Sheila’s POV

The California sun is too bright. Too perfect. It feels like it’s mocking me while I drag my garbage bags filled with clothes across Stanford’s stupidly beautiful floors. My T-shirt sticks to my skin and sweat drips down my spine as if I didn’t already feel out of place enough.

I should be proud. This is Stanford. My Stanford. The place I fought for with every lap in the pool and every carb I skipped. But instead, my stomach twists like I’m about to be sick.

What if everyone here figures out I don’t belong?

I’m not glossy like the Stanford girls gliding around in perfect sandals and shiny hair. I’m the scholarship girl with callused hands, swimmer’s shoulders, and a beat-up suitcase that’s seen too many airports.

By the time I haul it up the dorm steps, my arms are burning and my throat is dry. I push the door open, ready to collapse, but then I freeze.

He’s there.

Leaning against the doorframe like he owns it.

Brendan.

The boy who made my life hell in high school. The one who called me names in the hallway, who smirked when his friends shoved me into lockers, who whispered things that made me blush and hate myself for blushing.

I thought I’d escaped him. I thought coming to Stanford meant a fresh start. But here he is, taller, broader, more dangerous, with storm-grey eyes that pin me in place like I’m prey.

My body shivers even though it’s boiling outside.

His mouth curves. Not a smile. A smirk. The same one he used to give me before he made some cruel comment that I’d pretend didn’t sting.

“You’re blocking the door,” he says, voice low and lazy like he has all the time in the world.

My spine locks. I jerk aside, clutching my bag like a shield. “Sorry. I didn’t realise this was your personal runway.”

The words tumble out before I can stop them. Sarcasm. My default defence.

He chuckles. The sound slides over my skin like heat. “Still feisty.” His eyes roam down to my sneakers, then back up to my face. “Scholarship girl, aren’t you?”

The words hit like a slap.

I grit my teeth. “What’s it to you?”

He leans closer. His breath grazes my ear. “Everything.”

My heart stutters.

I shove at his chest before I can think. “Get back, you fu**ing perv.”

His chest is solid. Hard. My push barely makes him move. And instead of being offended, he smirks wider, like he’s won something.

“Perv?” he repeats, his voice darker now. “Cute.”

My pulse hammers. This can’t be happening. Not here. Not my first day.

But then his hand comes up and presses flat against the door, caging me in. His other hand curls around my wrist, firm but not crushing.

I try to yank free. “Let me go.”

His eyes gleam like he’s enjoying every second of my struggle. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I’ll scream.”

“Do it.” His lips brush my cheek, sending a shock straight through me. “See who comes running.”

My breath hitches.

I hate him. God, I hate him. But my body doesn’t get the message. My chest rises faster. My skin burns where he touches me.

“Brendan…” I whisper, half warning, half plea.

He lowers his head until his mouth hovers just over mine. “You don’t even realise how much I missed this.”

I blink, stunned. “Missed what? Tormenting me?”

His smile twists. “Wanting you.”

And then his lips crash onto mine.

I gasp, my hands flying to his chest to shove him away, but he’s relentless. His mouth claims mine, hot and rough, forcing me open. My protest melts into a moan I can’t bite back.

His tongue sweeps in, demanding, teasing, and my knees nearly buckle. He pins me harder against the door, his body pressing into mine, every hard line making it impossible to ignore the truth. He wants this. He wants me.

I break free just enough to whisper, “Stop. Someone could walk in.”

“Let them,” he growls against my lips. “They’ll know you’re mine.”

The word mine makes heat pool low in my stomach. I shake my head, but he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“You hate me,” he murmurs. “But you’ve thought about me. Haven’t you?”

I open my mouth to deny it, but his hand slides down, skimming my hip, squeezing like he owns me. My words die in my throat.

His smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His mouth crashes back onto mine, more desperate this time, more dangerous. His hips press forward and I feel the hard length of him against my stomach. My eyes flutter shut, shame and arousal tangling until I can’t tell which is stronger.

“Brendan…” I breathe.

He nips my lip hard enough to sting. “Say my name again.”

I shake my head, but he grips me tighter, grinding against me. Heat flares between my legs, humiliating in its intensity.

“Say it.”

“Brendan,” I whisper.

He groans like I’ve given him everything he ever wanted.

His hand slides lower, cupping me through my shorts, pressing in a way that makes my breath hitch. “Fu**k, you’re already wet, aren’t you?”

I choke on a sound, half denial, half moan.

He laughs darkly. “You can’t hide it from me.” His fingers rub harder. “You never could.”

The words drag me back to high school. The way he used to corner me in empty hallways, lean close, whisper filthy things no one else heard. Back then I told myself he was cruel. That he hated me. But now his touch is proving something I never let myself believe.

He wanted me even then.

And he wants me now.

“Stop,” I beg weakly, but my hips betray me, rolling against his hand.

He growls in satisfaction. “That’s it. Take what you need.”

His mouth trails down my neck, biting, sucking, marking me. My fingers dig into his shoulders, clutching like I’ll drown without him.

I can’t think. I can’t breathe. All I know is the heat between us, the dangerous pull that’s been there for years and finally snapped.

He lifts his head, eyes burning into mine. “This is only the beginning.”

Before I can respond, the door slams open.

We jerk apart as voices and laughter spill into the hallway. My face burns. Brendan just smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he’s proud.

“See you tonight,” he says, low and certain. “There’s a party. You’re coming.”

I blink at him. “What if I don’t?”

His smirk widens, feral and sure. “You will. Because I’ll make sure of it.”

My heart hammers so hard I can barely breathe.

I should run. I should scream. I should tell him to go to hell.

But deep down, under the panic and the shame, a terrifying truth curls inside me.

I already know I’ll go.

And I already know I won’t resist him.