VICIOUS HEART

Dead boys don't text

Darkness crashed through the mansion again.

This time the scream downstairs didn’t sound startled.

It sounded terrified.

For half a second, nobody in Room 208 moved.

Then chaos exploded.

Mason swore loudly and bolted for the hallway first.

Jude followed immediately behind him while students downstairs began shouting over each other beneath the pounding music that had suddenly cut off again.

Eli moved toward the door—but paused long enough to look at Zane.

That pause mattered.

Because Eli rarely hesitated.

“Zane.”

Just one word.

Warning.

Question.

Concern.

Zane’s jaw tightened once.

Then he looked toward Anastasia.

“Stay here.”

Anastasia stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“That’s adorable.”

Before he could argue, she pushed past him into the hallway.

The upstairs balcony overlooked the massive ballroom below.

Students crowded together near the staircase in confusion while phone flashlights cut through the darkness like scattered stars.

Security guards were finally arriving.

Late and useless.

Classic Blackthorn.

“What happened?!”

“Someone collapsed!”

“No, I heard there was blood—”

“Move!”

Anastasia reached the railing beside Mason and looked down.

A body lay near the grand piano.

Not dead.

Moving slightly.

But unconscious.

And beside him—

sprayed across the marble floor in black paint—

were three words.

WELCOME BACK, MATTEO.

The room fell eerily quiet around the message.

Even students who didn’t know the name felt something wrong settle into the air.

Anastasia looked sideways immediately.

Zane had gone completely still.

Not shocked.

Worse.

Controlled.

Like every emotion had locked itself behind his ribs all at once.

“Who is that?” Bianca whispered beside Anastasia suddenly.

She’d somehow forced her way upstairs again.

Mason glanced downward grimly.

“Tyler Greene.”

Bianca frowned.

“The soccer guy?”

“Yeah.”

Tyler Greene—the loud, rich junior who practically lived on THORN—was being helped upright by security now, blood dripping from a cut near his temple.

Disoriented.

Terrified.

One of the guards demanded, “What happened to you?”

Tyler looked around wildly before his eyes landed on Zane upstairs.

Then his face drained completely.

“He’s back.”

The ballroom went silent again.

Zane descended the staircase slowly.

Every eye followed him.

Students moved aside automatically like instinct told them to.

Anastasia hated how much power he carried without even trying.

Tyler pointed shakily toward the back hallway.

“I-I saw someone near the east wing,” he stammered. “Thought it was a prank, then someone hit me from behind and—”

“What did you see?” Eli interrupted calmly.

Tyler swallowed hard.

“A man.”

Mason scoffed quietly.

“Very descriptive.”

Tyler looked panicked now.

“No, listen—he looked like—”

His eyes darted toward Zane again.

Then away.

Like he regretted speaking already.

Zane stepped closer.

Dangerously calm.

“Say it.”

Tyler’s throat moved.

“He looked like Matteo.”

Silence.

Pure silence.

Somewhere behind Anastasia, Bianca whispered,

“What the actual hell is happening at this school?”

No one answered.

East Wing Corridor

Fifteen minutes later, the party was effectively dead.

Security blocked exits while Blackthorn students pretended not to record videos for THORN.

Too late.

The posts were already everywhere.

THORN LIVE:

ASHFORD PARTY SHUT DOWN

Someone wrote “WELCOME BACK MATTEO” on the floor.

People are saying the Moretti family curse is real.

Anastasia stood near the east wing hallway while police questioned Tyler downstairs.

The mansion felt colder now.

The glamour stripped away.

Old.

Uncomfortable.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

She turned.

Zane.

Of course.

He stood a few feet away, sleeves rolled slightly past tattooed forearms, expression unreadable again.

But she noticed it now.

The tension underneath.

The exhaustion.

“You keep saying that,” Anastasia replied calmly.

“And you keep ignoring it.”

“Because you never explain anything.”

Silence stretched between them.

Heavy.

Complicated.

Down the hallway, police officers moved through rooms while security whispered nervously.

Anastasia crossed her arms.

“Start with Matteo.”

Zane looked away briefly toward the dark corridor.

For the first time since meeting him—

he actually seemed reluctant.

“He was my older brother,” he said quietly.

Anastasia waited.

“He disappeared four years ago.”

“Disappeared?”

“No body. No evidence. Nothing.”

“And everyone assumed he died?”

Zane laughed once.

Cold.

“No. Everyone hoped.”

That answer settled sharply between them.

Anastasia studied him carefully.

“You hated him.”

A pause.

Then:

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No guilt.

Interesting.

Before she could ask more, footsteps approached.

Damien.

Naturally.

He leaned against the wall lazily holding two glasses of stolen champagne.

“Nothing says family trauma like public psychological warfare.”

Anastasia blinked slowly.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

“No.”

He handed her one of the glasses anyway.

She took it before thinking.

Zane’s eyes immediately dropped to her hand around the champagne glass.

Tiny reaction.

But there.

Possessive.

Annoyed.

Interesting.

Damien noticed too.

And smiled.

Dangerous man.

“You should tell her the fun parts,” Damien said lightly.

“There are no fun parts.”

“That’s subjective.”

Damien took a sip of champagne.

“Matteo Moretti was Blackthorn’s golden monster. Rich, charming, violent when bored. Girls loved him. Professors feared him.”

His gaze slid toward Zane.

“And the brothers hated each other.”

Anastasia looked between them carefully.

“Why?”

Neither brother answered.

Damien sighed dramatically.

“Fine. I’ll do everything myself.” Then quieter: “Matteo liked taking things that belonged to Zane.”

The hallway felt colder again.

Zane’s expression hardened instantly.

“Enough.”

But Damien continued anyway.

“Cars. Friends. Girls.”

Anastasia noticed the exact second realization hit her.

Oh.

“You think he’s connected to Clara,” she said softly.

Damien looked impressed.

“She’s smart too. That’s annoying.”

Zane stepped closer suddenly.

Close enough to overwhelm space again.

His voice dropped lower.

“This isn’t your problem.”

Anastasia’s temper sparked immediately.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“You don’t understand what this could become.”

“And you do?”

Silence.

Then—

“Yes.”

The certainty in his voice unsettled her more than the threats had.

Because for the first time, Zane sounded genuinely afraid of something.

Not for himself.

For her.

Before she could respond, Mason appeared jogging down the hallway.

“You guys need to see this.”

His face had lost all color.

“What happened?” Eli asked from behind him.

Mason held up his phone silently.

THORN was open.

A new anonymous video had just been uploaded.

Shaky footage.

Dark.

Recorded only minutes ago inside the Ashford Estate.

The caption read:

LOOK WHO CAME BACK FOR HIS BROTHER.

Mason pressed play.

The video showed a shadowed figure walking through the east wing corridor moments before Tyler was attacked.

Tall.

Male.

Black hood pulled low.

The footage was blurry—but not blurry enough.

Because even through the distortion—

the man looked exactly like Zane.

Bianca whispered,

“…That’s impossible.”

But Anastasia wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

She was looking at Zane.

Because he had gone completely still.

And suddenly—

for the first time—

she wasn’t sure whether he was shocked…

or recognized the person in the video too well.