Chapter 5 Ivy's Defiance

Ivy Monroe wasn't stupid.

She knew that Damien Vale was dangerous. She had seen it in the way the students moved around him, careful not to step too close. She had felt it in the suffocating weight of his presence, in the whispered warnings that followed her through the halls.

And she had learned the most important rule of Ravenwood:

You don't challenge Damien Vale.

But rules had never been her strong suit.

And she had never been one to back down.

By the time she walked into her literature class the next morning, the tension was thicker than ever.

Everywhere she went, she felt it-the weight of the bet, though she didn't know the details. The stares were longer, the whispers more pointed. She could feel the question humming in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

How long before she breaks?

She ignored them, as she always had, and took her usual seat near the window. She was halfway through opening her book when a shadow fell over her desk.

Her fingers curled into her lap.

She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

Damien Vale didn't speak immediately. He didn't need to. His presence alone was enough to shift the atmosphere in the room. The murmur of conversation died, the air turning sharp with expectation.

Ivy finally glanced up, meeting his dark, knowing eyes.

The corner of his mouth curled. "You're in my seat."

A pause.

She blinked. Then, slowly, deliberately, she leaned back in her chair and raised an eyebrow.

"Pretty sure there aren't assigned seats," she said.

Someone gasped.

The amusement in Damien's eyes deepened. "Oh?"

Without breaking eye contact, he gripped the edge of her desk and dragged it with her still in it a few inches to the left. The wooden legs scraped against the floor, loud in the stunned silence of the room.

The message was clear.

Ivy's pulse thrummed, but she didn't flinch.

Instead, she did something worse.

She exhaled through her nose, feigning boredom, and flipped a page in her book. "Wow," she mused, "strong and petty. What a rare combination."

The reaction was immediate.

Someone choked on the air. Someone else muttered a curse.

Damien's expression didn't change, but the air between them did. It tightened, like the pull of a string about to snap.

For the first time since she'd arrived at Ravenwood, she saw something flicker in his something sharp, something dangerous.

Amusement, yes.

But also intrigue.

Because no one spoke to him like that.

No one challenged him.

And yet here she was doing it so effortlessly.

"Interesting," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, without another word, he took the seat beside her.

Ivy should have felt victorious.

But instead, she felt exposed.

Because if she had learned anything about Damien Vale in her short time at Ravenwood, it was that he never let insubordination go unanswered.

And this time?

She had just signed herself up for something far more dangerous than whispers and cold stares.

The class went on as usual-or at least, it tried to.

But Ivy could feel him beside her.

Not touching, not speaking. Just existing in a way that felt calculated. Intrusive.

She kept her gaze trained on her book, willing herself to focus.

Until she saw it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Damien reached for her notebook, fingers flicking lazily over the pages.

Ivy stiffened. "Excuse you?"

He ignored her, flipping through her notes like they belonged to him.

Her patience snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she reached out and grabbed his wrist.

The moment she touched him, everything shifted.

The room didn't matter.

The whispers didn't matter.

All that existed was the feel of his skin beneath hers, the warmth of his pulse thrumming under her fingertips.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Damien tilted his head. His voice, low and amused, sent an unexpected chill down her spine.

"You shouldn't do that, Ivy."

She held his gaze. "Then don't touch my stuff."

Damien's lips twitched. Not quite a smirk. Not quite a smile.

A warning.

And a challenge.

With excruciating slowness, he leaned in, closing the space between them inch by inch until his breath ghosted over her ear.

"But I like touching what's mine."

Ivy's fingers tightened around his wrist.

The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Knew the weight of his words.

Knew how to coil around her like smoke, slipping through the cracks, making it impossible to ignore him.

But he was wrong about one thing.

Because she wasn't his.

Not now.

Not ever.

Ivy released his wrist and shoved his notebook off the desk.

It hit the floor with a sharp thud, pages spilling open.

The classroom fell into stunned silence.

Damien stared at her for one long, charged second.

And then he laughed.

Not a forced laugh. Not the kind meant to humiliate or condescend.

A real laugh. Deep. Amused. Unrestrained.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because Damien Vale never laughed like that.

And because that meant something had just changed between them.

Something she wasn't sure she was ready for.

By the time class ended, Ivy felt like she had survived a battle.

She could still feel the weight of Damien's gaze as she packed up her things, and could still hear the whispers as she made her way toward the door.

But before she could step into the hallway, a voice stopped her cold.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Monroe."

She turned.

Sloane leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Ivy exhaled. "If you're here to tell me to back down, don't bother."

Sloane studied her for a long moment, then huffed a dry laugh. "I'm not. I think it's hilarious."

Ivy frowned. "Then what?"

Sloane's smirk faded. "Just... be careful."

Ivy raised an eyebrow. "Because Damien's a psychopath?"

Sloane hesitated.

Then, voice softer than before-"Because I think he likes you."

Ivy stilled.

And for the first time since meeting Damien Vale, true unease curled low in her stomach.

Because Sloane didn't sound amused.

She sounded worried.

And that was far more terrifying than any threat Damien could ever make.

Because if he truly liked the game...

He would never stop playing.