fucking him in front of everyone. Nice. The only ones who aren’t here are Ash and Lucas. They could be upstairs, though.

Ava sees me and pops up from the couch. “Oh, hey, girl. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

I smile at her. She’s so eager to fill the role of hostess.

Pushing out a breath, I lift my hands. “Lucas wanted to see me, so here I am.”

“Oh!” I can tell she’s surprised by that like Lucas should have told her, but didn’t. Their dynamic is so weird. I think she’s aiming for trad wife energy, but given that it’s Lucas she’s dealing with, that’s obviously not going to fly. He’s far too bohemian for that Stepford wife shit.

“Cool, well, let me go grab him,” she says. “I think he’s in his room.”

I wonder if she knows Lucas has been assigned to shadow me. I’m guessing not. Lucas doesn’t seem like the type to share information unless is absolutely necessary. Why that is, I have no idea.

“Thanks,” I say. When she leaves the room, I look around. I have something to say to the Sacred Sons—namely that Lucas needs to be removed as my “shadow” asap, but with all these people in the room, now isn’t the time, I guess.

After only a couple of minutes, Ava returns. She looks unhappy, for some reason. “He said you can just go on up.”

“To his bedroom?” I ask, horrified. The last time I was alone in his room, I narrowly escaped with my vagina intact.

“Um, yeah.” She seems uncomfortable about it but resigned to it. Just like everyone else around here, if a Sacred Son wants something, she’s going to give it to him—even if she’s not exactly happy about it. But do I have room to criticize? I do the same fucking thing.

When I get to his room, I don’t even bother knocking. He’s sitting at his desk, books, and papers scattered across the polished surface. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume he wasactuallydoing schoolwork.

I leave the door open and cross my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”

His room is so large, there’s a recess on the left with built-in bookshelves, and his desk is in front of that, facing the middle of the room. When I walk in, he leans back in his chair, like a king deigning to acknowledge his lowly subject. He holds a pen to his mouth, tapping it against his perfectly white teeth as he assesses me.

“Took you long enough,” he says in that infuriatingly assertive tone.

I don’t even answer him, because why? He just gets off on this control thing. Instead, I shift my weight, and sigh, likeget on with it.

“You went to see Gabriel’s mom,” he says.

---