“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not your toy. And I don’t belong to you.”

---

The air in the art room smelled like turpentine and chaos. Paint stains streaked across the floor like the aftermath of some violent, creative storm. Canvases leaned crooked against the wall. The lights overhead buzzed, flickering slightly—like even they were scared of what was about to go down.

And standing right in the middle of it all, arms crossed and expression annoyingly smug, was Chase freaking Everett.

Tall. Built. Infuriating. He looked like he just stepped off the cover of some dark academia thriller, except this wasn’t fiction—I was living it. And he had the audacity to say the one thing that set my blood on fire:

"She's my girlfriend."

I stopped mid-step like I’d just slammed into an invisible wall.

What the actual hell?

I marched toward him, my sneakers squeaking across the floor like they were as pissed as I was. My heart was hammering against my ribs, my fists clenched so tight my nails were digging into my palms.

"You wanna run that by me again?" I barked, voice rising, heat crawling up my neck.

Chase’s lips curved into that cocky half-smile that made me want to throw something at his head. His sapphire-blue eyes gleamed under the cheap fluorescent lighting, like he thought this was a damn joke.

"I said," he repeated slowly, "you're my girlfriend, Camille."

Like he was just stating facts. Like I wasn’t standing right there with steam coming out of my ears.

He pushed off the wall and took a few steps closer. His black tee stretched slightly across his chest as he moved—every inch of him calm, cool, and pissing me the hell off. His voice was too casual, too calm, too Chase.

And that made it worse.

The room was half-empty now. Spencer and his boys had dipped the second Chase showed up like some mafia boss. I didn’t miss the way Spencer kept his eyes down though—like he feared Chase. Because Chase was Number One. And Spencer, deep down, knew better.

That left just me, Chase, Jax, Levi, and Archer. And the tension?

THICK. AF.

"You guys dating now?" Jax drawled, his voice full of sarcasm, chewing invisible popcorn from where he leaned against the wall like he was watching a live soap opera.

"NO. We are NOT," I snapped without even glancing at him.

Then I turned on Chase like fire.

"You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to claim me, Chase! I’m not some object you slap your name on and call yours!"

I could feel my voice rising, my hands shaking, my throat burning with every word. But I didn’t care. I needed him to hear this.

"You think you can just... show up, say some possessive BS, and I’m supposed to fall in line? Hell no. I’m not yours!"

Chase’s smirk slowly faded. His jaw flexed. Something in his gaze shifted—darker now, more serious.

"I’m not saying you’re mine like that," he said quietly, stepping closer again. “I’m saying it to protect you.”

His voice dropped low, like it was some secret between us, like it wasn’t echoing through the room filled with people who could feel the tension sparking.

"And what? That makes it okay?" I shot back. "You don’t get to decide what I need. You don’t get to own me just to protect me."

He reached out, brushing his fingers against my wrist. Just a whisper of contact—but it sent a jolt up my arm. God, I hated how he made my heart skip like that.

"I’m trying to keep you safe, Camille."

"Oh yeah?" Archer suddenly cut in, stepping forward with his arms folded, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His voice dripped with venom. "Funny how ‘protection’ sounds a lot like control when it comes from your mouth, Everett."

Chase shot him a deadly glare. “Back off, Archer.”

But Archer wasn’t backing off. If anything, he leaned in closer. “No. You don’t get to play hero when you’re using her as some kind of trophy. You’re no different than Spencer.”

That hit.

Chase’s nostrils flared. His fists clenched. Levi, who had been lurking silently in the corner, finally spoke in his smooth, chill voice. “Chill, both of you.”

I snapped out of it just enough to wave my hands and yell, “SHUT UP. All of you.”

They all froze. Even Chase.

I turned toward him, shaking, breath catching. “I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to call me your girlfriend. And I sure as hell don’t need you making decisions for me behind my back like I’m some weak girl who can’t fight her own battles.”

I turned on my heel, heading straight for the door.

“Camille, wait—” Chase’s voice followed me, a little desperate now.

He caught my arm, gently this time. His touch was soft. Familiar.

But I was done.

“Let. Go.”

Archer stepped forward fast, eyes locked on Chase. “You heard her.”

There was a moment—this intense, unblinking stare between them. Like they were sizing each other up. Ready to throw down.

But Chase let go.

“See you soon, Camille Jones,” he said low, like it meant something. “And you’ll see I was right.”

Then he walked out, Jax following after with a quick wink like he lived for this drama. Levi lingered for a moment, his gaze flicking between me and Archer, unreadable, before he too disappeared.

Silence dropped over the room like a curtain.

I let out a shaky breath.

“You good?” Archer asked quietly, stepping toward me.

I nodded, brushing a hand over my face. “I’m fine.”

He gave me a look like he didn’t believe me for one second. “You sure?”

I hesitated. “...Thanks for what you said.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s what, the third thank you today?”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

He laughed under his breath. “No seriously. You always seem shocked when people give a damn about you.”

I paused. That hit deeper than I wanted to admit.

“You’re right though,” I said, shaking it off. “About the chain. I need to get one. No more running.”

Archer nodded. “Good. Because I’ve got a plan.”

I perked up immediately. “What kind of plan?”

“The bonfire party tonight,” he said, leaning back against the wall. “They always play some stupid game—girls-only. Winner gets a chain.”

My heart kicked up. “What kind of game?”

“Changes every time. Could be wrestling in mud. Could be beer pong. Who knows. But if you win... you walk away with a chain. No strings.”

Girls-only. Chain on the line.

And I was going to win.

“Tonight, right?” I asked, already locking it into my brain like a battle date.

“Yep.”

“Perfect,” I muttered. “Chase Everett can go to hell.”

Archer snorted. “Now that’s the spirit.”

“Thanks again,” I said, softer this time.

“Damn. Four thank yous? You really do like me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Captain Camille,” he said with a mock salute, grinning like an idiot.

And I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

But deep down…

My mind was still spinning.

Because somewhere in that art room, buried beneath Chase’s cocky words, his low voice, and that stare that cut like knives...

Was a warning.

And I had a bad, bad feeling it wasn’t over.

Once more... Screw you Chase f*cking Everett!