CLEO
AGE 18

SHOCK RAMS INTO ME. For a moment, all I can do is gawk, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, at the tall, dark-haired figure in front of me.

I gasp, "Dax?"

Brookes didn't tell me that his best friend and my ex would be coming to this stupid Halloween party. I wasn't prepared to have my heart ripped to shreds tonight.

But it's him.

It's really him.

The one boy I've ever loved.

The only boy I've broken.

Dax's heated gaze is burning into me, so much so that I'm afraid his eyes might singe my skin. Or maybe he's trying to incinerate my hoodie. It's like he can't stand the sight of the sweatshirt on me. Because, technically, the sweatshirt isn't mine. It belonged to him. Dax offered it to me one night, not so long ago, when I was shivering from the cold. The same night we drove out to Malibu and camped out on a private beach. Under the stars. Next to the waves. Before everything went to shit. Selfishly, I never gave it back.

This worn, frayed, precious black hoodie is all I have left of him.

Judging from the pissed off scowl on his mouth, I'm certain Dax recognizes the damn thing, and the hatred in his eyes makes me want to crawl into a cave and disappear forever. I try to tear my gaze away from him and look elsewhere, but I'm frozen in place.

Why can't I stop looking at him?

God, he makes me weak.

Dax's dark hair is perfectly disheveled. Black. Like his soul. Unruly. Like his demons. Tonight his eyes seem bluer than I remembered. Or maybe it's the light playing tricks on me.

Frowning, my eyes sweep over the fresh cuts and bruises scattered across his face. Dax looks unabashedly savage. Like he got into a fight for all the right reasons. His abrasions appear as nasty as the ones on my face. Unlike him, though, only half of mine are real. Trav's self-control has been slipping lately.

Fucker's not as careful as he used to be.

Right before the party, I applied some costume makeup next to my injuries to hide them in plain sight. Not even my family could tell the difference between my very real black eye, the very real gash on my lip, and the fake wounds. Brookes even complimented me on my "kickass zombie getup."

My brother's an idiot.

Ever since Trav woke up, I've become a zombie in more ways than one. Dead in mind, body, and soul. My parents want Dr. Liu to assign me more meds. Just to see me smile more. Everyone around me is questioning my sanity, and Trav is doing everything he can to make me look batshit crazy. It's clear he wants complete agency over me. If he can convince the world that I'm too unstable to be trusted, they'll question my ability to make sound financial and legal decisions.

Then, he wins.

Yesterday, Trav forced me take out my piercings again. Last week, he made me dye my hair back to its original color. That was what our most recent fight was about. I may not win most of our battles, but I stand my ground whenever possible. Even when I know that it's a lost cause.

We were supposed to leave together tomorrow morning, but he ended up flying back to New York three hours ago. Trav got so triggered after our argument that he bought himself an earlier flight just to get away from me. Thank fuck. I'm relieved that he's gone. I still have to fly back to New York tomorrow morning, but, at least, I can catch my breath tonight. There will probably be another throw-down with Trav once I return to our apartment in Chelsea. But I'll worry about him later.

If I think too hard right now, I might shatter.

***

Mrs. Reynolds called two weeks ago. She told me that Trav finally woke up. That's why I'm standing here. At the hospital.

With him.

We haven't been alone together in over a year. The doctors and nurses are gone. Trav sent everyone else away. Fluorescent lights flicker above us. His vitals are beeping steadily on the monitor. At this very moment, as I stand beside his bed in the hospital room, I feel like the main character.

Inside a horror movie.

After nearly two years of being comatose, Trav's brown eyes have reopened. He's conscious. Alert. His leering gaze cuts into my soul like I've sinned against him in every way possible.

He's not wrong.

Even though he wronged me first.

He was the one who drugged me on the night of our accident because I refused to fuck him.

I know what Travis Reynolds is capable of, and it's terrifying. Yet, what frightens me even more is—I'm the only one who knows that he's a monster. He's practically a martyr in the eyes of the public: The golden boy who had his promising young life destroyed by his drugged up girlfriend. No one would believe me if I told them the truth.

