They’re going to think I’m fucking you.

Liana’s POV

We pulled into Blackgate Academy’s sprawling, immaculately paved parking lot like the devil had just arrived, trailing hellfire and silent judgment in his wake. The sleek, predatory growl of Dante’s black sports car cut through the casual hum of a typical school morning, announcing our presence with undeniable arrogance.

Immediately, heads turned. Not just a few curious glances, but a collective, almost synchronized pivot. Students in designer clothes—cashmere sweaters despite the mild weather, bespoke blazers, and jeans that cost more than my entire wardrobe—and luxury cars paused mid-conversation, their carefully constructed air of nonchalance crumbling. Whispers, quick and sharp, broke out like wildfire before the engine even had a chance to settle into a quiet idle.

Everyone knew Dante Ashford. His reputation preceded him, a dark, tangible force that seemed to ripple through the very air. He was a myth, a legend, a cautionary tale whispered in hushed tones.

The boy who didn’t speak unless it was to cut you down. His words were scalpel-sharp, precise, leaving wounds that festered.

The boy whose name tasted like danger, like forbidden fruit, like a challenge few dared to accept.

And now… I was stepping out of his car. His car. The sheer audacity of it, the implied intimacy, hung in the air like a taunt.

Great. Just great. My first day, and I was already marked.

I opened the passenger door slowly, trying to be invisible, to meld into the expensive asphalt, but there was no point. It was a futile effort. Every eye in the parking lot was already on me, boring into me, dissecting me, like I’d done something scandalous, something unforgivable, just by existing in his immediate vicinity. The weight of their collective gaze felt physical, pressing down on my shoulders, making it hard to breathe.

Dante, ever the master of the dramatic entrance, remained oblivious to the spectacle. Or perhaps, he relished it. He didn’t look at me as he unbuckled his seatbelt, his movements fluid and unhurried. He simply pushed his door open, a soft click resonating in the sudden silence, and unfolded his long frame from the low-slung car. Sunglasses, dark and reflective like twin shards of obsidian, slid onto his face like armor, shielding his eyes, rendering him utterly unreadable. He walked a step ahead, his stride long and confident, leaving me trailing in his wake, a clear, unspoken declaration that I didn’t matter, that I was merely an afterthought, an accessory he tolerated.

Which, to him, I didn’t. Matter.

Still, I followed, my jaw tight, swallowing the knot of fear and indignation that had formed in my throat. My mother’s well-meaning advice from years ago echoed in my mind: “Don’t let them see you flinch, Liana. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” It was a mantra I’d always lived by, a defense mechanism against the small cruelties of the world. But this… this felt different. This felt like a deliberate act of public humiliation, a pre-emptive strike by Dante to establish the new order.

The whispers, though muted, were omnipresent. They clawed at my skin, prickled at the back of my neck, a constant, insidious hum of judgment.

“Who’s the girl?”

“She came in with him?” The emphasis on 'him' was almost a gasp.

“She’s kinda cute… but seriously? With Dante?” A note of disbelief, almost pity.

“Is she his new plaything or something?” This one, delivered with a cynical smirk, stung the most. The implication was clear: I was just another temporary distraction, soon to be discarded.

I kept my head down, my gaze fixed on the polished black shoes of the boy in front of me, until we reached the immense glass doors of the academy. Inside, the school looked less like an educational institution and more like a high-end hotel lobby—polished marble floors gleamed under recessed lighting, glass walls showcased curated art installations that probably cost more than our old house, and the air hummed with the soft murmur of privilege. Everything screamed money. Privilege. Power. A world I knew nothing about, a world I was clearly not meant for.

I felt like a stain on a pristine white rug, an unwanted smudge on a masterpiece. My worn jeans and simple sweater felt like a uniform of poverty amidst their quiet luxury.

And then he stopped. Abruptly. Without warning.

Right in front of me, in the middle of the bustling entrance hall, a strategic halt that seemed designed to make me flinch.

I almost collided with his broad, unyielding back, catching myself just before impact, my hands flying up instinctively. The sudden stop made me acutely aware of his height, his sheer physical presence, the way he filled the space.

He turned slowly, his head cocked slightly, his eyes still hidden behind those dark sunglasses, but his mouth, stark and sensual, curved into something wicked, a knowing smirk that sent a chill down my spine.

“I should warn you,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, meant only for my ears, cutting through the ambient hum of the hall like a sharpened blade. “They’re going to think I’m fucking you.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, a furious blush that I knew must be visible, burning across my skin. “What?” The word was a choked gasp, laced with disbelief and outrage. The vulgarity of his phrasing, the bluntness of his insinuation, was shocking.

“You showed up with me,” he elaborated, his voice still low, almost a purr, but devoid of warmth. “In my car. That’s all it takes in this place. A girl in my car means only one thing.” His gaze, though hidden by the dark lenses, felt like it was stripping me bare.

“That’s not true,” I snapped, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to control it. “My mother arranged it. It was for convenience, nothing more. And besides, that’s… that’s disgusting.”