chapter 3
1134 Words
Chapter 3: Cynthia
The fake dating was supposed to be a simple transaction. For three days, it actually felt like I was winning.
Julian was a ghost in the hallways. His friends looked at the floor whenever I walked past. The crushing weight of being the dumped, lower-class scholarship girl had completely vanished, replaced by the protective shield of Marcus Vance’s reputation.
Then came Thursday afternoon.
My phone buzzed in my pocket right after the final bell.
Marcus: Skip the library. Come to my place. 14 Whispering Pines Ridge. Don't be late.
Whispering Pines was the most expensive gated community in the city. I took the public bus as far as the security gates, then walked the remaining half-mile down a private road lined with literal mansions.
When I reached Marcus’s address, the massive front doors were wide open. Bass-heavy music vibrated through the stone walls, shaking the glass panels of the entryway.
I stepped inside, my backpack heavy on my shoulders. "Marcus?"
Nobody answered. I followed the noise into a sprawling, modern living room. The air smelled strongly of expensive liquor and weed.
Marcus was sprawled on a white leather sofa, his long legs resting on a marble coffee table. He was surrounded by two of his varsity basketball teammates, Troy and Jackson. The table was littered with red plastic cups, open bottles, and half-eaten takeout.
There wasn't a textbook in sight. Not even a pencil.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Marcus said. He didn't sit up. He just tilted his head back, a lazy, arrogant smirk on his face.
Troy and Jackson chuckled, exchanging a look.
"Marcus, your advanced algebra quiz is tomorrow morning," I said, keeping my voice deadpan as I stood at the edge of the rug. "You need a B minus to stay eligible for the tournament. Set up the books."
"Relax, scholarship girl," Marcus said, tossing a red plastic cup toward me. It caught the air and landed roughly on the floor near my sneakers, splashing amber liquid onto the laces. "Drink up. We’re celebrating."
I looked down at the mess, then back up at him. "Celebrating what?"
"Julian," Jackson chimed in, laughing. "The i***t lost his mind in the cafeteria today because Marcus was wearing the watch you allegedly bought him. He almost pulled a knife."
"It was a plastic butter knife, but still," Troy grinned.
Marcus leaned forward, his dark eyes locking onto mine with a sudden, intense sharpness. "We ran the play perfectly, Cynthia. The whole school thinks I took his girl, and he's completely unfocused for the game. You did your job. Now, sit down, have a drink, and act like a good girlfriend."
I didn't move. "I don't drink. And I came here to tutor you, not watch you get wasted with your friends. If you aren't going to open the textbook, I'm leaving."
The laughter in the room instantly died.
Troy and Jackson looked at Marcus, their expressions freezing. Nobody spoke to Marcus Vance like that. Especially not a girl whose tuition was paid by the state.
Marcus slowly took his feet off the coffee table. He stood up, his six-foot-three frame completely dominating the space. He walked over to the bar, poured a fresh shot of vodka into a clean cup, and walked straight into my personal space.
He smelled like high-end cologne and liquor. Up close, his spoiled, wealthy privilege felt suffocating.
"You're forgetting your place, Cynthia," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register. "We made a deal. You wanted revenge, and I gave it to you. But in my world, nobody walks into my house and gives me orders."
"I am trying to save your eligibility, Marcus," I said, refusing to step back.
"I don't care about the quiz," he hissed, shoving the cup toward my chest. The plastic dug into my sternum. "I care about loyalty. My friends are watching. Pick up the cup, take a sip, and stop acting like you're better than everyone else just because you get straight A's."
"No," I said, my teeth clenched. "Let go of me."
"Drink it," Marcus ordered, his hand suddenly wrapping firmly around my wrist. His grip was tight, heavy, and completely unyielding. He pulled my hand toward the cup, trying to force my fingers around the plastic. "Don't be boring, Cynthia. You need me to keep Julian off your back, remember? If I dump you tomorrow, you're back to being the hallway joke."
He pushed the liquid closer to my face. The sharp smell of alcohol hit my nose. He was smiling—a cruel, spoiled little smirk that told me he thought he owned me. Just like Julian did.
My mind snapped.
I didn't think about the scholarship. I didn't think about the basketball team, or the mansion, or the consequences. All I saw was another rich boy trying to break me for his own amusement.
Smack.
The sound of my palm striking his left cheek was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
Marcus’s head snapped to the side. The red cup flew out of his hand, sending the vodka flying across the pristine white leather sofa.
Troy and Jackson scrambled to their feet, their mouths open in absolute shock.
Marcus stood perfectly still for three agonizing seconds. His chest rose and fell heavily. When he slowly turned his face back to me, a bright red handprint was already forming against his tan skin. His dark eyes were wide, dark, and filled with a dangerous, volatile disbelief.
Nobody had ever hit him in his entire life.
"The fake date is over," I said, my voice trembling with an anger so deep it felt cold. I ripped my wrist out of his loosened grip and slung my backpack securely over both shoulders.
"Cynthia," Marcus growled, his voice deep and warning, taking a step toward me.
"Stay away from me," I spat, backing toward the hallway. "Fail your quiz. Get benched. I don't care anymore. You are exactly the same as Julian. You're just a spoiled brat with a different jersey."
I turned on my heel and marched out of the living room, the sound of my heavy breathing echoing in the grand foyer. I slammed the massive front doors behind me, stepping out into the cold afternoon air.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I walked down the long, winding driveway. I had just ruined my only protection against Julian. I had made a lethal enemy out of the basketball captain.
I was completely, utterly on my own.
- Writer