Except Dax.

But I'll never tell Dax about the shit Trav has done to me because I know him too well. He'd fight to the death for me. He's always fought for me, and I'm scared that he'll go head-to-head with Trav and get himself killed.

Trav won't fight with his fists. He'll fight with money and power and all the weapons at his disposal as the heir to the Reynolds' dynasty.

Dax wouldn't stand a chance.

***

My eyes linger on Dax even while I'm stressing over Trav. An ache tugs at my heart as I glance over his cuts and bruises again. I've always hated to see him hurt even though, at this point, I probably damaged him more than any asshole's fists ever could.

For a drawn-out beat, our gazes lock, and I forget that I'm someone else's girlfriend. That Dax is no longer mine to care for. To worry about.

To love.

More than anything, I wish I hadn't been forced to give him up. A heady mix of remorse and sadness compel me to pull up the hood of Dax's black sweatshirt, hiding my face from his hostility. I can feel the crowd's eyes drifting toward us. I want to hide from them, too. I told Brookes not to tell anyone from Fairmont that I was back in town, and he promised to keep my secret. Most of the people at this party are my brother's friends from college, not our acquaintances from high school, so they don't really know me. However, a bitch can never be too careful. Trav may not be here tonight, but I don't want him to hear a word about what I'm about to do.

Instinctively, I take a step toward Dax. I reach for his face as though I still have the right to do so. I don't touch him, though. Not yet. I let my fingertips hover over his skin, not quite making contact.

I hold his gaze. There's a question in my eyes.

Is this okay?

I remember how much he hates being touched.

Dax doesn't say a word. A hard, unforgiving expression lines his face, but, like a man possessed, he leans his cheek into my palm as though unable to help himself. My heart starts racing. Gently, I trace his bruises with my fingertips, taking care to avoid the cuts and gashes. His breath hitches. Our gazes snap together like magnets.

Then, he catches himself and growls, "I should tell you to fuck off."

"You should," I agree with him. "But please don't."

He doesn't send me away. Dax's mouth simply flattens into a tight grimace as he demands, "What the hell do you want?"

***

"I heard the rumors, Cleo."

Fear trembles through my core.

How much does he know?

Does he know about Dax and me?

We've been discreet, but...

I fix my eyes on Trav, guilelessly, guiltlessly, as though I have nothing to hide. "What rumors?"

I let out a strangled cry as his beefy hand shoots out, closing around my throat, squeezing, strangling me, until tears blur my vision. His vice-like hold cuts off my oxygen. I'm suffocating under his unrelenting grip, fighting for every breath of air that can barely enter my lungs.

"Don't play dumb, baby. It's insulting."

His fingers loosen around my throat, just by a fraction, but it's enough give for me to rasp, "I don't know what you're talking about..."

"I know you've been spreading your legs for other dicks behind my back."

Other... dicks? As in plural peens? And not one singular cock?

That means he doesn't know it's only been Dax. Maybe Dax is safe. Maybe Trav doesn't even know his name. I need to keep Dax off of Trav's radar. No matter what.

With Trav's hand still latched on to my neck, I feed him lies to throw him off of Dax's scent, baiting him so his anger will be directed at me instead, "What I do with other guys is no longer your concern. We're not together anymore, Trav."

For a moment, he merely smirks and says nothing.

I was expecting him to explode in a fit of rage.

Immediately, panic whispers through me, warning me: The wiring in his brain is different now. He's not the same volatile and jealous Trav from before the accident. Back then, he would've most definitely lost his ever-loving shit over the mere thought of me touching another guy.

Now?

His calm scares me more than his anger. It makes him unpredictable. Something has changed in him. A chill crawls down my spine.

***

What do I want?

I guess I want to make sure he's... okay?

My eyes drift to the injuries on Dax's face. With a worried frown, I ask, "Was it worth it?"

The cut on my lip stings every time I move my mouth to talk, and I have to remind myself not to wince in front of Dax.

"Probably not," he mutters.

