Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and she looks away. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it does. And you know why.”
“You think you know everything.” There’s that mutter again. It heats my blood.
I move closer, until there’s barely any space between us. “Last night, you didn’t just let me touch you. Youwantedit. You invited me in. And now?—”
“Wren, please stop.” But she doesn’t try to move away. She stays exactly where she is, eyes locked on mine.
“See.” My head tilts. “You’re not running anymore.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. She just stares at me, caught between defiance and realization. Then she pushes past me, and runs down the hall. My laughter follows her.
“You’re taking stalking to whole new levels.” Nico props oneshoulder against the lockers.
“Some people might call it stalking. I call it art.”
The art of breaking someone so completely that they beg to be put back together.
By you.
Only you.
Alwaysyou.
And Ileana? She's my masterpiece in the making.
CHAPTER 47
Invisible No More
ILEANA
The afternoon drags,each class blending into the next. My notebook remains mostly empty, the pen in my hand moving only to make faint lines and scribbles. The words of the teachers barely register, lost beneath the whispers and stares.
Behind me, Wren’s presence is impossible to ignore. His pen brushes lightly against my back. A tap here, a faint drag there. Each touch is purposeful, meant to remind me he’s there. Watching. Waiting. I grip my pen tighter, keeping my eyes on the page and refusing to turn around.
“Stop pretending you’re invisible.”
Heat rises to my face, and I keep my eyes fixed on the textbook in front of me.
“We both know you can’t fight it. I’m going to make you visible.” His voice is light, amused.
The whispers in the room don’t stop. I’m sure he can hear them as clearly as I can.
“She’s not even his type. Too quiet.”
“Do you think he’s serious?”
“It’s probably just another one of his games. Wait for the bomb to drop.”
Each comment hits a nerve. I’ve spent years being invisible in class, and he’s demolished it in little more than a week. Every glance feels like a spotlight I can’t escape. The knot in my stomach twists tighter, making it hard to focus on anything but the way everyone is looking at me. I’m a spectacle, a curiosity, and it’s all because of him.
Wren taps his pen against my back, harder, demanding attention.
“Sit up straight. Put your shoulders back. Hold your head up. Let them see you.”
I straighten before I can stop myself, and the change feels monumental. My heart races, while the whispers grow louder. I can sense their stares without even needing to look. Each moment stretches out, the air around me heavy with tension. Behind me, Wren hums softly, like he’s pleased with himself.