Hartwell University practically worshipped Damian Cross.

Honestly? It was pathetic.

The campus itself held a corrupt mixture of money, prestige, and something visible on everyone.

Designer clothing, as if it could somehow hide the obvious corruption better than the fake smiles teachers sent each other.

Donations had absolutely nothing to do with student admissions.

Totally.

That was probably why three different buildings carried the names of the three richest students currently attending Hartwell.

It was simply a coincidence.

And Damian could totally grow a mermaid tail.

At Hartwell, everything was built and structured solely on power.

Intelligence didn't mean anything.

Damian knew exactly how the game worked.

Mostly because his family helped fund half the damn place.

Which meant people moved around him differently.

Doors opened faster for him.

The rules bent easily.

And consequences? They stopped being a thing years ago.

It had been like that his whole life.

The worst part?

He stopped caring years ago.

He needed something else to think about.

The violent sound of boxing gloves slamming into skin echoed across the private boxing gym near campus.

Sweat dripped down Damian's neck as he punched the heavy bag hard enough to rattle the chains overhead.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Violence had always made sense to him in a weird way.

It was simpler than conversations.

Simpler than people.

Hit something hard enough and eventually it breaks.

That was easy.

Predictable even.

Unlike Dr. Marcus fucking Monroe.

Damian hit the bag harder.

The image of Marcus standing at the front of that lecture hall refused to leave his brain.

It had gotten infuriating at that point.

This always helped him clear his mind.

Which was saying something.

Because Damian had met thousands of professors before.

Most folded instantly or became infatuated just as fast.

Hell, some practically offered to kiss his ass because of his last name.

Others with enough balls tried to prove they weren't intimidated.

Marcus had done neither.

That was it. That one thing that stayed in his mind like a homing chip.

Damian could still clearly remember the look on Marcus's face after he'd interrupted the lecture.

There was only one word for it.

Unimpressed.

He was so annoyingly calm.

That had never happened before.

Never.

And that bothered him most.

Not only was his expression calm, but there was a sharpness to it.

Like Marcus had already decided exactly what kind of person Damian was.

And for once...

Damian felt like he wasn't the most important person in the room.

The thought irritated him more than it should've.

A voice cut through the noise of the gym.

"Jesus Christ," his friend said while walking toward him. "Who pissed you off?"

Damian ignored him completely, throwing another brutal combination into the bag.

The gym smelled like sweat—mostly his, probably—metal, and the expensive cologne that seemed permanently attached to Hartwell students.

It was a private facility after all.

Only private members were allowed, with the occasional plus-one invited to watch.

And most importantly:

Rich assholes only.

Considering he was an elite member, he was supposedly part of the asshole group.

Very Hartwell-like.

Meanwhile, Kai sighed dramatically from the bench he was slouched across, running a hand through his brown hair.

"You alright? You've been trying to murder the bag for a while."

"I'm fine."

"You being fine is a terrible response. And it probably means you're about to become someone's problem."

Damian turned to stare at him.

"I said I'm fine."

"Sure, buddy. So who is it now?"

"What?"

"Girl or guy?"

"Are you asking for yourself?"

Kai ignored the first part and continued.

"You looked a bit homicidal after chem."

Damian stopped his fist tightening.

"Oh. So it's the new hot chem professor then?"

Damian answered too fast.

"No, it's not."

Kai grinned mischievously.

"So you do admit he's hot then."

Kai dismissed that question as well.

"So... you showed up late and he verbally beat your ass. Seems like your type. Way to ruin more hot men's innocence."

Damian smirked dangerously.

"Bold of you to assume innocence exists at Hartwell."

"Seriously, bro, don't get yourself into more trouble. Remember the dean's son?"

"Oh yeah. I remember two things."

His friend raised an eyebrow.

"Shoot."

"He was hot. And he had a pretty tight ass."

"You can't possibly be serious, man. I mean, the guy changed schools."

Damian shrugged.

"I told him it'd be our dirty little secret. Guess he wasn't into that."

"You know what? I finally understand you."

Kai pointed at him.

"You like people who tell you no."

Damian grinned and smacked Kai across the back.

"Took you long enough."

Though he joked around, one sentence kept replaying in his mind.

If you'd attended the previous twenty minutes instead of making an entrance, you might've realized that.

A faint smirk tugged the corner of his lips before he even realized it.

By the time night came around, the thought still hadn't left him.

—

As usual, Damian was already drunk by midnight, and the music he'd originally found bothersome had become tolerable through alcohol alone.

The Cross penthouse party overflowed with people.

Alcohol was everywhere—even in the bedrooms, which Damian was sure the maids would have a lot to clean afterward.

During the short period he was sober, he'd already seen at least five couples disappear upstairs to hook up.

Elaine was probably going to threaten him over the state of the kitchen alone.

To put it plainly...

Pretty average Friday night.

The penthouse itself was gorgeous.

It overlooked almost the entire city skyline while the windows shook slightly from the bass loud enough to rattle furniture.

As expected, girls surrounded him almost instantly the moment he walked in.

One brunette slid a hand across his chest while another girl—a blonde—tugged his belt loop playfully.

Normally he'd entertain them.

But for some reason, he barely noticed any of it.

Which was concerning by itself.

And it only got worse.

Especially after his usual hookup—a cute blondie—leaned against his shoulder.

"I missed you today..." she whispered against his neck.

"Mhm."

"You listening to me?"

"No," he answered, even though he knew she'd think he was joking.

That was usually how it was.

Not really wanting them, but sleeping with them anyway for the feeling.

At this point, Damian had probably fucked half the school. Including a few faculty members he still avoided making eye contact with.

At the moment, though, his thoughts kept drifting back to Marcus.

Those sharp—and absurdly gorgeous —blue eyes.

His perfect, neat cursive across the whiteboard.

That infuriating man who just wouldn't leave his mind.

The one person who stared back without backing down.

None of this made sense to Damian.

Marcus wasn't even close to his type.

He was too serious. The man never seemed to smile.

Far too controlled.

And worst of all, he appeared to value professionalism too much.

Damian liked people he could unravel.

There was nothing hotter than seeing someone lose control.

Even if Marcus had perfect composure, it felt tightly restrained.

Like a coil waiting to snap.

Damian realized it then.

He'd finally found the problem.

He was deeply interested in Marcus Monroe.

Which made him more dangerous than usual.

Because Damian had a habit of pushing at things that fascinated him just to see what happened.

And right now, he had one thing on his mind.

Marcus clearly didn't care about him.

Now he was wondering what it would be like to make him care.