"Come on," I offer quietly. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I wait for him to reject me.

To walk away.

To show how much he despises me.

But he doesn't.

Silently, Dax fixes his gaze on mine and, to my surprise, stays put.

I decide to reach for his hand, clasping it in mine. Dax doesn't push me aside. My fingers are trembling. I'd never be this bold if Trav was in town. But I seize this moment. I don't know if I'll ever get another chance to be with Dax. Alone. So desperately, I've been wanting to repair some of the fuckery I've inflicted on him. To explain as much as I can without putting him on Trav's radar. To let him know that I'm so much worse off without him.

That he deserves to be happy.

What I can't tell him is that I'm trying to free myself from Trav. That I never wanted us to break up, and I hate myself for hurting him. That I would've stayed with him in a heartbeat if it wasn't for—

Nevermind.

The past doesn't matter anymore. All that matters is this moment. We're together again. His hand is laced in mine. Every minute is precious. Every second that ticks away feels forbidden. Fleeting. Dax lets me lead him through the backyard. Back inside the chaos of the party. Through the noisy crowds. Up the stairs. Into my room.

Just like old times.

***

"I don't give a fuck about who you've been fucking. But I'm back now, and you're mine again. Just get rid of them, Cleo," my ex orders softly, dangerously.

"If I refuse?"

"Then, I'll do it for you. I can make each and every one of those pricks disappear."

I summon up all my courage, threatening him, "I'll go to the police."

His fingers tighten around my throat. My eyes are watering again. "Go ahead. The police chief is in my dad's back pocket."

Coughing and gasping, my fingers start clawing at his hand, desperately trying to tear it away from my windpipe. I barely manage to choke out, "I... don't care. I'll find a way to take you down. You don't scare me. Not anymore."

This is the furthest thing from the truth. I'm terrified of him, and I pray he doesn't call my bluff.

His fingers start massaging my skin, almost lovingly, yet the pressure he keeps on my throat continuously tightens and loosens like a deadly noose. "I could kill you, you know? Just by squeezing hard enough. I'd get away with it, too. Are you sure I don't scare you, Cleo?"

"Let me go," I half-demand and half-beg, "I'm nothing to you."

"You're everything to me. I love you."

I glare at him, knowing he's full of bullshit. I know what love is because of Dax, and this isn't it. Even before Dax, I knew what Trav and I shared wasn't love. Trav has only ever wanted to use me. Control me. He's a cage. Dax gave me wings.

I can't help but wonder, though—why me?

Why is Trav so fucking obsessed with me?

It's not like I'm the only bitch in our circles that he can torment just for shits and giggles.

I manage to smile at him through my distress. All teeth. "You're delusional. We were never in love. Stop lying to yourself. What do you really want from me, Trav?"

"Are you sure you want me to answer that question?"

"Yes."

His gaze sharpens as though I'm finally speaking his language. "Your dad shouldn't have turned down my dad's offer."

I blink several times.

Wait.

What?

Is he talking about the failed merger between Syncore Tech and Evenstar Med?

Shit.

***

Without a word of protest, Dax follows me inside my room. He's making this so easy. Too easy. It leaves me feeling uneasy. It's like we're back in high school again—younger, dumber, so in love—sneaking into my room together. The door closes behind us with a soft click.

I make sure to lock it.

Once we're alone, however, something shifts in him. The look of awe disappears, his trademark scowl returns, and Dax snatches his hand away from me. He stalks across my room and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, glaring at me. Helplessly, I stare back at him.

"Quit looking at me like that," he warns.

"Like what?"

"Like you didn't throw me away the moment Trav opened his eyes."

Feeling defeated, I avert my gaze. Tension pollutes the air. It's like a suffocating cloud. I pretend like I'm not having trouble drawing breath. Quietly, I disappear for a minute to retrieve the first aid kit from my bathroom. When I return, Dax regards the kit as though it's radioactive waste.

He snaps, "Put it away."

My eyes widen. "I thought—"

"You don't get to touch me anymore."

