Chapter 9 Aslan
Aslan
For the record, I wasn’t proud of it. But after having the wind knocked out of me during self-defense class by one of Garrett’s minions—damn coward couldn’t even do his own bullying—seeing the expression on his face when he caught me socializing was… honestly priceless.
First, with James at lunch.
Then, with Trisha in the hallway.
It wasn’t even subtle. His whole face did that thing where it went completely blank, like his brain had short-circuited and he didn’t know what emotion he was supposed to pick. Like he wanted to kill me, but also couldn’t look away.
And then there was the library.
The first time I noticed him spying on me during my shift, I thought I was imagining it. Because why the hell would Crownwell’s king even care what I did in the library?
But then I saw him again. And again. And every time I met with her.
Not reading. Not studying. Not even pretending to be there for a reason.
Same thing when we met at the gardens and the cafeteria.
Just… lurking.
Watching.
Like a stalker.
Now let’s get something straight: I had zero interest in Trisha. Not like that. She was beautiful, sure, but I wasn’t into girls.
What I was into was art. Museums. Restoration. Curation. Paintings that made you feel things you didn’t want to feel.
And Trisha was into the same stuff.
That’s how it started. Dr. Vance mentioned my name in class—something about my analysis being “rare at this level”—and apparently that sparked her interest. Next thing I knew, she was tracking me down and asking if I wanted to team up for an extra project.
An actual academic project.
Which was… kind of shocking in a place where half the rich kids acted like the point of school was just to look expensive.
So yeah, over the next couple days we met up a few times. We pulled books from the shelves. We compared notes. We argued about paintings like nerds. She brought drinks and snacks like it was the most normal thing in the world.
And for the first time since I’d gotten to Crownwell, I had fun.
Friday rolled around, and suddenly the whole campus had one personality: party.
Everyone was talking about Molly Bloom’s like it was a national holiday. The big night out. The one where Crownwell pretended it was normal for rich teenagers to invade a downtown club like they owned the place.
I’d been hearing about it all week, and now that I had two friends to go with, it had stopped sounding like an anxiety nightmare and started sounding like… exciting. A little risky, sure, but also something I didn’t wanna miss.
That morning, Trisha and I had agreed to meet after school like usual, just to go over a couple of project details. Nothing serious. Just a quick run-through. We’d even talked about watching this documentary we’d both heard of—something about art theft and restoration, which sounded right up my alley.
And the best part?
I didn’t even have library duty that day. For once, I had an evening that was mine.
Then, about an hour before we were supposed to meet, I got a message.
Trisha:
I’m so sorry! 😭 Something came up last minute. I can’t make it today. Rain check?
I stared at my phone for a second.
Not gonna lie—I was bummed.
Trisha had become one of the few bright spots at Crownwell, but I wasn’t going to beg her to come, anyway. Stuff happened.
So instead, I shoved my phone in my pocket and decided to enjoy the miracle of Crownwell sunshine.
September was still warm here, the kind of warm that made people spread out across the grass like cats in patches of light. Little groups of students sitting in circles, laughing, talking, pretending life wasn’t stressful. Some of them were probably discussing outfits and hookups and who was going to get drunk first tomorrow night.
I wandered without a goal, hands in my pockets, letting the sun hit my face. I was trying to do that thing where you don’t think too hard, where you just exist for a second.
Then I saw something that made me slow down.
Far across the open stretch of campus, I could’ve sworn I spotted Garrett—heading toward the equestrian field.
He was carrying something over his shoulder. A blanket maybe. Like he was going to have a picnic or commit a crime. Hard to tell with him.
I stopped, squinting.
Weird.
Garrett wasn’t a horse person, I’ve heard. He looked like the type who’d rather buy a horse than touch one.
But he disappeared past the path that led toward the riding fields, and I figured I’d imagined it. It wouldn’t be the first time my brain made up things involving Garrett when I was trying not to think about him.
I walked on. Watched people. Let the time pass.
But the more I tried to ignore it, the more it bugged me.
Curiosity is a disease. And I’ve always been susceptible.
After another few minutes, I realized I still hadn’t seen him come back. So… without admitting it to myself, I adjusted my direction. Slowly. Casually. Like I’d always intended to go for a walk that way.
Like I wasn’t literally following Garrett Williams out of boredom.
By the time I reached the path leading to the equestrian field, there were fewer students. More quiet. More space. The smell of grass shifted. The air felt cleaner somehow.
When I finally got to the riding area, I scanned the place.
No Garrett.
Nothing.
I exhaled through my nose, feeling slightly stupid. Maybe it had been someone else. Maybe I was officially losing my mind…. But I was here now, and even if Garrett wasn’t, there was one reason I didn’t regret coming—Tempest.
The horse that had almost murdered me on my first lesson.
I walked along the fence toward the stables, letting the quiet settle my nerves. The equestrian side of campus always felt different—less polished, less performative. More honest.
Halfway there, I heard something. A sound from the greenhouse to my left.
At first, I assumed it was staff—maybe a gardener, maybe someone moving equipment—but then I heard it again.
A familiar female voice. And she wasn’t talking—she was… moaning?
Softly. Breathlessly.
I slowed so abruptly my sneakers scraped the gravel.
My face heated instantly, like my body had betrayed me by understanding before my brain could decide what to do with the information.
Oh my God.
I should’ve walked away… I didn’t.
As I reached the nearest window, I instinctively leaned in—just enough to peer through the fogged glass. And then I froze. Because I recognized the girl's hair… And the boy's broad shoulders. My stomach dropped. No. No way.
Trisha was on her knees, her back to me, her head bobbing back and forth between a pair of strong, muscular legs. My eyes shifted to see Garrett, butt naked, grabbing Trisha's hair and guiding her head…
I should’ve moved. I needed to move… Every part of my brain was screaming at me to turn around, to run, to unsee this. But my feet were glued to the damp grass, my hands pressed flat against the cold glass of the greenhouse. I couldn't look away. It was like watching a car crash, except the car was Garrett's naked body, and the crash was happening right in my chest.
He threw his head back, and the low groan that escaped his lips vibrated through the glass. I could see the muscles in his stomach ripple as he flexed, shoving his hips forward, pushing deeper into Trisha's mouth. A heat I didn't want to feel pooled in my gut, a traitorous arousal that made me sick to my stomach. This was dickhead Garrett. I wasn't supposed to feel this.
A shaky breath escaped my lips, too loud in the quiet night.
Garrett's head snapped forward. His eyes, bright and intense, locked directly onto mine through the window.
Time stopped. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was caught. Exposed. But I still couldn't move. And then, a slow, cruel smirk spread across his face.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good, Trish—” He held my gaze and thrust harder, his movements more deliberate, more aggressive. It was a show. A show just for me.
He pulled out of Trisha's mouth, his cock slick and hard in his own hand. He stroked himself, fast and rough, and with a loud grunt that I could feel more than hear, he came, his release splashing across her face. He never broke eye contact, his expression suddenly as conflicted as mine.
“What the hell are you looking at, freak?”