Falling for my greatest Nemesis, Killian Blackwood

Hazel POV

The bass at the Omega fraternity party vibrated straight through the soles of my sneakers. I pressed my back against the crowded hallway wall, gripping my red plastic cup like a shield.

"Just blend in," my best friend, Winter, had whispered before disappearing into the sea of dancing bodies with Mila.

I didn't want to blend in. I wanted to vanish. At five feet tall, hiding in a crowd of elite, wealthy students should have been easy. But Legacy Thorne University was crawling with predators.

Suddenly, a heavy arm clamped around my shoulders. The scent of cheap alcohol and expensive cologne hit me.

"Look what we have here," a loud voice boomed. It was Jason Jax, one of the notorious campus bikers. He smirked down at me, his eyes glassy. "A freshman. And she looks terrified."

"Let go of me," I murmured, my heart hammering against my ribs.

A crowd instantly formed around us. I tried to duck under his arm. He yanked me back against him before I'd moved an inch.

"Where you going, freshman?" Jason's grip dug into my shoulder. "Party's just getting started."

"I said let go."

"Feisty. I like that."

Someone in the crowd laughed. Phones came up.

"Hey, Jason! Ten bucks says you can't get the freshman to drink the whole bottle of tequila right now!" someone yelled from the crowd.

"Make it fifty, and I'll make her crawl for it," Jason barked back, laughing.

The crowd cheered, holding up their phones. Flashlights blinded me. The humiliation tasted like ash in my mouth. It felt exactly like middle school. The same mocking laughter. The same helplessness. I shoved Jason's chest with all my might.

He didn't move an inch. Instead, his grip tightened, forcing the plastic cup against my lips. Liquid spilled down my chin.

The smell hit me first, sharp, burning, wrong. My stomach lurched. I clamped my mouth shut and twisted my face away, but his hand followed, cup pressing harder, cold plastic digging into my bottom lip.

"Drink it," Jason said, his voice losing its playful edge. "Come on. Everyone's watching."

I could hear them. Phones held up, somebody counting down, somebody else laughing the way people laugh when they've already decided you're going to lose.

My eyes burned. I wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not again.

"Hey. Drop it."

The voice was low, cutting through the roaring music like a blade. The hallway instantly fell dead silent. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A tall figure stepped out of the shadows. Six feet of pure, calculated malice. He wore a heavy leather motorcycle jacket, his dark hair messy, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. But it was his eyes that made my blood run completely cold.

Pitch black. Cold as ice.

Killian Blackwood.

My throat closed up. My vision blurred. I had spent three years transforming myself, losing the weight, changing my style, trying to erase the ugly, broken girl he used to terrorize in London. But I would know that face anywhere. He was the monster under my bed.

Killian didn't look at Jason. His freezing gaze locked directly onto me.

"Killian, man, we're just having some fun with the freshman," Jason chuckled, though he stepped back, releasing my shoulder.

Killian walked over, his heavy boots thudding against the hardwood floor. He stopped mere inches from me. The sheer size of him blocked out the rest of the room. He leaned down, his eyes scanning my face, tracking my long black hair down to my green eyes.

A slow, terrifying smirk curved his lips.

"Well, well," Killian whispered, his voice dangerously smooth. "Look who finally grew up."

Panic seized me. I turned on my heel and bolted through the crowd.

I shoved past shoulders and elbows, bursting out of the frat house and into the cold night air of the campus quad. Tears pricked my eyes. He recognized me. Even after everything, he knew exactly who I was.

"Running away again, Hazel?"

I gasped, spinning around. I hadn't even heard him follow me. Killian was already there, steps away, stepping under the dim orange glow of a campus streetlight.

"Leave me alone, Killian," I choked out, backing away until my spine hit the brick wall of the library.

He didn't stop. He closed the distance until his chest practically brushed mine. He placed both hands on the brick wall on either side of my head, trapping me completely. The scent of leather and winter air enveloped me.

"Leave you alone?" He chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound. He tilted his head, his cold gaze dropping to my lips before locking back onto my eyes. "After I spent years looking for you? I don't think so, sweetpea."

"I don't fear you anymore," I lied, my voice trembling.

"Is that so?" His mouth curved, unimpressed. "You used to be a terrible liar. I don't think that's changed."

"You don't know anything about me anymore."

"I know you ran the second you saw my face. I know your hands are shaking right now." His gaze flicked down, deliberately, to where my fingers were curled into fists at my sides. "Tell me again how unafraid you are."

"Get away from me."

Killian leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. His fingers brushed against the stray strands of my black hair, sending a violent shiver down my spine. "Because your heartbeat says otherwise. You're trembling."

"What do you want from me?" I whispered, staring up at him.

Behind him, footsteps approached. Jason and Lucian Vane stepped into the light of the quad, grinning like wolves.

