Chapter 4

Tori POV

Sadie's face freezes, the practiced grin slipping as my words land. I don't stick around to savor the moment- I've already won. Turning on my heel, I head for the kitchen, my strides confident.

Victory feels good. Now, if there's any justice in the world, there will be something stronger than soda here.

I weave through the crowd toward the kitchen counter where drinks are precariously scattered, looking as if one wrong move might send the whole mess crashing down. Surprisingly, I manage to mix vodka, lemon-lime soda, and cherry juice in a red Solo cup without having to elbow anyone aside. I take a swig, pivoting on my heel right into a collision.

The end of my cup slams into someone's chest, jolting my teeth and sending the sticky drink down my neck, soaking my top. Of course. You shouldn't be too surprised, Tori- you spill your drinks more often than you get them down your throat.

I shuffle back, trying to avoid more splashes landing on my shoes. The cherry syrup clings to my skin, bright red and tacky.

Fantastic.

I mutter a swear, swallowing down the alcohol that flooded into my mouth. Grabbing a napkin from the counter, I dab at the mess on my chest before realizing the person I collided with is still standing in front of me. His pristine white sneakers now sport splatters of sticky cherry syrup. Honestly, they look better that way. Unique.

By the way he's just standing there, saying nothing- let alone offering a napkin- I can tell he's the type to get pissed over a tiny accident. Great. Just what I need.

I roll my eyes before even looking up, already prepared to verbally spar with whatever narcissistic, ego-inflated guy thinks the world owes him something. High school trained me for this, being tormented by guys just like this for too long. I'm not dealing with it now as an adult.

My eyes lift to find someone I should have known would be here. Blaze Hwan- Iron Triad member number one. His hair, once black and glossy, is now dyed a muted blue, bordering on lilac.

Bold choice there, buddy. His dark, piercing eyes bore into me, cold and unyielding. The same eyes that, three years ago, had the power to intimidate me. I refuse to let them now.

"You're fucking with me, right, Icky?" His voice booms, cutting through the music like a knife. His cheekbones seem even sharper than I remember, adding to his already imposing look.

I've admired plenty of Korean men- mostly through my K-drama addiction- but Blaze is in a league of his own, and he's well aware of it. Which is exactly what annoys me the most.

"It's Tori," I correct, fighting back the sting of that stupid nickname. Simple as it was, when the entire senior class used it, it cut deeper than anyone knew. "And it's not my fault you decided to stand so close when I turned around."

I steady my breath, locking my expression into the resting bitch face I've perfected post-graduation. It's a great defense against jerks who think they can get the upper hand. Blaze, though, is a different breed, which I should've known. The Iron Triad doesn't play by anyone's rules.

Even back in high school, they were ahead of the game, making their own money through investments. The three of them had IQs that could put Wall Street brokers to shame, with enough street smarts to impress even the savviest gangsters. And now, three years later, they've only become more fearsome.

Yet here I am, arms crossed, face impassive, locked in a staring contest I never signed up for. Meanwhile, my insides are twisting into knots so tight I'm convinced I'll never untangle them. My stomach feels like it's fighting a battle between wanting to vomit or shit- or both.

Not to mention my heart is no longer thudding like a drum.

No, it's a freight train tearing through the night at bullet speed. Sweat pours from my skin like I've just spent an hour roasting in a sauna.

"Clean them, Icky." He drags out every syllable like it's his personal mission to piss me off. It doesn't matter what I say. To him, I'll always be Icky- the girl he bullied, tormented, and humiliated, even forcing me to run out of school naked.

His voice oozes dominance, daring me to submit to him like before. He expects me to flinch, to cower under his authority, his intimidating presence, and those damn good looks. But I'm not that girl anymore. I square my shoulders and lean into his space the same way he's crowding mine.

"You can clean it yourself," I say, my voice sharp as my eyes lock onto his. I turn to walk away, intentionally flipping my hair in his face on the way out.

I don't get far. His hand clamps around my bicep, yanking me back until my spine hits the counter's edge. Shit. That's definitely gonna bruise. I brace for more, but it seems the shove was enough to satisfy his need for dominance- for now.

Blaze leans in, obliterating whatever was left of my personal bubble. His breath fans hot against my cheek as he reaches behind me, grabbing a napkin and soaking it under the tap. Then he hands it to me.

"Clean it," he orders, his voice low and cruel, pushing down on my shoulders until my knees hit the ground. He smirks as I drop to the floor. "I like you better like this."

Oh, you're going to learn today, Blaze. I'm not the scared girl he used to push around. Not anymore. This isn't high school- it's harassment.

I don't clean his shoes. Instead, I toss the wet napkin straight into his face and punch him square in the balls, hard as I hit the heavy bag at the gym. He doubles over with a groan, but I'm already up, bolting out of the kitchen before he can catch his breath.

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