Anabelle Anderson doesn't just want revenge. She wants an entire revolution.
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When 17-year-old Ana returns to her hometown for senior year, she vows to crush the powerful and dangerous clique that exiled her. Armed with a disguise and a step...
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A/N: Please note that the following chapter includes mature themes. Reader discretion is advised.
My bedroom felt like it always did. For some reason, I expected it to feel different. It was dark, of course. The only light was that falling from the moon outside. So dark was the space, so homely and quiet and still, that I could've sworn that I was alone.
"You've made a decision."
The low rumble of his voice came from further within the room, luring me into its depths like a siren would a sailor.
The definitive click of the lock on my door confirmed his hushed supposition.
I turned around, raising my eyes slowly as I felt them adjust to the dark. It took less than a second to locate the silhouette that lingered by my desk, something so foreign in a place so familiar. And was that... one of my photo frames in his hand?
"Making yourself at home?" I teased slyly, those butterflies in my stomach crashing and clambering together. Only hours earlier, that frame had harbored a picture of a very flamboyant-looking Ryan and a very Ana-looking Elle.
Astor Black smirked. Even in the dark of night, the tug of his lips was unmissable. Enchanting. I understood why girls adored him, and why guys like Matt felt the need to compete with him. Astor Black was a magnet, a flight risk. He was the apex predator. To be on the receiving end of his affection, of something so rare and coveted, was exhilarating. Addictive.
Even if it was only for one night.
"Tell me," he directed, tactfully avoiding my bold observation just as I'd sidestepped his. The football captain narrowed his charcoal eyes as he placed the picture back on my desk, but the dark portals still swirled with playful intrigue. "Why?"
For the first time since I entered the room, I felt my mask crack. Flirtatious banter, I had expected. Hypnotic smiles and stares, too. But interrogation? Not so much.
What did he mean 'why'? Why what?
The grinning boy chuckled as he took note of my confusion, the sound low and gravelly in his throat. "You know about the game."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement — a fact as plain as the sky being blue.
There's no point lying now, I decided. And so I accepted his words with a swift, curt nod.
Astor flashed me his pearly white teeth, curling his lips towards a smile as he appraised me softly. "So why me?"
I felt my heart falter. Why did he care?
"Is it just to spite Matt?" he prodded.
"No." Although that was a satisfying bonus.
The crease of Astor's forehead crinkled as he considered me, now his mask the one showing signs of breakage. "So why, then?"
