24. Breaking Her Walls

CHAPTER 24

Breaking Her Walls

WREN

She sits rigid, her shoulders betraying her as she fights to ignore my presence. The way her spine stiffens when I shift in my seat. The slight tremor in her hands as she grips her pen. The soft whisper of fabric when she moves. Each detail draws my attention, each reaction a silent acknowledgement of me.

My note got to her. It was all over her face when she read it, in the way her fingers crushed the paper in her grip. But she kept it. Just like she kept the rose. She could have thrown them both away, but she didn’t. She tucked them into her bag, hiding them like secrets. The mark on her neck is hidden too, the hood of her top pulled high, but her constant fidgeting gives her away.

The sight of her trying to conceal it only amplifies my satisfaction. The harder she works to cover it up, the more obvious it becomes. Everyone who looks at her will wonder what she's hiding. The thought makes me smile.

Leaning closer, I lower my voice so only she can hear. "That hoodie must be unbearable. All that thick fabric suffocating such soft, sensitive skin ..." I pause, letting my words linger in the air.

Her pen skids across the paper, a jagged blue line cutting through her writing. My smile widens as her fingers tighten around the pen until her knuckles turn white. Such tiny tells, but I catch every one of them.

"I bet you can feel it every time you move." My voice is soft, but loaded with meaning. "Every time you move, every time you breathe, you feel where I claimed you. Where I marked you as mine."

A shudder runs through her—so slight, anyone else might miss it. But I don't miss anything when it comes to her. Not anymore. Every reaction, every breath, every subtle shift of her body. They’re all mine to observe, to catalog, to own.

The teacher drones on about Romeo and Juliet, something about forbidden desire and dangerous obsession. If only he knew the real lesson in obsession was playing out right here in his classroom.

"Mr. Carlisle?" His voice cuts through my thoughts. "Your thoughts on Romeo's pursuit of Juliet? Was it love or obsession?"

I straighten in my seat, but my gaze never leaves Ileana's neck. "Some might call it obsession. But isn't that what real desire is? A need so consuming it overtakes everything else? The need to possess completely? To own every breath, every thought, every moment?" My lips curve as Ileana’s shoulders tense further. "Sometimes the line between love and obsession blurs until there's no difference. Until resistance becomes impossible. True desire doesn’t stop at boundaries. It doesn’t ask for permission. It takes, completely and utterly."

Her breath hitches, and I know she understands, that she’s received the message I’m sending. She knows I'm not talking about the play. She knows what I’m telling her. That I'm going to break down every wall she’s built until there's nothing left but what I want.

"Interesting perspective." The teacher turns back to the board, already moving on.

I lean forward again. Her scent—something light, maybe lavender—fills my lungs, and I close my eyes for a moment, savoring it.

"Did you dream about me last night? About being hunted? About my hands on you, my mouth on your throat? Or maybe you were thinking about my touch somewhere else ... exploring places no one else has … making you mine in ways you can't even imagine."

She shakes her head. A tiny denial that only makes my grin grow wider .

"Liar." The word is almost gentle, dripping with dark amusement. "I bet you did. I bet you woke up breathless, wondering if I was still outside your window. If I was watching you sleep, planning what comes next. Wondering what might have happened if I decided to climb through your window, pull the covers back, and make those dreams a reality."

Another shudder runs through her, stronger this time. Reaching forward, I catch a strand of her hair between my fingers, letting it slide across my skin. Her breathing speeds up, stops, slows again. She’s trying to hold herself together, but her control is fraying at the edges.

"I could have been there, you know." I twirl the strand around my finger, leaning closer so she can feel the heat of my breath against her neck. "Watching you sleep. Waiting for you to wake up. Would you have known? Would you have felt my eyes on you?"

Her breath catches again, and I use my grip on her hair to pull her head back slightly, the movement subtle enough to expose her throat. The fabric of her hoodie brushes against my fingers, a barrier I could so easily strip away.

"After class," I whisper, "you're going to meet me."

She shakes her head again, weaker this time. A protest in theory, but nothing more.

"Yes, you are." I release her hair, letting my fingers trail against her neck as I lean back. "Because if you don't, I'll come find you. And you wouldn’t want that, would you? You don’t want everyone to see what happens when you disobey me."

The bell rings, loud and sudden, and she jumps. Her movements are rushed, frantic, as she shoves her books into her bag. She’s desperate to escape, but she’s not going anywhere I don’t want her to go.

A lesson she’ll learn one way or another.

Monty appears in the doorway as I stand. "Having fun?"

"Always." I sling my bag over my shoulder. "Make sure no one interrupts us."

His grin is knowing. "Already arranged. Nico's handling it."

Perfect. Privacy is exactly what I need.

I follow her into the hallway, my eyes tracking her as she weaves through the crowd. She’s trying to disappear, to blend in, but she stands out to me. She could be in a sea of thousands, and I’d still be able to pick her out.

She thinks she has a choice about meeting me, but she doesn’t. She never did. Not since that first day when she stepped into my path. Everything since then has been inevitable. Each step, each moment leading us here.

Mine .

The bell rings again, signaling the start of the next period. The halls empty quickly, leaving me alone. I’ve lost sight of her for now, but it doesn’t matter. Anticipation builds with every step, electricity humming under my skin.

Will she come willingly? Or will I have to hunt her down again?

Either way, I win.

Because if she comes on her own, it means she's already starting to break. And if she doesn’t?

Well, I’ve always enjoyed a good chase.