Twisted Lovd

Ivy Monroe never belonged in a place like this.

The wrought-iron gates of Ravenwood Academy loomed ahead, towering over her as if daring her to turn back. They curled into intricate patterns of thorns and vines, their iron edges sharp as if meant to keep intruders out perhaps, to keep something else in. Beyond them, an estate of dark stone and whispered secrets stretched across the mist-covered hills, its spires stabbing into the gray sky. The very air here felt different, thick with something unspoken, something that coiled around Ivy's ribs the moment she stepped forward.

Her hands clenched around the strap of her duffel bag, knuckles whitening. This was supposed to be a fresh start, a chance to outrun the shadows of her past. The scholarship had been a miracle, a golden ticket into the world of the elite. She had studied harder than anyone and fought tooth and nail to earn this. But standing here now, in the presence of something so vast, so utterly foreign, she felt like an insect crawling into the den of lions.

A black town car purred past her, the tinted windows concealing the occupants within. It came to a smooth stop near the grand entrance, where a set of marble steps led up to massive double doors carved with the academy's crest. A moment later, a student emerged-a girl with cascading blond hair, draped in designer perfection, her polished boots clicking against the stone as she stepped onto the pavement.

Ivy barely had time to take in her surroundings before another car followed, then another, each more expensive than the last. The students who exited were pristine, poised, and utterly untouchable. Dressed in tailored uniforms with an air of effortless wealth, they belonged here. She did not.

The weight of their gazes found her instantly, raking over her like she was something unfortunate that had drifted in on the wind. The whispering started almost immediately.

"Who's that?"

"She doesn't belong here."

"Scholarship girl. You can tell."

Ivy squared her shoulders, forcing herself to keep walking. She had spent a lifetime learning how to ignore the whispers, how to pretend she didn't hear the ridicule, didn't feel the eyes that tracked her like she was an anomaly in their perfect world.

But then she felt something else. Not just the casual curiosity or disdain of passing students. This was different.

A presence.

Cold. Heavy. Watching.

Her gaze snapped up, and that's when she saw him.

Damien Vale sat lazily on the front steps, his long legs stretched out in front of him like he owned the very ground beneath them. There was something unsettlingly graceful about him, a quiet, self-assured confidence that made the others around him fade into the background. The breeze ruffled his dark hair as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke from between his lips, his cigarette dangling between elegant fingers. But it wasn't the smoke or the careless posture that made Ivy's breath catch-it was his eyes.

A slow drag up her body, appraising, before settling on her face. The intensity behind that gaze was enough to make her skin prickle. But it wasn't lust. It wasn't even curiosity.

It was something far more dangerous.

Interest.

Amusement.

A decision has already been made.

Ivy swallowed hard but refused to look away. She knew instinctively that showing weakness here, in front of someone like him, would be a mistake.

The silence stretched between them, an invisible wire pulled too tight. Then, slowly, Damien tilted his head, his lips curling at the corners in something that wasn't quite a smile. A flicker of challenge, of dark amusement, like he was daring her to speak first.

She didn't.

She forced herself to keep moving, walking past him as though he were no different from the others, as though his gaze hadn't just pressed against her like a warning.

Behind her, she swore she heard a chuckle.

The feeling of unease coiled tighter in her stomach, but she didn't let it show. Not yet.