HER THREE CRUEL MATE

Chapter 8

ISLA POV

Rowan didn’t say another word in the cafeteria. He simply kept his hand locked around mine, pulling me through the sea of staring students. I felt like a criminal being led to the gallows, or perhaps a prize being paraded by a conqueror. We passed Sera, whose face was so pale she looked like she might faint from pure rage, but Rowan didn’t even glance her way.

He led me deep into the administrative wing, down a hallway I had never seen before, and pushed open a heavy oak door. It was a private washroom—marbelized, smelling of expensive soap, and completely empty.

He let go of my hand and reached for a stack of white linen towels. He turned on the gold-plated faucet, wetting a cloth with warm water. He stepped toward me, his eyes dark and focused, reaching out to wipe the dried gravy from my cheek.

I snapped.

I shoved his hand away, the strength of my frustration surprising even me. "Don't touch me!" I cried out.

He froze, the wet cloth mid-air. He looked at me as if I were a puzzle he couldn't solve. "Isla, you're a mess. I'm trying to—"

"Why are you doing this?" I interrupted, my voice cracking. The first tear escaped, hot and stinging as it ran down my face. "Why? You hate me! You call me a peasant, you humiliate me, you trap me in this 'proctor' nightmare... and then you act like you're saving me?"

I pushed at his chest, my small fists hitting the solid wall of his muscles. "Does it make you feel powerful? To see me like this? To make my life even more miserable than it already is? Just let me go! Let me be the nothing that everyone says I am!"

I was sobbing now, the weight of the last few days finally crushing me. The graveyard, the Vances, the slaps, the hunger—it all came out in those messy, heavy tears. I felt small and broken, and he was the personification of everything that was destroying me.

Rowan didn't move for a long moment. He looked down at my hands on his chest, then up at my tear-streaked face. For the first time, the cold mask of the Alpha slipped. He looked... pained. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words were stuck.

Suddenly, he reached out and pulled me into a hug.

It wasn't like the kiss. It wasn't aggressive or demanding. It was a solid, grounding embrace. I stiffened immediately, my hands coming up to push him away. I resisted, wriggling and shoving against him, but he didn't budge. He held me firmly, his chin resting on the top of my head, waiting for the storm to pass.

"Let go," I muffled into his shirt, but my strength was fading.

"I'm doing this because you are my slave," he uttered.

The words felt like a physical blow. I went cold. The small bit of warmth I felt in his arms evaporated instantly. I found a burst of energy and shoved him back with everything I had. I frowned at him, my heart hardening into a block of ice.

"Your slave," I repeated, my voice trembling with a different kind of emotion now. Pure, bitter resentment. "Right. I forgot. I'm just an object to you. A piece of property you won from the Vances."

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, glaring at him. "Maybe expulsion was actually better than this. I should have just let them kick me out. At least then, I’d be free of you."

I turned to leave, my pride hurt more than my body. I got two steps toward the door when his hand caught my wrist. He didn't pull me back this time; he just held me there.

"Really?" he asked, and I heard a dry chuckle behind me. "Are you really going to leave? Are you going to go back to the so-called 'mines' you were talking about in the office?"

I froze. The image of the mines flashed in my mind—dark, suffocating tunnels where people went in and never came out. The place where my mother’s debt would be paid in my sweat and eventually my life. I knew I wouldn't make it a week there.

But I also didn't see myself making it out of this Academy alive with Rowan Blackwood. Both paths felt like different versions of the same grave.

"Come on," Rowan said, his voice softening just a fraction as he released my wrist. "I am not that bad."

"You're a nightmare," I muttered, though I didn't try to run again.

He reached into his pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper. "Here. Take this."

I took it, looking at it with deep suspicion. "What is this?"

"This is your schedule," he said, leaning back against the marble counter. "For what you will be doing for me. Since you're so worried about your 'freedom,' I thought I’d give you some structure."

I unfolded the page. My eyes widened as I scanned the list. It was a rigorous, hour-by-hour breakdown of my life outside of class.

• 7:00 AM: Deliver black coffee to Blackwood Dorm, Room 101.

• Lunch: Report to Blackwood table for instructions.

• After School: Library duty (Blackwood section).

• Evenings: Personal assistant tasks as assigned.

"Morning coffee by seven a.m.?" I looked at him like he was insane. "You're still a kid, Rowan. What do you need this much coffee for? And why so early?"

"None of your business," he replied, a hint of that arrogant smirk returning to his face. "Just stick to it. If you're a minute late, I'll add an extra hour of 'personal assistance' to the end of the day. Understood?"

I bit my lip, wanting to scream. "Understood."

"Oh, and by the way," he added, pushing off the counter and walking toward the door. "Let me have your phone number. I need to be able to reach my... ward."

I felt a flush of embarrassment. I looked down at my scuffed shoes. "I don't have a phone."

Rowan stopped. He turned back, his brow arched in genuine surprise. It was the first time I realized how wide the gap was between us. To him, a phone was a basic human right. To me, it was a luxury we had sold to pay for my mother's last month of medicine.

He didn't say anything for a second. He just stared at me, his eyes unreadable. "Fine. Then you’d better be where you’re supposed to be. Don't make me come looking for you, Isla."

The rest of the day was a blur of whispers and sideways glances. I felt like a ghost walking through the halls. Every time I passed a group of students, they would stop talking and watch me, their eyes filled with either fear or envy.

By the time the final bell rang, I was exhausted. I wanted to go home—if you could call the Vance attic a home—but I looked at the crumpled paper in my hand.

4:00 PM: Report to Blackwood Dorm to collect textbooks.

I sighed, adjusted my bag, and made the long trek back to the Blackwood wing. My heart felt heavy. Every step felt like I was walking deeper into a trap I had helped set for myself.

I reached the heavy black doors of the dorm. I knocked, expecting Rowan to open it and bark an order at me.

The door swung open, but it wasn't Rowan.

It was Soran.

He was leaning against the doorframe, his shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the lean, powerful muscles of his forearms. He didn't have Rowan's icy calm. Soran was like a live wire—energetic, unpredictable, and currently, he looked very, very annoyed.

"Oh," I said, stepping back. "I'm sorry. I was looking for Rowan. He told me to come by for—"

"Rowan's at practice," Soran interrupted, his voice a low growl. He stepped out, closing the door behind him and effectively pinning me between him and the hallway wall.

"I'll just come back later then," I said, trying to slip past him. My heart started that familiar, frantic dancing.

Soran moved with the speed of a predator. He put his arm out, blocking my path. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. He didn't have the red-gold eyes of an Alpha like his brother, but his gaze was just as terrifying. It was sharp and hungry.

"Not so fast, little peasant," Soran whispered.

"I have to go back to the Vance estate," I said, my voice shaking. "I'm already late."

"I don't care about the Vances," Soran said. He reached out, his fingers catching a lock of my hair and twirling it slowly. "Rowan thinks he can keep you all to himself. He thinks because he marked you in the cafeteria, nobody else can touch you."

He leaned in closer, until I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"But Rowan isn't here right now," Soran hissed, a dark, wicked smile spreading across his face. "And I've been wanting to see what all the fuss is about. You aren't going anywhere until I say so."

He grabbed my arm, his grip just as strong as Rowan's, and began to pull me back toward the room. I looked down the empty hallway, praying for a teacher or even Sera to appear, but there was no one.

I was alone with the other Blackwood. And he didn't look like he wanted coffee.