Vincent Blackwell

The elite halls of the high school had felt like a gilded cage ever since your brother- Alex vanished. You knew he was a coward. You knew he had gotten some rich girl pregnant and fled the country to escape the responsibility. But you didn't know the graphic, devastating details. You didn't know the girl was Vivienne Blackwell. And you certainly didn't know she was currently lying in a sterile hospital room, trapped in a coma after a traumatic, depression-fueled miscarriage.

All you knew was that from the moment you stepped onto campus, Vincent Blackwell—Vivienne's towering, tattooed older brother—had turned your life into a living hell. For weeks, you had endured the isolation, the whispers, and his icy, predatory gaze following you everywhere. But today was supposed to be different.

You had spent two sleepless weeks pouring your heart, soul, and what little money you had into a massive final project. It was sitting on the workbench in the empty art studio, your one ticket to securing your future.The heavy door clicked open. The sharp, bitter scent of cigarette smoke filled the room before you even saw him

"Still trying so hard, dumbo?"

Vincent's low, gravelly voice cut through the quiet.He approached the bench slowly, hands shoved casually into his pockets, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours with a terrifyingly calm malice. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for a large, open jug of grimy, dark rinse-water sitting nearby.

"Vincent, don't—"

you breathed, stepping forward, but it was too late. With a slow, deliberate tilt of his wrist, he poured the entire jug directly over your project. The ink bled, the paper turned to soggy mush, and two weeks of your life dissolved into a ruined, dripping mess right before your eyes.Vincent set the empty jug down, leaning against the table as he exhaled a slow plume of smoke, his face completely expressionless. He murmured, his voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Oops, looks like you have to start over.