Bound to a VEYRON

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Katherine pov:

His words replayed in my head, not in a loop of fear, but as a challenge. He thought he had me, that by knowing my name and my family's financial situation, he held all the cards. He thought he had taken control.

He was wrong.

This was exactly what I wanted. He had given me a public role, an official reason to be in his world.

By morning, my phone buzzed with a single message.

Damien: East quad. 11:00. Don’t make me wait.

No “hello,” no explanation. Just an order.

Mia peeked over my shoulder, wide-eyed. “Are you seriously going?”

I slipped my phone into my pocket. “Of course,” I said. My voice was calm, almost casual. But inside, I knew I didn’t have a choice.

The East Quad was already crowded when I arrived. Damien was sitting on a stone bench, legs apart, hands loose at his sides like he owned the place. His friends lingered nearby, watching everything like hawks.

When his eyes met mine, the noise of the crowd faded. He didn’t move until I reached him. Then, without a word, he patted his thigh.

I froze. For a second, I thought I’d misread the gesture. But then his voice came, low and sharp enough that only I could hear.

“Sit.”

My pulse hammered, but I lowered myself onto his lap. Gasps rippled through the quad — whispers, stares. His arm slid around my waist, heavy and immovable, like a chain locking me into place.

Charlotte was there too. I hadn’t noticed her until her voice cut through the air.

“What the hell is this, Damien?”

Her fury was fire, but Damien didn’t so much as look at her. His thumb traced lazy circles on my hip, his cold eyes fixed only on me.

“You’re in my way, Charlotte,” he said, his tone like ice. “Move.”

The humiliation on her face was almost painful to watch. Almost. She stormed off, her heels snapping against the pavement like gunshots.

The whispers grew louder, but Damien silenced them all by leaning closer to me, so close his breath brushed my ear.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmured. “Now you’ll choke on it.”

I didn’t flinch. I didn’t pull away. Instead, I tilted my chin, forcing my voice steady. “Then don’t disappoint me.”

For the first time, his lips curved into something dangerous — not a smile, but close. His grip tightened around my waist, like he was daring me to regret my words.

The moment stretched, until two figures approached from the edge of the crowd. They were his friends,Close ones.

The taller one, Marco, had a bored expression that didn't quite reach his observant eyes. The other, Eden, had an easy smile and a casual way of moving that was a sharp contrast to Damien's coiled tension.

“Don’t mind us,” Eden said, his smile genuine as he looked at me. “We just wanted to see the famous girl for ourselves.”

“She’s not famous,” Damien said, his voice flat. “Just new.”

The moment stretched with an awkward silence before Marco's words cut through it.

"He's right," Marco said, his gaze on me. "We've all been wondering what you are.

"I’m the last person you want to wonder about.

The question was meant to be dehumanizing, to label me as a thing—a problem, a toy.I felt Damien’s body tense beneath me, waiting for my answer.

I shifted my weight on his lap, a small, deliberate adjustment that was more for him than for me. Then I met Marco’s analytical stare with a placid one of my own.

“I’m a scholarship student. Katherine Hales,” I said, using the very information Damien had tried to weaponize against me. I let the name hang in the air, owning it completely. “But I think the better question isn’t what I am. It’s why a thing like me makes a boy like you nervous.

A beat of shocked silence followed. Marco’s face went rigid, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He looked like he wanted to hit something.

But Eden just laughed, a low, genuine sound. “Damn, Marco. She’s got you there.”

A low rumble vibrated through Damien’s chest beneath me—not a laugh, but something darker. Approving. His hand on my waist tightened, the grip possessive, final.

“That’s enough,” Damien said, his voice cutting through the air like glass. The show was over.

In one fluid, powerful motion, he was on his feet, hauling me up with him. His hand left my waist and clamped onto my arm.

He didn't slow down. His grip on my arm was like a vice as he pulled me through the parting crowds of students. Their whispers and stares were a buzzing noise in the background, but his focus was absolute. We didn't stop until we reached the faculty parking lot, a place where students weren't supposed to be. A black SUV that looked more like an armored truck was parked in a restricted spot, gleaming under the sun.

He remotely unlocked the doors with a click and yanked open the passenger side. "Get in."

I didn't argue. I slid onto the cold leather seat, the door slamming shut with a heavy thud that sealed me inside. The interior smelled like new leather and him—a faint, expensive cologne. He got in the driver's side, the engine roaring to life with a low growl.

He drove fast, weaving through traffic like the other cars didn't exist. My own car was a piece of junk that rattled if it went over sixty; this machine was silent, powerful, and predatory. Just like its owner.

I stared out the window, tracking our route. We were heading off-campus, back to the house from the party.

When we pulled into the long, gated driveway, the place was completely different. In the daylight, without the pulsing lights and crowds, it was just a cold, modern mansion of glass and stone. He killed the engine, and the silence was deafening.

"Out," he ordered.

I followed him to the front door, which he opened without a key. Inside, the smell of stale liquor and perfume was gone, replaced by something clean and sterile. He didn't stop in the massive living room. He led me down a hallway I hadn't seen before, to a heavy oak door. He pushed it open and gestured for me to enter.

It was an office. Dark wood, a massive desk, two leather chairs, and a wall of windows that looked out over an unnervingly perfect lawn and a dark, still swimming pool. He walked behind the desk, a king returning to his throne. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling like an intruder all over again.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a slim, black burner phone, tossing it onto the polished surface of the desk. It landed with a soft clack.

"That's yours now," he said, his voice flat. "It has one number programmed in it. Mine. Your old phone is for your friends, for class. This one is for me. When it rings, you answer. Day or night. When I text, you reply. Immediately."

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. His eyes pinned me in place.

"You wanted to get close to me, Katherine. This is what close looks like. You don't have a life outside of the one I allow you to have anymore. Am I clear?"

My throat was dry, but I forced the word out, keeping my voice steady and cold. "Crystal."

A dangerous smile touched his lips, the same one from the quad. He walked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of me, so close I had to tilt my head back to look at him. He lifted a hand and gripped my chin, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. His touch was an insult, a claim.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, chilling caress. "Now, your first lesson. We're going hunting."