Page 11 of Bloody Valentine

I sighed, putting the neatly written notes down and setting up my computer. As soon as I got it all ready to go, instead of looking up all the journalism terminology I didn’t know orpulling up the administrative drop forms, I was cyber-stalking my professor like an absolute dumbass.

Maddox Valentine was as arrogant and annoying on his socials as he was in person. His pages were filled with images of dangerously delicious gym selfies, group pics with hot guys—likely his friends or maybe relatives—and, of course, there was a photo of a big ass dog drooling on his face while he gave it a belly rub.

I dove deep into his life.

Finding out that he not only worked here but did, in fact, practically own the fucking school. His father, and a big group of other stuffy-looking, hot rich assholes, were ‘beneficiaries’ of this place.

I didn’t have to guess that meant his yacht pictures and travel videos were all real.

This man was everywhere, and I felt so jealous that I had only been in my backyard and at this stupid school.

I lived in the shadow of my mother before this place, and now my apparent history plagued me as sure as that blood coating the drawing of what could have been my own body. I kept scrolling.

There was a separate page for his art, thousands of pictures and videos of all these absolutely breathtaking portraits and body illustrations of women. They were so real. Drawn in ways that looked tortured yet seductive.

There were women bound and gagged, strung up, and tied in all contorted angles. Some of the artwork made me wonder how it was legal to portray. I guess that was only one thing that a rich professor dickhole could get away with.

One question still remained, though. All these women had one thing in common. Despite their tortured appearance, their expressions were euphoric.

How could someone be in bliss when they were fucking sliced, bound, and bloody like the photos represented?

“I can’t focus!”

All the heads in the room swiveled toward my direction, and I realized I said that out loud. Apparently, I was making a name for myself as the fucking crazy woman who spoke to herself. I groaned and slammed my laptop shut.

This stupid asshole had blown up my life in one damn day. This was not how things were supposed to be going.

When did I go all scared little doe in front of an ass nugget? He may be my professor, but he sure as hell will not be for long.

Seeing red, I smashed my fingers on the keys, sending that drop form to the admin email so fast I barely tracked it with my eyes. When I finished that, I smiled wider than I had since entering the damn gates of this hell.

I reached into my backpack and grabbed my black lipstick. I didn’t know what badass demon entered my blood, but I was going to ride that bitch all the way to the top of the academy and to the back room where his classroom was.

I was on a whole other level right now, and nothing was going to stop me from giving him a piece of my damn mind. I peeked through the door, afraid I would lose this adrenaline and anger before I opened it.

Strength is the tone of your very bloodline, child.

Agreeing with the whispered tones of my dead grandparent, I sighed and walked into the classroom. More like threw open the door and marched my way to the back where he was intently creating one of those ‘masterpieces.’

Annoyingly, we were the only ones in here.

He must not have classes at this hour, and that pissed me off more because I wanted an audience to see him cower to me and apologize for being a creepy asshole.

“Well, isn’t this an interesting surprise,” he said, barely lifting his head to acknowledge my existence.

“Did you return to be that nude model by chance?”

I flushed bright red and?shook my head in anger.

“No, actually. I came to tell you that you are a fucking prick, and I will make you pay for that little show earlier. You think you’re some hot shit professor and probably get whatever you want with all your stupid money.

But hear me when I say that I don’t give a fuck what luxury yachts you own or places in the world you’ve weasled your way into. You are a dick. Pure and simple.”

Now, his attention was fully on me, and I suddenly regretted this grand idea. The lights above us were no longer bright, like when class was in session. Now, they were dimmed, and a red light for the kiln in the back of the space was all you could really see.

The professor smiled with a downright predatory grin. He approached me, taking slow steps forward as I resisted the urge to move back.

“I heard you,” he said, his movements reminding me of a snake—beautiful, slow, dangerous.

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