"You found her, Blackwood," Lucian said, his eyes gleaming with an unhinged amusement. "So, is the bet still on?"

I froze. "What bet?"

Killian didn't break eye contact with me. His dark eyes held a cruel, possessive glint as a slow smile spread across his face.

"The bet is definitely on," Killian murmured to his friends, his thumb slowly tracing my jawline. "Whoever breaks her first wins."

Hazel POV

I didn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Killian's breath against my ear, echoing his twisted promise. Whoever breaks her first wins.

By 8:00 AM, I was squeezed into the back row of the university's largest lecture hall, hoping three hundred students could shield me. I pulled my oversized hoodie tight, keeping my eyes glued to my notebook.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Mila whispered, settling into the seat beside me.

"Just tired," I lied, my fingers tightening around my pen.

"Did you see the campus forum this morning?" Winter asked, leaning across Mila. Her sharp eyes were wide. "Someone uploaded a video from the party last night. Jason Jax forcing a girl to drink."

My heart stopped. "Did you see who it was?"

"No, the lighting was too dark," Winter said, frowning. "But whoever she is, the bikers are hunting her."

My stomach dropped. I kept my eyes on my notebook, gripping my pen so tight my knuckles ached. Winter and Mila bid me goodbye going to their classes but my mind was stuck on the video. If they found that video, if anyone connected the dots back to me-

The heavy oak doors of the lecture hall banged open.

The low hum of student chatter died instantly. Professor Vance stopped mid-sentence at the podium. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The sudden, suffocating shift in the room's atmosphere told me everything.

Killian Blackwood walked down the stepped aisle.

He didn't have his motorcycle jacket on, just a tight black t-shirt that showed off the dark ink climbing up his arms. Lucian and Jason flanked him like guard dogs. They didn't look like students; they looked like rulers checking on their territory.

Killian's cold gaze swept over the rows of desks. I instantly ducked my head, my long black hair falling forward to cover my face. Don't look. Please don't look.

"Blackwood, Jax, Vane," Professor Vance said, his tone tight but entirely submissive. "You are late. Take your seats."

They didn't move toward the empty front rows. Killian kept walking up the stairs, straight toward the back. Every step of his heavy boots felt like a countdown clock inside my chest.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over my desk.

"You're in my seat, freshman," Jason Jax barked.

I looked up, trembling. Jason was staring at a girl who immediately turned pale.

"There are plenty of empty seats down there," the girl's friend snapped back.

"I didn't ask you," Jason sneered, leaning over the desk. "I told her to move."

The girl grabbed her backpack, her eyes wide with terror, and practically scrambled down the stairs to escape him. Jason chuckled, sliding into her vacant seat right next to me. Before I could even breathe, the seat on my left squeaked.

Killian sat down.

He slid his long legs under the small desk, his shoulder instantly brushing against mine. The forced physical proximity made my skin burn. The scent of rain and mint enveloped me, trapping me between the two wolves.

"Good morning, sweetpea," Killian whispered, his low voice for my ears only.

I stared straight ahead at the professor, my jaw clenched so hard it ached. "Leave me alone, Killian."

"We're just classmates, Hazel. Why so hostile?" He leaned back, spinning an expensive silver pen between his long fingers. "Though, I don't think classmates keep secrets from each other.

"I don't have any secrets," I muttered, my voice shaking despite my best efforts.

"Really?" Killian tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto the side of my face. "Because I just finished editing a very interesting video from last night. The lighting was bad, but with a little digital cleanup, your face is crystal clear."

My breath hitched. I turned my head to look at him. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," he murmured, his thumb hovering over his phone screen. "One click, and the entire campus sees the girl who used to cry in the London dirt. I wonder how your new friends will look at you then."

"What do you want?" Tears of anger pricked my eyes.

Killian's gaze dropped to my trembling lips, his eyes darkening with a dangerous, possessive intensity. He stood up suddenly, slamming his hand on my desk. The loud crack echoed through the silent lecture hall.

"Miss Frensby, Mr. Blackwood, is there a problem?" Professor Vance called out from the front.

"No problem, Professor," Killian said, his eyes never leaving mine. "Hazel was just leaving with me. She volunteered to help me with a project."

"I did not-" I started, but Jason shifted beside me, his hot-headed gaze a silent threat.

"Pack your bags, Hazel," Killian commanded softly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Don't make me upload it."

Humiliated, with three hundred pairs of eyes staring at me, I shoved my notebook into my bag. My hands shook so badly I dropped my pen. Killian picked it up, his cold fingers brushing against mine as he handed it back.

I stood up and walked down the steps, Killian following closely behind me like a shadow. The moment the heavy lecture doors shut behind us, cutting off the classroom, Killian gripped my elbow and pulled me into the empty, dimly lit hallway.

He pinned me against the lockers, his tall frame completely blocking the exit.

"Let go of me!" I choked out, pushing against his solid chest.

