Page 34 of The Sweetest Revenge

The classroom buzzed with morning chaos. Professor Adams adjusted his bow tie at the lectern, scanning the room with eyes that seemed to pause a second too long on empty seats.

I slumped lower, aiming for invisibility. Partly because my head still throbbed with each heartbeat—a souvenir from whatever happened Friday night. But mostly because the assigned textbook reading remained untouched in my bag, its pages as mysterious to me as the missing hours from Friday night.

Fragments of the night flashed behind my eyes, but not enough to piece together what actually happened.

I remembered talking to Cody, but I didn't remember he was going to email me pictures until I opened my computer and saw the email at the end of my last class. This was another reason I chose to sit in the back, so I could dig through these photos and see if I could find any of Kacie without anyone looking over my shoulder.

Dipping down a little lower in my seat, I hid behind my laptop as I clicked open the attachments of Cody's email.

"Holy shit," I whispered-groaned. There were two hundred and eighty pictures from that night. It would take me days to sift through these pictures. I clicked through the first dozen, none of which had any images of Kacie, until Professor Adams ended class fifteen minutes early, but I was thankful that I managed to make it through the entire class without being called on.

I closed my laptop and pushed back from the desk. The classroom emptied quickly—everyone eager to escape Adams and his monotone lecture. I joined the surge of bodies moving toward the exit, another anonymous face in the flow.

Classes were done for the day.

"Hey!" Mila's voice cut through the noise as she appeared beside me, slightly breathless. I continued walking because stopping wasn't an option in the crowded halls. For some reason, Hall B2 dismissed all of its classes at the same time. If you didn't move with the flow, you'd either get run over or cause a people jam. Mila managed to strong-arm her way through the crowd and step in beside me, matching my steps. "Where have you been all weekend? You didn't answer any of my calls."

"Apparently, those few shots I did were stronger than I thought." I kept my voice low, casual. "I slept all weekend."

Mila's pace faltered. Her brows pulled together, creating that little crease she got whenever something didn't add up.

"Shots?" The word hung between us, heavy with implication. "You don't remember what happened?"

I pursed my lips. Shook my head. Something cold slithered down my spine.

"Zaiden didn't tell you?"

"Zaiden?" My voice pitched higher than I intended, drawing glances from passing students

I lowered my voice to a hiss. "First, why would Zaiden tell me anything? Second, why would I talk to Zaiden? And third—" I counted on my fingers, "—I haven't seen Zaiden all weekend."

Mila's hand found my arm, her grip tightening. "Because you were drugged." Her eyes darted around, checking who might be listening. "And he protected you."

I halted so abruptly that someone behind me nearly slammed into my back. They swerved at the last moment, muttering something under their breath.

The hallway continued to empty around us, voices fading.

A laugh escaped me—high and brittle. "Zaiden?" My lip curled into a snarl. "Protected me?" I touched my fingers to my chest as I shook my head. "Yeah. No. Zaiden doesn't protect me. He wants to ruin me. So, if anyone—" I trailed off as my gaze lifted and zeroed in on Zaiden. "I'll meet you at practice."

"Ari!" Mila's voice faded behind me as I pushed through the thinning crowd.

I knew Zaiden better than anyone. The perfect student. The charming athlete. The vengeful enemy who had made it his mission to destroy me piece by piece. If anyone had drugged me, it was him—and I'd bet my scholarship he was already bragging about it.

I spotted him at the end of the corridor, his broad shoulders turned away from me. My heartbeat quickened, and each thud was a warning I chose to ignore. The crowd parted unconsciously as I moved through it, perhaps sensing the storm building inside me. Every step forward tightened the coil of rage in my chest until it threatened to spring loose.

He was laughing with Hawk and Creighton outside Professor Wilson's lecture hall, completely at ease as if he hadn't potentially assaulted me three nights ago.

My pulse thundered in my ears. Each step toward him felt like moving through cement, but I forced myself forward.

Creighton Vanderbilt was Westbrook's Hockey team's infamous goalie. He was tall with dark curly hair and dark eyes. His gaze lifted, spotting me storming toward them, warning Zaiden before I got there.

Zaiden twisted in time to see me throw out my hands, shoving them into his rock-hard chest. "Woah," Zaiden laughed. "Someone's mad I didn't call the morning after."

I shoved him again, my palms connecting with solid muscle. He didn't budge an inch. "What did you do to me?"

His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over me. "Do to you?" The smirk formed slowly. "I think you mean, what did you do to me?

"I didn't do anything to you." My voice dropped to a hiss as students slowed around us. "I don't even remember what happened."

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