Some boys you kiss. Others, you burn for.

I’ve ruined every boy who’s ever touched me.
Not on purpose. Not always. But the trail of heartbreak behind me is long, drunk, and begging for mercy.

They call me a monster in mascara.
They’re not wrong.

I smoke too much, lie like it’s a sport, and ride my Ducati faster than I should—just to feel something. My mom’s passed out by noon, my dad’s a ghost, and I’ve been partying my way out of feeling anything since I was twelve.

Then there’s Atlas Reed.

The golden boy with a gym body and a brain built for equations and quiet revenge.
He reads Nietzsche. Fixes his sister’s bike.
Talks like a whisper.
Looks like a sin.
And wants absolutely nothing to do with me.

So of course I’m obsessed.

But Atlas isn’t like the others. He doesn’t fall. He waits.
Calculates.
And when he finally looks at me like he’s going to ruin me back—

I don’t run.

I wasn't planning to walk past the Law Building.


But fate's a little bitch with a sense of humor, and I was out of cigarettes.


So there I was—hoodie up, sunglasses on, hair in a tangled mess from last night's sleep—cutting across the lawn like a ghost, when I heard it.


"—I'm just saying, if you look at the way Maddox dresses, she's asking for it."


"Yeah. She probably blew her way into passing ethics. Ironic, right?"


Laughter. Three guys. All future lawyers. One of them I'd slept with once. The shortest one. The one who cried after.


But I wasn't going to say anything. I never do.


He stepped into their circle like he wasn't afraid to burn.


"Spreading lies? Mocking trauma? Yeah, hilarious."


"Blair Maddox has more spine than half of you combined. She shows up every day. After everything. And if any of you had even an ounce of what she's survived, you'd crumble."


"Keep her name out of your mouths," he said, each word clipped, deliberate. "She's not your gossip. She's not your punching bag. And she sure as hell doesn't need your approval to exist."


Someone muttered, "Dude, do you even like her?"


I held my breath, hidden just behind the wall, heart hammering.


Atlas said, low and steady, "You don't have to like someone to respect the hell out of them."


I pressed my hand against my chest, fingers trembling.


So I lit a cigarette with shaking hands and exhaled the tightness in my chest like it was just another cloud of smoke.


Chapter 28 - He Doesn’t Even Like Me