"Listen to me carefully," Killian whispered, his face inches from mine. His grip on my arm tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to anchor me. "You belong to this school now, which means you belong to me. You will meet me at the campus garage at midnight tonight."

"And if I don't?" I defied, staring straight into his pitch-black eyes.

Killian smiled, a slow, toxic curve of his lips that sent a chill straight down my spine. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"Then the video goes live at 12:01," he breathed. "And I'll make sure your friends find out exactly what happened to you in London."

"

HAZEL POV

The campus clock tower chimed midnight. Cold wind whipped my long black hair across my face as I stood outside the campus maintenance garage. The massive metal doors were cracked open just an inch, a sliver of harsh yellow light cutting through the pitch-black darkness.

My phone weighed a thousand pounds in my pocket. If I turned around and went back to my dorm, my past would be uploaded to the forum by 12:01. The fat girl from London. The girl who was locked in a janitor's closet for hours while classmates laughed outside. I had spent three years starving myself, running until my lungs burned, and rewriting my entire identity to bury that girl. I couldn't let Killian dig her back up.

I pushed the heavy metal door open. It screeched against the concrete floor.

The garage smelled of engine oil, gasoline, and stale cigarette smoke. Three sleek, black motorcycles were parked in a neat row. Sitting on the hood of a dismantled sports car was Lucian Vane, tossing a silver pocket knife casually in the air. Jason Jax stood near a workbench, drinking a beer.

And in the center of it all was Killian Blackwood.

He was leaning against his bike, his long legs crossed at the ankles. He wore his heavy leather motorcycle jacket, the collar popped against the chill. He was rolling a lighter across his knuckles, click, flash, click, flash. The flame illuminated his sharp jawline and the predatory gleam in his dark eyes.

"Look who decided to be a good girl," Jason mocked, slamming his beer bottle down on the workbench. "I told you she'd show, Killian. She's terrified of you."

"Shut up, Jason," Killian said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like iron. Jason instantly went quiet.

Killian stopped flicking the lighter. He stood up straight, his six-foot frame instantly throwing a long shadow over me. He walked toward me slowly, his heavy boots echoing against the concrete. I instinctively took a step back, but my spine hit the cold metal door. I was trapped.

He stopped just inches away. The scent of leather and cold rain enveloped me, making my heart race.

"You're late, sweetpea," Killian murmured, checking his watch. "12:02. I almost pressed upload."

"You have what you want," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound brave. "I'm here. Delete the video."

Killian chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated right through my chest. He reached out, his thumb slowly tracing my jawline. His skin was freezing, sending a sharp jolt of electricity down my spine. "Delete it? We're just getting started, Hazel. You don't get off that easy."

"What do you want from me, Killian?" I demanded, shoving his hand away from my face. "You already ruined my life once in London. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because you ran," he whispered, leaning down until his lips were inches from my ear. "And I hate it when my favorite toys run away. You think a glow-up changes who you are? You're still mine to break."

Lucian laughed from the background, the sound unhinged and mocking. "Tell her the terms, Blackwood. The clock is ticking."

Killian pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and flicked it open. He slammed it against the metal door right next to my head. "This is your new reality, freshman. You sign this contract. For the next thirty days, you are my personal assistant. You do whatever I say, you write my essays, and you show up whenever I call. If you skip a single day, the video goes public."

"That's slavery," I breathed, staring at the typed lines on the paper.

"It's a deal," Killian corrected, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intense, suffocating grip. "You protect your precious secret, and I get what I want."

"And what happens after thirty days?" I asked, my breathing shallow.

Killian leaned in closer, his chest pressing lightly against mine. I could feel the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the terrifying warmth of his body. "After thirty days, I delete the video, and I let you go. If you survive."

Jason walked over, tossing a black pen onto the hood of the car. "Sign it, freshman. Or I upload the video right now. My finger is on the button."

I looked at the pen. I looked at Killian's toxic, victorious smirk. My hands shook as I reached out and picked up the pen. If I signed this, I was entering the lion's den. But if I didn't, my life at legacy Thorne was over before it even began.

I pressed the paper against the metal door and scribbled my name at the bottom.

My signature looked wrong on the page, too small, too shaky, nothing like the version of myself I'd spent three years building. For one wild second I thought about tearing it in half, running, taking my chances with the video instead of whatever this was. But my hand wouldn't move. Some part of me, the part that still remembered the janitor's closet, had already decided I would rather belong to a devil than be laughed at again.

Killian snatched the paper away immediately, folding it and sliding it back into his jacket. A dark, terrifying smile spread across his face. He reached out, his long fingers tangling into my black hair, forcing my head back so I had to look at him.

"Good girl," he whispered, his eyes dropping to my lips. "Your first task starts right now. Follow me."

He turned and walked toward the back office of the garage, leaving me standing there in the cold. My stomach twisted into a painful knot. I had just signed my soul over to the devil.