Dirty Little Secrets

21.

KINGSLEY'S POV

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the bar like a second heartbeat I didn’t want. Felix had practically dragged me here, claiming I needed to “stop brooding like a damn statue” after the disaster at school. The slap still burned on my cheek hours later,, stinging so badly, but Summer’s words had cut deeper.

“You’re just like every other entitled piece of trash.”

I downed the rest of my whiskey, the liquid burning a path down my throat. Felix was somewhere on the dance floor, laughing with strangers, living his soft life like the world wasn’t collapsing. I envied him. My thoughts kept circling back to her—Summer’s hollow eyes in the computer lab, the way she pushed everyone away even when she was drowning.

“Another one?” the bartender asked.

I nodded. Why not? Maybe if I drank enough, I could forget the way her voice cracked when she called me a burden. Or the way she sang with me like our souls recognized each other before her walls slammed back up

I scanned the dimly lit bar absently, my eyes catching on a familiar silhouette slipping through the crowd near the exit. Hood up, shoulders tense, moving with that guarded grace I’d recognize anywhere. It was definitely Summer.

My heart slammed against my ribs. What the hell was she doing here? After everything today—the dean’s office, the probation, the viral video—she was out here?

I slammed cash on the counter and followed her before I could talk myself out of it. Felix could find his own way home.

The night air hit me cold and sharp as I stepped outside. She was already half a block ahead, moving fast toward the seedier part of the city. I kept my distance, pulse racing, telling myself I just needed to make sure she was safe. That was all. But deep down I knew it was a lie. I couldn’t stay away even when she begged me to.

She turned down a familiar alley. My stomach dropped. The club, of course.

I watched her slip through the staff entrance, the neon light sign flickering mockingly above it. My hands clenched into fists. After the scholarship threat, after everything she’d screamed at me in the hallway—she was still doing this?

I waited a minute, then followed, my jaw tight. The bouncer barely glanced at me; money talked here. Inside, the place reeked of smoke, sweat, and bad decisions. I moved through the shadows, heart pounding harder with every step.

Room 312. I caught the number as the door clicked shut behind her. My blood roared in my ears. I pushed the door open without knocking.

The sight hit me like a punch to the gut.

Summer stood in the center of the dim room, back partially to me, peeling off her jacket. Her top was already halfway off, revealing smooth skin and the edge of a provocative outfit clearly meant for one purpose. A man lounged on the plush couch, masked, watching her with hungry eyes.

She turned at the sound of the door.

Our eyes locked.

Shock ripped across her face. “Kingsley—”

“What the f**k, Summer?” The words tore out of me before I could stop them. The client started to rise, but I didn’t care. I was already moving.

Summer’s eyes widened in pure panic. She grabbed my arm with surprising strength and yanked me backward, slamming the door behind us as we stumbled into the narrow, dimly lit hallway.

She shoved me against the wall, her chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury and something rawer—fear. “Why can’t you just let me be?!” she hissed, voice low and trembling with rage. “Why do you keep doing this? Following me, inserting yourself into my life like some knight in shining armor I never asked for! I told you to stay away! Don't you get it?"

I laughed, but there was no humor in it it only fillrf with bitter anger. I stepped closer, towering over her, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Let you be? You’re really asking me that? After today? After the dean threatened your scholarship, after that damn video ruined your reputation—you’re back here undressing for some masked creep? You’re gullible, Summer. Dangerously gullible. Or maybe you just enjoy destroying yourself. Which is it?”

Her face flushed, tears glistening in her eyes, but she didn’t back down. She jabbed a finger into my chest, hard. “You don’t know anything about me! You think you can just swoop in and judge? You have no idea what I’m fighting for— who I’m fighting for. Clyde needs me. I need money. I need—”

“You need to stop lying to yourself!” I snapped, grabbing her wrist to stop her jabbing. My grip wasn’t painful, but firm. Our faces were inches apart, the air thick with tension and unspoken pain. “I saw what you’re capable of in that studio. I felt it. You also felt it. You’re way better than this place. Better than throwing yourself away. But you keep choosing the darkness. And for what? So you can push away anyone who actually gives a damn?”

Summer’s breath hitched. For a split second, vulnerability flashed across her face—then the walls slammed back up. She ripped her wrist free. “Get out of my life, Kingsley. I mean it this time. You’re only making everything worse.”

I stared at her, chest tight, the hurt burning hotter than the whiskey. “Yeah? Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should stop trying to save someone who want to be deeply buried and drowned in darkness, rather than being saved.”

I turned on my heel and stormed down the hallway, pushing past drunk patrons and blinking neon lights. My head was spinning—anger, confusion, and a deep, aching disappointment warring inside me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket as I burst out into the alley.

It was an uknown number.

I opened it, still breathing hard.

“Stay clear away from Summer.”

I froze, staring at the screen. The message deleted itself seconds later.

What the hell?

I looked back toward the club entrance, jaw clenched. Whoever this was—they were watching. And they knew exactly how to hit where it hurt.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and kept walking into the night, the weight of her words and that cryptic warning pressing down on me like chains I couldn’t break.