Revenge In The Billionaire's Bed

Chapter 1: It's Come to This (Scarlet's POV) I stared at my backpack sitting in the bottom of the trash can. It was wedged between a half-eaten burrito and a sticky soda cup. Around me, the laughter was deafening. They were waiting for it-the wobble of the chin, the tears, the running away. *Keep waiting, idiots.* I reached in and yanked the bag out. My movements were sharp, deliberate. I paused for a second, scanning the faces of the crowd with a look reserved for the mentally deficient. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and wiped a smear of salsa off the canvas strap. They were like flies-annoying, buzzing, but ultimately not worth the energy it took to swat them. A guy standing closest to me leaned in. It was one of Parker's friends, some lacrosse player whose name wasn't worth remembering. "Hey, listen," he said, grinning. He reached into my pocket before I could react and pulled out my cracked, prepaid Android. He held it up like a trophy. "You sleep with me, and I'll replace this piece of junk. New phone, new bag. What do you say?" The room exploded with jeers. "Have some standards, man! You'd sleep with anything?" "It's a good deal for her, isn't it? One night on her back pays for what? Three months of her parents' salary?" "More like six," a girl sneered. "Didn't her mom get fired for stealing silver from the Sterlings? Chloe, isn't that right?" Chloe Sterling was perched on a desk like it was a throne, swinging her long, pale legs. She pursed her lips, pretending to think. "Not exactly," she said, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "She wasn't fired. She was handed over to the police. We couldn't exactly keep a thief as a housekeeper, could we?" There she was. The Queen Bee of Crestwood Academy. To the teachers, she was an angel. To me, she was a demon in designer clothing. She loved the game-giving you a sliver of hope just so she could enjoy the sound your bones made when she pushed you off the ledge. Chloe hopped off the desk. Her limited-edition loafers clicked against the linoleum as she sauntered over to me. She reached out, her manicured red nails digging into my chin, forcing my head up. "Scarlet, I really don't want to make your life hard," she sighed. "But why do you always have to disappoint me?" I didn't blink. I didn't pull away. I stared straight into her blue eyes. I wasn't scared. I was bored. My body coiled tight. I wasn't thinking about crying. I was calculating the torque required to snap her index finger backward. *Would the suspension be worth the satisfaction of hearing her scream?* Chloe's gaze drifted from my eyes down to my neck. She smiled, a cold, empty thing, and let go. She turned to the guy who was still holding my phone, looking eager. "Scarlet is my friend," she said lightly. "Don't play too rough, or I'll get upset." She spun around, pulling her own sleek iPhone from her blazer pocket. She frowned at the screen. "Ugh, you guys wasted so much of my time. I was supposed to watch Damon practice. Now he's not texting back. He's probably pissed." "Just smile at him, Chloe," one of her minions chirped. "He'll melt." Chloe giggled. She walked to the door, then paused, glancing back at me as the guy cornered me against the lockers. "You know," Chloe mused, "Scarlet is actually really pretty." Her friend scoffed immediately. "Her? Pretty? You're too nice, Chloe. Seriously." *Click.* The door shut. The lock engaged. The guy turned back to me, eyes gleaming. He tossed my phone onto a desk and stepped closer. I clutched my dirty backpack against my chest. I bit my lip and glanced at the corner of the ceiling. The security camera. A red light blinked steadily. *Recording. Good. Let the record show who started this.* He saw me look and laughed. "You think that thing matters? You've been here two months, Scarlet. Haven't you learned?" He loomed over me, smelling of expensive cologne and entitlement. "At Crestwood, money is the only rule. No one is coming to save you. So why don't you get on your knees and make me happy? Maybe I'll be nice." He reached out, grabbing the strap of my backpack to rip it away. "Let go of the bag, bitch." I didn't let go. I swung it. My heavy, stainless steel Hydro Flask was inside, nestled at the bottom. *Thwack.* The metal connected with his skull with a sickening crunch. He stumbled back, eyes rolling, completely stunned. He didn't even have time to raise his hands before I swung again. *Thwack.* And again. It took three seconds for his brain to register the pain. He groaned, clutching his forehead. Blood began to trickle through his fingers, dripping onto the pristine floor. He looked at me, slack-jawed. I looked down at my bag. There was a dark smear of blood on the canvas. I sighed. "Great." I wasn't sorry. I was annoyed. Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of cheap fabric? My only regret was that the bottle was empty. If it had been full of water, he wouldn't be standing right now. I looked up at him, my expression shifting from annoyance to a cold sneer. "The camera doesn't work?" I asked softly, my voice devoid of fear. "That's actually perfect." The last time I lost control like this was middle school. A boy had cornered me in a supply closet, trying to tear my shirt. He spent two weeks in the hospital. I remembered my father dealing with that. He had slammed a rusted knife onto the principal's mahogany desk. "I have nothing," he had told the boy's raging father. "I'm not afraid of jail. But you? You have a nice house. A precious son. Are you sure you want to mess with a man who has nothing to lose?" Poverty was a shield if you knew how to wield it. Crazy beats rich. Every time. I didn't care why Chloe hated me anymore. Maybe it was because I didn't worship her. Maybe it was because her cousin Ethan looked at me too long. Maybe it was just because she could. *Predators don't need a reason to eat. They just do.* *I just forgot to show my teeth.* This wasn't going to stop. It was senior year. Seven months to go. I needed the scholarship for Mom's meds. I needed the dorms to stay away from Dad's fists. I had to survive Crestwood. The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open in the hallway outside. Laughter drifted up from the stairwell. I heard his name floating on the air, spoken with reverence by the students passing by. *Damon.* I walked out of the classroom, leaving the bleeding boy groaning on the floor. I stopped at the elevator bank. I stared at the button for the fifth floor. I reached out and pressed it.