Escaping The Grasp Of My Billionaire

Dawn stood in front of the restroom mirror for five full minutes. She used rough brown paper towels to aggressively scrub the cold water from her face, wiping away any trace of the pathetic, heartbroken girl who had run in here.

When she finally looked at her reflection again, the mask was firmly in place. Her face was pale, her expression completely neutral, and her eyes were deadened, devoid of any warmth or vulnerability. She looked like a perfect, unfeeling porcelain doll.

She pushed open the restroom door and stepped back out into the hallway. The adrenaline crash had left her mouth feeling like it was stuffed with dry cotton. Her throat was tight and parched from holding back sobs.

She turned and walked toward the far end of the corridor, where an old, stainless-steel water fountain sat in a quiet alcove.

She reached the fountain, pulled a small paper cup from the dispenser, and bent over. She pressed the metal button. The water trickled out in a weak stream.

Just as the cup was halfway full, the ambient light in the alcove suddenly vanished.

A massive, solid shadow fell over her, completely blocking out the overhead fluorescent lights. The air in the small space instantly shifted, becoming thick and suffocating.

Dawn didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The sharp, clean scent of spearmint gum mixed with the faint, expensive smell of cedarwood cologne hit her senses.

Arlo had appeared behind her like a ghost. He stepped into the alcove, closing the distance between them until he was standing less than two feet away. He lifted his right arm and planted his large hand flat against the tiled wall right next to her head.

He had effectively trapped her. His tall, broad body formed a physical cage, blocking her only exit.

Dawn's body went completely rigid. Every muscle locked up. The sudden, extreme proximity of the boy who had just verbally destroyed her sent a jolt of pure panic through her nervous system. She instinctively hunched her shoulders, trying to shrink away from the heat radiating off his chest.

Arlo leaned down. The height difference was massive; he had to angle his head to look at her. His dark eyes were heavy with a predatory, calculating intensity as they locked onto her face.

The corner of his mouth ticked up into a smirk that was equal parts cruel and amused.

"Silly girl," Arlo murmured.

He dragged out the syllables, making the childhood nickname sound incredibly intimate and dangerously mocking at the same time. His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in the narrow space.

"Why did you disappear so fast after class?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he were asking about the weather.

Hearing that nickname-a name he used to call her when they were kids playing in the dirt, long before the money and the status separated them-sent a violent tremor through Dawn's deadened heart. For a microsecond, a desperate, pathetic hope flared inside her.

But then, the memory of his voice echoing off the lockers slammed back into her brain. Underdeveloped little sister.

The hope died instantly, replaced by a cold, hard fury. The walls she had built around her heart solidified into steel.

She refused to look up at his face. She kept her gaze fixed firmly on the second button of his unkempt uniform shirt.

"I didn't run away from you," Dawn said. Her voice was a flat, robotic monotone. It held absolutely zero inflection. "You're imagining things. I didn't even see you."

Arlo's smirk vanished. His jaw clenched. He clearly hated her robotic, lifeless response. He was used to girls blushing, stammering, or throwing themselves at him. He was not used to being treated like a piece of blank wallpaper.

The muscles in his arm flexed as he leaned heavier against the wall. He shifted his weight, stepping half an inch closer. The physical intimidation was deliberate. The distance between them was now dangerously inappropriate.

He lowered his head until his lips were hovering just near her ear.

"You know," Arlo whispered, his voice dropping an octave, laced with a dark, absolute certainty. "You always bite the inside of your lip when you're lying to my face."

Dawn gasped. It was a tiny, involuntary sound.

She instantly released the death grip her teeth had on her lower lip. The sudden realization that he had been watching her closely enough to know her physical tells-that he knew her nervous habits-sent a flush of hot, angry color rushing into her pale cheeks.

He was playing with her. He was a cat batting around a half-dead mouse, enjoying the power trip of making her squirm after he had already decided she was worthless.

The anger finally overrode her fear. She took a sharp breath, her chest expanding, and snapped her head up.

She looked him dead in the eyes. She didn't flinch. She didn't cower. She poured every ounce of her hatred and hurt into her glare.

"Move," Dawn commanded. Her voice was sharp and brittle, like breaking glass. "Mr. Finch is waiting for me in his office. I don't have time for this."

She used the name of the school's strictest academic advisor as a shield. It was the perfect excuse for a scholarship student.

Arlo's eyes darkened to pitch black. He stared down at her defiant, angry face for two agonizingly long seconds. The air between them crackled with a volatile, hostile energy.

Finally, he let out a short, harsh breath through his nose. He slowly lowered his arm, stepping back just enough to let her pass.

Dawn didn't hesitate. She clutched her crushed paper cup and pushed past him, her shoulder brushing against his chest. She walked fast, her sneakers squeaking on the tiles.

When she reached the end of the corridor, she couldn't stop herself from glancing back over her shoulder.

Arlo was no longer alone in the alcove. Three girls, their skirts rolled up high and their makeup flawless, had already swarmed him. One of them was laughing, resting her hand intimately on his bicep. Arlo didn't push her away. He was looking down at the girl, that same lazy, arrogant smirk back on his face.

Dawn turned her head forward. She crushed the paper cup in her fist until it was a mangled ball of trash, dropping it into the nearest bin as she walked away.