Page 52 of Twisting Beauty

They fell into giggles again, eyes wide and lips twitching with barely contained glee.

Aoife cut them off with a sharp slap to the backs of their heads and lifted her chin at her own reflection like she was admiring a crown. “Me, you eejits. Lorcan is mine.”

Something hot and vicious reared up inside me before I could crush it.

Emer let out a dreamy sigh and clutched her chest. “God, you lucky bitch,” she breathed.

Ciara leaned closer, eyes wide with envy. “Wait, wait, wait— How big is it, though? Like, are the rumors true? Does he have that ‘big boy’ energy downstairs too?”

Aoife preened, lips parting in a smug little smile. “Let’s just say, I walk funny on Mondays for a reason.”

Emer shrieked and fanned herself with her hand. “Oh my God, I hate you. You’re such a bitch for living my dreams.”

Ciara sighed, clutching a locker door like it might steady her. “Ugh, I’d kill to know what he’s like in bed. Bet he’s got that dark, twisted dom thing going on. The kind that ruins you for anyone else.”

Aoife laughed as she fluffed up her hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Jealousy twisted low in my belly, festering inside me like something rotting. I wanted to tear it out.

I swallowed it down and forced the heat in my chest into something colder, harder, until it felt almost manageable.

I didn’t care who Lorcan put his hands on, whose mouth he dirtied, whose body he bent to his will. Not one bit.

Okay, maybe Rua cared. But I didn’t.

The lie tasted so bitter I could barely stand it.

By the time I turned away, my face felt steady again, but my pulse was still beating hard against my ribs as their laughter followed me out.

Aoife’s voice clung hardest of all, syrupy and smug.

Lorcan is mine.

The words stuck to my skin like sweat.

I burst into the courtyard, lungs tight. Damp air hit my face, cold and raw, but it did nothing to cool the heat crawling under my skin. Ravenwood loomed around me in wet stone and dark archways.

I could feel eyes on me, laughter tickling the back of my neck, sharp as glass. Whispers curled beneath the archways, Rua’s name slithering through them like a curse.

My boots clicked against the flagstones with a sound far too sharp for the morning, and every strike seemed to announce me to the whole courtyard. I felt horribly visible, as if the gossip had already gone ahead of me and stripped my skin clean off. Every glance that flicked my way felt like the slam of a judge’s gavel.

The rumor mill had already sunk its teeth in, thanks to Aoife’s venomous little tongue. Or maybe I was being paranoid. Hard to tell anymore.

My throat burned with swallowed curses as I hurried toward the archway leading to the library. I needed to disappear. Just five minutes of quiet. Just a corner where my name—her name—wasn’t being wielded like a weapon. Or a joke.

A tall figure stepped into my path like he’d been waiting for me.

Elias.

He planted himself where the stone narrowed, leaving me just enough space to think I might get past him and not enough to actually do it. His eyes scanned me like grubby fingers.

“What’s the craic, Rua?” His grin widened, boyish and easy, like he hadn’t just cornered me in full view of the courtyard.

“Bit nippy out, isn’t it?” he said, eyes dipping to the black material tight across my chest. “Should’ve worn something thicker… or nothing at all.”

I didn’t flinch. Just met his gaze, flat and cold. “Careful, Elias. Your sleaze is showing.”

His grin faltered for a heartbeat, then snapped back into place, too wide now. “Christ, Rua. Who pissed in your cereal this morning?” He leaned in, voice dropping low. “Come on. Bet I could put a smile back on that pretty face.”