As the victory photo with the seniors was announced, I felt a thrill. This was my moment, the culmination of everything I'd worked for. The mound was ours-the seniors'-the last photo opportunity to mark our reign before the next batch of hopefuls took over. I walked confidently toward the mound, Maya and Chloe falling in beside me with grins on their faces.
Behind us, I saw Hannah give Sam a sad, almost pleading smile, jerking her head toward the mound. Sam looked lost, defeated, but slowly, she trudged forward, joining us. She moved with that hesitant, awkward shuffle, like she knew she didn't belong. And the truth was, she didn't. But today, she was a prop in my perfect ending.
When Sam came to stand by us, Maya and Chloe immediately pulled away, exchanging looks of disgust. They didn't have to say anything; the silent treatment was loud enough. It wasn't long before Coach noticed the gap she left on the mound. He waved a hand impatiently, "Scarlett, stand next to Sam so we can get this over with."
I could feel my pulse quicken, an unexpected rush of excitement creeping through me as I took my place beside her. She was stiff, her eyes fixed on the ground, trying to shrink herself as much as possible. The photographer called for us to smile and hug, and I slid my hand around her waist, my thumb gently caressing her side in a way I knew would send chills through her.
"Smile, St. Onge," I whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. "It's your one moment to be remembered."
Her face twisted, and I saw her force a small, pained smile for the camera. The photographer snapped the shot, and as soon as the flash went off, I shoved her. Sam stumbled, hitting the ground with a faint gasp as the rest of the team burst into laughter. She lay there, looking utterly humiliated, her face flushed with embarrassment and hurt.
Hannah rushed to help her up, glaring at me as she dusted off Sam's uniform. I watched Sam's gaze drop, her spirit all but broken. But that was the beauty of it. She didn't know it yet, but she was meant to be by my side, under my control.
Coach called us back to the bus, announcing we'd be heading to the hotel to celebrate our victory. The girls cheered, everyone excited to unwind and bask in the triumph. But my thoughts were only on Sam. Tonight, in that hotel room, I'd make sure she understood her place.
When we arrived at the hotel, the ballroom was transformed into a celebration hub, decorated with streamers, balloons, and tables covered in snacks. Music blared, and the team began dancing, laughing, and letting loose. I could see the happiness on everyone's faces, a carefree excitement that I used to feel. But right now, all I could focus on was the way Sam stood off to the side, barely blending into the shadows, watching the others dance.
Hannah caught Sam's eye, giving her an encouraging nod. She dragged Sam to the edge of the dance floor, spinning and laughing in a way that made Sam smile, just a little. For a second, she looked like she belonged, her face lighting up as she watched Hannah's goofy dance moves.
But then I saw her expression change, the hint of a smile fading as her eyes grew glassy. She was on the verge of tears. And before anyone could notice, she slipped out of the ballroom, disappearing down the hall.
I waited only a few minutes before I followed her. I didn't bother knocking when I reached her room; I slipped the key into the door and entered, finding her slumped on the edge of her bed, her head buried in her hands. She didn't even look up when I walked in. She didn't have to.
"Leaving the party so soon, St. Onge?" I sneered, crossing the room to stand in front of her.
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't respond. I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at me. Her face was streaked with the faint traces of tears, her eyes wide with a mix of anger and fear.
"Scarlett, please, just... leave me alone," she whispered, her voice cracking.
"Oh, Sam." I laughed, shaking my head. "You don't get to make requests. Not now, not ever."
Without waiting for her to respond, I pulled her onto my lap, wrapping my arms around her waist. She tried to push me away, but she was weak, helpless against my hold. I held her tighter, feeling her body tense and struggle, but it only fueled the dark satisfaction growing inside me.
"You know, Sam," I murmured in her ear, "I love this little game we play. I love how scared you are of me. It's like you're made for me-someone who fits perfectly in my world of control."
Her breath hitched, her hands pushing weakly against my arms, but I only tightened my hold, pressing her closer. She was silent, horrified, and I could feel her trembling in my arms, her fear as intoxicating as ever.
"I hate you, Sam," I continued, my voice a whisper, "but I also... I love this fear of yours. I love knowing that you belong to me, that you'll never escape me. You're mine, and nothing can change that."
Her tears began to fall again, silent and steady, trickling down her cheeks. I pressed my lips to her face, tasting the salt of her tears, each drop a testament to her helplessness. She was horrified, defeated-and it was beautiful.
For the longest time, I just held her, savoring every tremor, every sob. She didn't fight back, didn't protest. She was mine, completely and utterly.
As I watched her, a dark smile played on my lips. The game was far from over. Sam still had so much to learn about her place, about us. And I would make sure she understood-no matter what it took.
