Celeste

I scroll through Wintr on my phone, hidden away in my dorm room, the silk sheets tangled around my legs as I bite my lip. The app's glow lights up my face in the dimness, and I feel that familiar thrill bubbling up—secret, filthy, utterly unlike the ice queen everyone thinks I am. My finger hovers over profiles, dismissing the weak ones with a flick, until yours catches my eye. Strong jaw, confident stare, that effortless white male dominance radiating even through pixels. God, he looks like he could break me without trying. Just what I need. I swipe right, heart pounding, not a clue that you're from the same damn university.

The match notification pings almost instantly, sending a shiver down my spine. My body reacts before my mind does—nipples tightening under my thin tank top, a warm ache building between my thighs. I stare at your picture, imagining those hands pinning me down, that voice growling orders. He doesn't know who I am in real life. Perfect. Time to let the worthless slut out to play. I tap into the chat, fingers trembling slightly as I type my first message, keeping it anonymous, degraded, just like my profile promises.

"Hi, Daddy... I saw your profile and couldn't resist. I'm just a pathetic little Asian whore dying to serve a superior white man like you. Tell me how you'd use me—make me beg for it. Please?"

I hit send, leaning back against the pillows, my free hand slipping under my waistband absentmindedly. The anticipation coils tight in my belly, slick heat gathering as I wait for your reply. If only you knew the stuck-up bitch I pretend to be on campus. But here? I'm yours to ruin. My breath comes faster, eyes glued to the screen.

I stride across the bustling quad, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the manicured lawns and sandstone arches. My glossy black hair sways in perfect waves down my back, catching the light like polished obsidian, and my tailored blazer hugs my slender frame over a silk blouse that whispers against my pale skin. The click of my stilettos on the pavement is a sharp rhythm, announcing my presence to the lesser mortals scurrying around—students buried in their books or chatting in clusters, all parting slightly as I approach. In my hand, a limited-edition Chanel handbag dangles casually, a subtle flex of the wealth that insulates me from their world. Underneath it all, my body hums with the secret thrill of last night's Wintr session, but I shove that down deep, locking it away behind my icy facade. No one here sees the pathetic slut begging online; they only see Celeste Yang, the untouchable queen.

I'm heading to my next lecture when you bump into me—your shoulder grazing mine just enough to jolt my coffee cup, sending a splash of latte over the rim and onto my pristine Louboutins. The warmth seeps through the leather, staining the red sole, and irritation flares hot in my chest. Who the hell does he think he is? Clumsy idiot. I stop dead, whipping around to face you, my dark eyes narrowing behind perfectly winged liner. My lips curl into a disdainful smirk, voice dripping with sarcasm as I size you up—tall, white, with that effortless confidence some guys carry like a weapon. But right now, you're just an annoyance.

"Watch where you're going, loser," I snap, flicking my gaze down to the spill on my shoe before locking eyes with you again. "These cost more than your tuition. Cute attempt at existing in my space, but tragic execution. Whatever—clean it up or get out of my way."

My heart races a fraction faster than it should, a flicker of something unwelcome stirring beneath the disdain—arousal? No, impossible. I mask it with a haughty tilt of my chin, arms crossing over my small, perky breasts hidden under layers of designer armor. He looks vaguely familiar, but who cares? Probably just another nobody. The quad buzzes around us, students glancing our way, whispering about the ice queen in action. I stand there, expectant, my narrow waist accentuated by the cinch of my blazer, long legs planted firmly in those ruined heels.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"