Marked By My Best Friend's Dad

FACING HELL

~Alice

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Iris's face, the shock, the tears, the way she’d slapped me so hard my ears rang.

I had to find her. Explain. Beg. Anything.

I grabbed my keys and drove straight to Eunice’s private residence on the edge of campus, the sleek modern house my dad let her use as vice chancellor.

She’d always kept the door open for me when I needed to vent about pack politics or family drama.

Tonight felt different.

I knocked hard. She opened almost immediately, like she’d been expecting someone.

“Alice,” she said, leaning against the doorframe in a silk robe that clung to every curve. “This is a surprise.”

“Is Iris here?” I asked, voice sharp, trying to peer past her into the dim hallway.

Eunice’s eyebrow arched. “Why on earth would Iris be here?”

I pushed past her anyway, scanning the living room. Empty. No sign of Iris’s bag, her scent, anything.

“She’s not here,” Eunice said, closing the door behind me. “Care to tell me why you think she would be?”

I spun on her. “Don’t play dumb. I know about your little obsession with her. Everyone does.”

She smiled slowly, amused, like I’d just told a joke.

“And I’ll pretend I don’t know about yours,” she replied smoothly. “You and Iris. Dating. In love. All those secret touches in the dorm, the late nights. I knew from day one, darling.”

My stomach dropped.

“You… knew?”

“Of course.” She stepped closer, robe slipping slightly off one shoulder. “I know everything that happens in my academy. Especially when it involves her.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. All this time I’d thought we were careful.

Eunice tilted her head, studying me like a predator sizing up wounded prey.

“But I’m willing to keep pretending,” she said softly. “If you do something for me.”

“What?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled again, sharper this time.

“Help me get Iris in my bed. Just once. Convince her. Bring her to me. However, you have to do it.”

I stared at her, shock turning to ice in my veins.

“You’re insane.”

“Am I?” She shrugged. “Or am I just honest about what I want? You had her. You lost her. Now it’s my turn.”

I backed toward the door, hand on the knob.

“I’d never do that to her.”

Eunice’s laugh followed me out into the night.

“Then good luck getting her back, sweetheart. Because after tonight? She won’t trust either of us ever again.”

I called her number endlessly, over and over, thumb hitting redial the second it went to voicemail.

It rang every time, which was worse than if it had been switched off. She was there. She was seeing my name flash on her screen. And she was choosing not to answer.

Each unanswered ring felt like another slap.

I paced my dorm room, the same one that still smelled like s*x and betrayal. Sandra was long gone, but her presence lingered in the rumpled sheets, the faint lipstick smear on the pillow. I wanted to burn the whole bed.

Iris had seen everything. The hurt in her eyes when she’d walked in, God, it haunted me. I’d never seen her look so broken.

And then she’d slapped me. Hard. I could still feel the sting on my cheek.

I deserved it.

But I couldn’t lose her. Not like this.

I dialed again.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Voicemail.

“Iris, please,” I said into the silence, voice cracking. “Pick up. Let me explain. I’m sorry. I’m so f*****g sorry. I love you. Please don’t shut me out.”

I hung up and immediately called back.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Nothing.

Tears blurred my vision. I sank onto the edge of the bed, phone clutched in both hands like a lifeline.

I’d messed up. I knew that. Sandra had been a mistake, a stupid, angry, lonely mistake after Iris kept pulling away. I’d let it happen because I was hurt too.

But Iris was different. Iris was everything.

And now she's gone.

I dialed one more time. It rang twice then cut to voicemail.

She’d rejected the call.

I dropped the phone onto the bed and buried my face in my hands. I have to find her. I have to fix this.

Even if she hated me right now. Even if she never forgave me. I won't let her go.

I couldn’t go back to the dorm. I couldn’t face the bed, the sheets, the memory of Iris’s face when she’d walked in.

So I drove away with no destination.

I ended up at Eclipse, the nearest club off campus, the one with the pulsing lights and bass that rattled your bones.

The kind of place Iris loved on bad nights, dragging me along to dance until we forgot everything else.

I didn’t dance tonight.

I went straight to the bar and ordered tequila.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but poured it anyway.

I don’t drink much. Never have. Iris was the one who could throw back shots like water and still outdance everyone on the floor.

But tonight I wanted the burn.

I downed the first one. It hit like fire down my throat, settled hot in my stomach.

Then another.

And another.

The music throbbed around me, bodies moving under strobing lights, but I stayed on the stool, staring at the empty glass like it might give me answers.

A guy slid onto the stool next to me, tall, cocky grin, cologne strong enough to choke on.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, leaning in too close. “Can I get your number?”

I didn’t even look at him fully.

My fist moved before I thought about it.

It connected with his jaw, solid, satisfying crack.

He reeled back, clutching his face, eyes wide in shock.

“Go to hell,” I said, voice flat.

He stumbled off the stool, muttering something about crazy bitches as he disappeared into the crowd.

The bartender glanced over but didn’t say anything. He just poured me another shot without asking.

I threw it back.

The burn felt good.

It felt like something I deserved.

I pulled out my phone again, thumb hovering over Iris’s name.

Still no answer.

Still nothing.

I set the phone face down on the bar and ordered one more.

Tonight, I wasn’t Alice Blackwood, Alpha’s daughter, perfect student, loyal girlfriend.

Tonight, I was just someone trying to drown the sound of my lesbian girlfriend walking away.

With one last shred of hope, I dialed again, thumb hovering over the screen like it might burn me.

It rang twice.

Then clicked.

“Hey,” a deep, familiar voice answered. “I don’t know why you keep calling or who the hell you are, but she’s not available right now. Bye.”

The line went dead.

I froze, phone still pressed to my ear, heart slamming against my ribs.

That voice.

I’d know it anywhere.

My father.

Duncan Blackwood.