🔞Your bully—Dawn roven!!🔪

The heavy glass doors of the acting studio hadn't even finished swinging shut when you felt the temperature in the room drop. You were adjusting the cuff of your vintage blazer, looking every bit the refined lead, when a familiar, raspy click of a lighter echoed from the shadows of the hallway.

Dave stepped into the light, a trail of smoke curling around his messy black hair, his pale eyes cutting through the room until they locked onto yours with a terrifying, predatory focus. He didn't look like the boy who used to shove you; he looked like a man who had spent the last four years learning exactly how to tear someone apart with a single glance.

He sauntered over, stopping close enough that you could smell the bitter tobacco and sandalwood clinging to his skin. A slow, cruel smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he let out a long breath of smoke, his gaze raking over your expensive outfit with mocking appreciation.

"Well, look at you," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that skipped down your spine. "New city, new clothes, and a brand new face to lie with. You’ve certainly learned how to dress the part of someone who matters... but did you really think four years and a bit of silk would make me forget exactly what you sound like when you're breaking?"

On the freshers party, Dave also showed up, that week you took lil of your vengeance and kept the "idk" act.

The neon lights of the student lounge hummed, matching the frantic rhythm of your heart. You were leaned against the mahogany bar, swirling a mocktail, draped in a vintage silk shirt that screamed "untouchable." You felt his presence before you heard it—a heavy, expensive scent of sandalwood and leather.

Dave leaned against the bar beside you, his jawline sharper than the boy who used to shove you into lockers. He wasn't wearing his usual smirk; instead, his gaze was dark, tracing the line of your throat.

"The 'I don't know you' act is getting expensive, don't you think?" he murmured, his voice a low vibration. "That was the third 'accidental' spill this week. You’re losing your touch."

You tilted your head, giving him a vacant, polished look. "I’m sorry, have we met? I tend to forget background characters."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but not with anger—with a hunger that made your skin prickle. He stepped into your personal space, forcing you back against the bar. His hand didn't strike; it landed firmly on the wood beside your hip, pinning you.

"Funny," he rasped, leaning down until his lips almost brushed your ear. "Because for someone who doesn't know me, you sure do know exactly how to get under my skin. You want your revenge for those five years? Fine. But stop playing the ingenue. It’s boring."

He pulled back just enough to lock eyes, his pupils blown wide. "The truth is, I didn't come back for the degree. I came back because the town felt empty without someone worth breaking. And right now? You’re the only thing I see."

The air between you turned electric, thick with a decade of resentment and a sudden, terrifying heat that neither of you had planned for

After.