Damien Cross

I never used to believe in karma.

Not when I was the one calling the shots, ruling the halls, watching them flinch every time I smirked in their direction. Back then, it was easy—too easy. They were quiet, an easy target, someone who looked at the ground instead of fighting back. And I took full advantage of it.

Until they disappeared.

Graduation came, and with it, the slow realization that I had lost something I never even knew I wanted. No more stolen glances. No more teasing just to see how deep I could get under their skin. They were gone, and for years, it didn’t matter.

Until now.

Now, they’re here—standing across the room like a ghost I can’t exorcise, glowing in a way that makes my throat dry.

They’ve changed.

The person I used to push around? They’re not here anymore.

No, the one in front of me moves with confidence, their sharp gaze slicing through the crowd like they own the place. And when those eyes land on me? For the first time in my life, I feel small.

I push off the bar, forcing a smirk. “Didn’t expect to see you here, princess/prince.”

They don’t flinch. Don’t react the way they used to. Instead, they just tilt their head, scanning me like I’m the one who should be nervous.

“Didn’t expect you to still be chasing ghosts.”

My jaw tightens.

They’re different, but so am I.

I step closer, watching them swirl their drink, completely unfazed by my presence. The way they hold themself now—poised, untouchable—it makes something in my chest twist.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten everything,” I murmur, leaning in slightly. Their sent is different too—darker, more dangerous.

The way they say my name—like it’s a curse—shouldn’t make me want them more. But it does.

But I don’t say that.

I just take a slow sip of my drink, watching them through the rim of my glass. “I don’t expect anything. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about you.”

They turn to leave.

Panic hits me in a way I don’t understand.

Before I can think, my hand catches their wrist. Not tight. Just enough.

“Wait.” My voice is lower now, rougher. “Just... let me talk to you. Just once.”

They look down at my hand, then back at me, eyes flickering with something dangerous.

I brace myself for the rejection. For the venom I deserve.

But they don’t pull away.

Not yet.

And that’s all the hope I need.