He's trapped me in his sights.
Waiting to consume me.
He wants to awaken the darkness inside me.
Possess it and own me.
Damon West is bad news.
He might appear charming on the outside.
But that's only a mask he wears to hide the true predator inside...
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Shit.
The car pulls up next to the enormous glass double doors. The huge ass building looms towards the sky.
I'm not one for letting my nerves get the best of me, but damn, the sight of the school is intimidating. I'm here for Uncle Nate, I remind myself.
"Thanks, Marvin," I say as he turns and nods his head at me. I grab my bag beside me and open the backseat door. Marvin is Uncle Nate's driver. He barely speaks. But when he does, he calls me "Miss Ellis," which grates on my nerves. I've insisted he call me Jess, but he never does.
The car ride over here still wasn't any easier. I don't know when being in a car will feel normal again, but that's not now, and I doubt it's in the foreseeable future.
My hands are still covered in sweat. Crescent moon shapes etched into my palms from squeezing my hands shut. My heart still hasn't settled, and I have to breathe slowly in and out to regain my composure.
I just want to be a normal teenager again, but I know I don't deserve that.
The architecture screams money. I was expecting an old building, but it's not old; it's modern.
The huge place has a contemporary design, a combination of glass, steel, and concrete. Rows of perfectly trimmed hedges and pretty flower beds line the paths, showing the immaculate landscape. The student car park is to the side, holding cars that cost more than some people's houses.
Holy hell.
This will take some time to get used to. It's nothing like my old school. That place is rundown—a place where dreams go to die.
House of Elites School is its name. Or HES.
My uncle had to pull so many strings to get me into this school; I certainly don't have the grades to go somewhere like this. I'm going to try hard not to let Uncle Nate down. I can do this.
From what I know, this school is owned by aristocratic families and influential figures. The students are, basically, sons and daughters of the filthy rich.
I spot a guy approaching me. He's wearing the school uniform: navy blue slacks and a white dress shirt with the HES crest on the front. The material hugs his powerful physique as he walks confidently in my direction.
His face has angular lines, making him look like a male model. He has short blonde hair, buzzed on the sides, which frames his face perfectly. His face holds captivating ocean-blue eyes—eyes you could get stuck in if you weren't careful.
He's rolled up his sleeves to show his golden forearms. His skin shines in the light as if he's spent a good amount of time in the sun.
If looks could kill, this guy would serve consecutive life sentences; he is gorgeous.
