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Prologue
DAMON MAXWELL
Karensignore trigger warnings, only to complain about said warnings.Don'tbe aKaren.ThisRomeo&Julietretelling is only for open-minded readers exploring their fantasies in a safe space.Thebook contains non-consensual sex,FFscene, birth control manipulation, suicidal thoughts, stalking, date rape, drugs, gore, and other dark themes.
Mostdescribed this book as morally gray withWednesdayAddamsvibes, but the threshold for content varies from person to person.Whetheryou consider this dark or a breezy read, please exercise good judgment in real life by differentiating fiction from reality.
“Let’ssee what she is hiding under that shirt.”
“Grabthe bitch’s arms, andI’llcut it off.”
“Let’sstart with the skirt.Iwant to see if the carpet matches the drapes.”
Idioticmale testosterone permeated the air as the pack cautiously circledRose.Shecame here for the same reasonIdid: to wait for her cousinPoppyAmbaniwhile she finished her lab.Theseguys corneredRoseout of the blue.Classeshad concluded for the day, and no one else was in the building.
UnfortunatelyforRose,Ihad no fealty toward her.ShewasPoppy’sbest friend, on top of being her cousin, butIcouldn’t risk my anonymity by savingRose.Otherwise,Poppywould find out about me, the man waiting for her in the shadows.
Iabsorbed the scene, undetected, with my back against the wall of the dark hallway.Thealtercation looked relatively civil from a distance despite the reality.
Itwas public knowledge inNewYorkthat theAmbanifamily didn’t get along with theMaxwellfamily.Peopleon our college campus were under the guise that we wanted them to pick a side.Theseboys wereMaxwellsupporters.Untiltoday,Iwasn’t aware our lackeys attempted to gain brownie points by harassingAmbanigirls.Theypresumed boasting about it would be their ticket into our exclusive inner circle, andRose’stimidness made her an easy target.
Weighingin at one hundred and ten pounds,RoseAmbaniwas a twig compared to the herd crowding her.Shedidn’t stand a chance, though their bark was louder than their bite.Thesefuckers only wanted to scare her, knowing theAmbanifamily would tear them from limb to limb if they hurt her.
Violencewould have been more entertaining than their mindless droning and empty threats.Theentitled wannabes were dressed as if they stepped off theGQrunway with theirBurberrycollared shirts and two-hundred-dollar haircuts.Iguarantee none of them had been in a real fight before.
Allexcept one.
Thebiggest man out of the four knew how to fight.Ipicked him out of the lineup as soon as the group swarmedRose.Theman in question tried dressing the part, but the worn shoes and fakeGuccibelt gave him away.Hedidn’t fit in.Theother three kept him around as their muscle, dangling their enticing life as bait.
FakeGuccistood a few feet away from the group.Itwas apparent he stuck with them in hopes of climbing the social ladder and using their contacts to land a cushy job after graduation.Otherwise, he had no attachment to these snobby douchebags or respect for what they were doing toRose.
“Pleaselet me leave,”Rosewhispered, aware that she was outnumbered.
“Pleaselet me leave,” one of the douchebags mimicked.
“Weare just getting started,” the second one chimed in.
“Whatdo you have in here?”Thethird one snatchedRose’sshoulder bag and started rifling through it.
Rosestared at her brown suede boots instead of replying.Anintrovert with social anxiety, she never engaged.Ihad nothing against the girl, but she needed to grow a pair and learn to fight her battles.Theseguys knew it, too.
“Catgot your tongue?”
“Answerus when we speak to you,” another demanded.
WhenRosedidn’t reply, his friend dumped the bag’s contents onto the ground.
“Don’tyou boys know better than to litter?”Anew voice joined the group, shocking everyone in the hallway.
“Poppy.”Rosesagged in relief at the sight of her cousin.
Mymouth twitched.FakeGucci’seyebrows rose with slight interest.Eventhe three entitled douchebags unapologetically bullyingRosereacted unfavorably.PoppyAmbanihad that effect on people.Itcame with the morbid personality and the goth girl outfits.Peoplefeared it despite themselves.
DouchebagOnerecovered. “Ifit isn’tMorticia.”
Hiscompanions snickered at the most tired comparisonPoppyhad heard since starting college.Bullyinghad the opposite of the intended effect onPoppy.Itrevitalized her instead of swaying her away from her signature look.Today, she was in black leggings and an even darker sweater with decorative buttons along the side.Shinyblack boots reached her knees with barely visible long socks underneath.
Expectedly,Poppysmirked. “Morticia?That’soriginal.Didyou come up with it yourself, or did someone help you?”