The sharpness in his tone cuts me like a blade. I hate the quiver in my voice when I mumble, "Okay. I-I promise I won't touch you. I just want to talk."

More than anything, I want him hate me a little less. But I doubt he'll listen to anything I have to say right now.

His face darkens. "What if I don't want to talk?"

"Then... what do you want to do?"

"Know what I want?" He appears to contemplate his own question for a second. Then, a menacing smirk twists his handsome face. Cruel intent gleams from blue eyes as he tosses out, "I want you to suffer."

"Jesus, Dax."

"Get on the fucking bed."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Do it. Or I'm gone."

He glances at the door.

I don't want him to go anywhere, so I give in, "Fine. You win."

Carefully, I set down the first aid kit on my end table. My heart is hammering so hard that I can feel every goddamn pulse in my throat. Excitement mingles with anxiety as I climb onto the bed beside him.

"Lay down," he orders.

I lay down despite knowing that nothing good will come from this decision.

Without warning, Dax starts pulling off his shirt and unzipping his jeans. My head snaps up in astonishment as I take in the bold devil-dark ink sprawling across his tanned, muscled chest. A flare of heat throbs between my thighs.

His eyes narrow, eyeing my hoodie—his hoodie—with contempt. "Your turn."

I gulp. "What?"

"Everything. Off."

Now it's my turn to glare at him. "The fuck!"

A slow smile spreads across Dax's face, but the tilt of his lips appears cruel and a little bit bored. He's looking at me like I mean nothing to him.

He taunts, "I thought that was why you brought me here. To fuck. Before Trav catches you?"

Thick, painful emotions coil around my throat, choking me, but I shove them aside. I can't even get mad at Dax for acting like such an asshole.

Because I deserve this.

***

My brow furrows with trepidation. "Our dads' companies have nothing to do with us."

"Wrong. It has everything to do with us. We belong together, Cleo. A Reynolds and a Fitzgerald. Together? We'd be unstoppable."

Understanding wraps around me, at last, in a spiral of dread. This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with a multimillion-dollar deal that the Reynolds refuse to lose.

"Is that what this is about? You want to take over my dad's company?"

Dark eyes shining like a demented mentor praising a prized pupil, Trav releases my neck at last. "Since your daddy wouldn't give up Syncore willingly, I'll have to acquire it through you."

How much does Trav know about my trust fund?

I have access to my Syncore shares now that I'm eighteen.

Oh, God.

I hope I'm just overthinking shit and overreacting to this conversation. I try to keep my breathing even and steady. "I won't let you anywhere near Syncore."

Trav laughs at me. He remains unfazed by my bravado. "You can try, but we both know that you'll fail. You're weak, Cleo. That's what I've always loved about you."

His words feel like a punch in the gut even while I insist, "I'm stronger than you think."

"Cute—that you think so."

"I hate you."

"It doesn't matter how you feel. Love me or hate me, you belong to me. Until I'm ready to let you go." Trav glances over at the small red box on the counter. I recognize the packaging. It's from Cartier. "That's for you, baby."

I'm scared to touch it. There might be a ring hiding inside.

Trav insists, "Open it."

"No."

"This isn't a negotiation," he growls.

How far would Trav go to get his way?

I try to protest, "I don't want anything from y—"

He doesn't let me finish, "If you ever turn your back on me again, Cleo, there will be consequences. Don't fucking test me."

"You can't control me. Not anymore. I'm done playing nice with you."

A shrewd gleam shines from his eyes. Out of nowhere, Trav asks, "Did you hear about Darla Minton's daddy?"

I nod but say nothing. Everyone heard about Gerald Minton's suicide. It was all over the news a while back.

Why is Trav bringing this up out of nowhere?

"The bastard didn't kill himself," Trav murmurs in chiding tones. "If Mr. Minton had approved the funds my dad needed for our new hotel in Dubai, maybe he'd still be alive."

My eyes grow wide. A gruesome realization sinks in. Trav is suggesting that Gerald Minton was killed for going against his dad's wishes.

Does this mean he's going to come after my—

I don't allow myself to finish this frightening train of thought.

