Alexander

It was yet another pointless event day at school. My father's relentless nagging about it only added to my irritation. His concern felt superficial, and I couldn't have been less interested. I was scrolling through my phone, checking for any critical emails, when the call came in..

It was the investor, the one who seemed to drag his feet on every decision. I am this close erase the entire existence of this fucker , but I reminded myself of the necessity of closing this deal. I had to remain composed. I answered with a calm but firm tone. "I assume you have an update for me?"

His voice came through with a smooth, almost mocking undertone. "Mr. Blackwood, I'm terribly sorry for the delay. I've been meticulously examining the details, and I'm nearly ready to finalize. However, there are a few last-minute considerations that we must address."

I could barely contain my frustration. "Let's be clear. What exactly needs to be resolved for us to wrap this up today? I'm beyond the point of accommodating any more delays. This deal needs to be done now."

He chuckled darkly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, I see. You're eager for closure. Rest assured, I'm almost there. But perhaps you should consider that my pace, while deliberate, is not without purpose. I'll address the final details promptly, but I expect your continued patience."

"Patience?" I shot back, barely masking my disdain. "I'm not here to play games. Either you finalize this deal immediately, or you'll find out just how far I'm willing to push. Time is running out, and I suggest you act accordingly."

His voice hardened, losing any trace of mockery. "Very well. We'll resolve this swiftly." With that, he hung up. A surge of destructive energy coursed through me, but I quelled it, choosing instead to head towards the library. In past some labeled me bipolar, but what I understand is a lack of control. While I've mastered the art of concealing my emotions, there are moments when anger overtakes me. My remedy is always the same: books, especially those on ancient history, business, or anything nonfiction.

Fiction holds no appeal for me. I believe there is no escape from reality, nor do I seek one. Running away has never been an option; I prefer to confront things as they are. Investing in illusions feels like a waste of time.

I was flipping through the pages of yet another worn, ancient mythology, the words blurring together as my mind wandered. when a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

Her voice.Again.

Kristen. Always her. The girl who never seemed to understand the concept of keeping her distance. I could hear her in the distance, and as usual, she was running her mouth. A nuisance, nothing more But then, another voice followed. A boy's voice. I tried to block it out, but a sharp cry pierced the air.

"Let go of me!"

The air around me seemed to shift. Her voice trembled, threaded with real fear, and just like that, the calm I had carefully constructed began to unravel. My hands, which had been idly tracing the ancient script, stilled. And then, without thought, without reason, I was moving. Swift, deliberate, like a predator who had found his prey.

I turned the corner and there she was, trembling beneath the weight of a boy's grip, his hand knotted viciously in her hair. She was reduced to a shaking figure. And him? He was pulling her toward him like she was some toy, something he could control.

Wrong.

I didn't stop to think. My body reacted as though it had been waiting for this very moment, a surge of violence igniting something deep, something primal. My fist collided with his face, and the satisfying crunch of bone against skin resonated through me. He faltered, his grip slackening as she fell to the ground. I barely noticed.

The second punch was faster, more vicious, aimed straight for his jaw. The name on his uniform flashed in the dim light, irrelevant. He was nothing but a problem I needed to erase. I could feel the sharp edge of satisfaction building as I watched him crumple under the force of my blows. But I didn't give in to the impulse entirely. Not here. Not now.

He scrambled away, blood streaming from his nose, his pathetic whimper ringing in my ears as he disappeared into the shadows. Good riddance. He wasn't worth the energy I was holding back.

******

Alexander

I turned to Kristen, still on the ground, eyes half opened, tears clouding her vision . The strap of her dress had slipped, exposing too much skin, her pale form trembling beneath the shock of what had just happened. My gaze lingered for a moment, studying the way her body seemed so vulnerable, so... breakable. The idea twisted in my mind, dark and intrusive.

Control yourself, fucker. She was just assaulted

I stalked toward her, every step calculated, my eyes never leaving her as she fumbled to fix her dress. Her cheeks were flushed, the embarrassment almost palpable. Pathetic. But that's what made her intriguing, wasn't it? The contradictions. The strength that crumbled in an instant.

Without asking, I lifted her, my grip firm but controlled. She was lighter than I expected, fragile in a way I hadn't anticipated. I set her on the bench, crouching down to meet her tear-stained gaze.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice low, each word measured. But there was something dangerous beneath the calm, something barely restrained. My hand moved to her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. There was no escape, no hiding from what I needed to know.

"Speak."

"Ye...s," she stammered, her breath ragged as her fingers fumbled with the loose straps of her dress. The fabric was a tangled mess, slipping from her attempts to cover herself. Her struggle was a poignant display of vulnerability, and my control was slipping, fast.

I had never been so close to unraveling. I was a master of restraint, a connoisseur of detachment, but this was different. Kristen's distress, her exposed skin, her trembling lips, it all hit a nerve I wasn't prepared to confront. My usual indifference felt like a thin veneer, about to crack under the weight of what I was witnessing.

I took a step closer, drawn by the rawness of her state. Every part of me screamed that this was wrong, that my presence here was a violation of every boundary I had ever set. But I couldn't pull away. Her vulnerability was a brutal reminder of my darkest impulses.

"Allow me," I said, the words coming out in a strained murmur. They felt foreign, almost sacrilegious, considering the way my mind was twisted in this moment. I reached forward, my fingers brushing against her skin as I moved her hair aside. The contact was like a live wire, sending jolts of forbidden electricity through me.

Her reaction was immediate and profound; her eyes widened, her breath quickened. The sight of her smooth skin, exposed and trembling, ignited a fire in me that was both horrifying and intoxicating. My control, usually so ironclad, was faltering. I could feel every cell in my body reacting, my pulse quickening, my resolve disintegrating.

I cursed under my breath, a low, guttural sound of frustration. "fuck," I muttered, fighting to suppress the primal surge of desire. Her soft skin, her delicate form, was more than a temptation-it was a full assault on my willpower. The rage and desire were mingling, a volatile mix that made focusing impossible.

With a grimace, I adjusted her dress, each movement sharp and precise, as if the fabric were a weapon I was reluctantly wielding. I could hardly bear the proximity, the scent of her distress, and the overwhelming temptation to give in. My hand brushed against her skin once more, the touch a brutal reminder of how close I was to losing myself.

When I was done, I stepped back abruptly, like a man retreating from a fire. The distance between us was both physical and psychological, a necessary boundary to prevent my complete unraveling.

"Go to your dorm room," I declared, my voice cutting through the charged silence with a finality that brooked no argument. Kristen looked at me, her eyes still wide with lingering fear and confusion.

"But the ball.."

"No buts," I snapped, my tone leaving no room for negotiation.

She nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly, and rose slowly from the bench. Her movements were tentative, her dress still slightly askew as she made her way toward the exit. Each step she took was a reminder of the precarious line I was treading, and the sight of her retreating figure did nothing to quell the turmoil inside me.

As the door closed behind her, I let out a low growl of frustration. My fist came crashing down on the table with a resounding thud, the impact reverberating through the room. The sharp pain in my knuckles was nothing compared to the rage and self-loathing that surged within me. How had I allowed myself to get so close to crossing the line?

I stood there, breathing heavily, the chaos of my thoughts barely contained. The control I prided myself on was slipping through my fingers, and it infuriated me.

With a final, angry exhale, I turned and walked toward the dimly lit section, the darkness closing in around me. Each step was a painful reminder of my faltering control and the consequences of my actions.

Fuck, this is the first chapter that is so intense. You know, I've never written anything like this before, and this is not exactly smut-just a build-up. That's why I made it more descriptive. Rest assured, there will be no detailed descriptions like this ahead; I wanted to give you a clear view of his thoughts. Anyway, if you liked the chapter, please vote and comment.