As I stare into Trav's soulless brown eyes, I suddenly understand. This is what evil looks like, and I'm in over my fucking head. Somehow, this new Trav has grown even more twisted than the old one. I feel so naïve. I'd come to the hospital today with the intention of breaking up with him.

What a joke.

What a sick, sad joke.

I realize, now, that I never had a choice. I was fucked the moment Trav opened his eyes. There's too much money to be made in Syncore, and the Reynolds will never let me go until they get what they want.

***

Dax's crude words break something in me, and I struggle to not let it show. I want him. Just not in the way he's suggesting. I refuse to be quick and forgettable. I need it to mean something.

"It's not like that at all," I protest quietly but firmly. "Tonight has nothing to do with Trav."

A flash of anger darkens his face. "You're so full of it. I don't even know why I followed you here. I should just go."

He heads for the door. I'm scared he's actually going to leave me. I cry out in panicked tones, "Wait, please!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Dax mutters, "Then give me a reason to stay that won't piss me off."

Shamelessly, desperately, I offer what's left of the broken pieces between us, "Don't you wanna hurt me as much as I hurt you?"

He smiles. "I want to rip your heart out."

If Dax wants me to suffer, I'll suffer. Pain is better than nothing. At least, it means something.

"Do it then," I urge, loathing myself for loving him so much. "Fuck me until I break."

"Little slut." His eyes darken with interest even while he insults me, "Trav's cock isn't enough? You need mine, too?"

I glare at him. "Shut up before I change my mind."

From across the room, Dax watches me remove my clothes until, one by one, they become a discarded pile on the floor. I know I'm about to get my heart broken all over again, but I don't care. I wait for Dax come closer. The mattress sinks beneath the weight of his large, chiseled body. Roughly, he places a hand on either side of my thighs and splays me wide.

He leans forward to place the gentlest kiss on my belly, nipping and sucking a trail of love bites down to my bared sex. Unable to help myself, my body starts responding to him. A moan slips out while my hips writhe in anticipation.

I reach down to cup his face, drawing him up for a kiss. He immediately pulls away as though my hands offend him. "Don't touch me."

I shoot him a baffled look. "You can't be serious."

How are we going to fuck if I'm not allowed to touch him?

"You want my cock? Then, keep your hands over your head. The whole fucking time. I mean it," Dax commands coldly, "otherwise, all of this—stops."

I bite back a grimace. So, that's how this will work. He wants full control. Dax gets to fuck me, but I don't get to fuck him.

I look over. Blue eyes pierce mine. His disdain for me continues to rage like hellfire, and it's agonizing to be on the receiving end. My heart weeps with regret. For what we could've been. With hurt. For everything I lost in Dax.

There's a quiet fury in his voice when he confesses, "I wish I never jumped into that fucking pool."

Without breaking from his gaze, I raise my hands above my head and try not to cry. My reply falls out in a barely audible whisper, "I know."

Dax reaches above my head to catch both of my wrists with only one hand. Restraining me. His grip is tight but not painfully so. Dax's other hand drifts between my thighs, teasing my folds. The airy lines that his fingertips are drawing along my most sensitive skin feel soft, gentle, setting my senses on fire, even while his eyes remain unyielding as stone. As I stare back at Dax, fighting the sting in my eyes, it's hard to believe this is the same boy who used to look at me like I was his everything.

Now?

There's no light in his eyes. He hates me as much as I love him. 

***

Hello there! Alice here. Oh, boy. What a depressing chapter, lol. I admit, my personal life is kind of a sad chaotic mess right now, and it's starting to seep into my characters. Gyah. Writing has always been like therapy for me, so thank you for letting me ease my RL stress through these silly stories of mine. I lub and appreciate you guys so much, and I hope life is treating you kindly. <3

Anywho, what are your thoughts on Cleo, Trav, and Dax now?

Have your opinions changed from the last chappie?

Next chappie will be a continuation of this scene, written in Dax's POV. Get ready for some sad, angsty smut! T_T