I half-expect Victor to raise his chin and proclaim that he’d never in a million years, in a trillion sunrises and sunsets, ever consider an annulment. Fuck, I’m his, and he’s mine, and we both know that. The other half of me knows that this is what I should’ve expected the second that offer was made. Vic Channing is nothing if not opportunistic. He knows exactly when and where and how to play his hand.

Shit, look at me. This entire situation, this whole fucking scenario, is just a manifestation of a game he’s been playing by himself since ninth grade. A bet against the universe. He wagered me in it, and then he won me back forever. That’s supposed to be the point, isn’t it? Why I accept all of his bullshit like it’s fate?

But Victor is doing what a smart leader would. He’s playing into a game that has a lot of variables, that can be manipulated and turned into a sure thing for him to win. He stares back at me, tapping his fingertips against the tabletop, waiting for me to say something.

Instead, it’s Hael who gets irrationally upset. Part of me feels it’s because he has abandonment issues, because his father chose dark instincts and murder over his son. But what the shit do I know? I’m just a no-nothing from Prescott High. Wearing that red-and-black gown the other night, sitting in the back of that limo, it was easy to forget. I feel huge on the inside, like a star that’s burning so hot it’s pulling planets into orbit.

Every teenager feels like that, Bernadette, I think to myself as Hael slams his palms on the cafeteria table and leans in to glare at Oscar.

“This is all you, man, I can smell it all over you.”

“How so?” Oscar asks, acting like when I arched my back, stretched my arms above my head, and yawned this morning, that I didn’t press my ass into him and fuck the first man I found. Wasn’t even sure who I was screwing at first, not until he curved long fingers around my throat and drove into me like I was the be-all, end-all of his existence. I never got the chance to ask him how we ended up in bed together in the first place, considering I was sleeping with Vic.

“You talked him into this nonsense,” Hael growls, standing up and shaking his head with a laugh. “Seriously, man. I get we have to play our hand carefully, but this is the coward’s way out of this.”

“You don’t actually think I’m going forward with the plan to give that genteel, little trollop my money?” Vic asks, but his voice is strange, too, a bit hollow. But then he glances back at me, his purple-dark hair slicked back, a single piece loose and falling across his forehead. If someone told me he was a ghost from the fifties, I might believe them. Well, except for the sleeves of tattoos that color his muscles. He looks sure of himself, as always.

“I’m not the one freaking out,” I say, which is totally a Bernie thing to say. My bloodied red hair hangs over my shoulders as I blink, nice and slow, holding Victor’s stare.

I never wanted to be anybody’s wife. I don’t even care about being Vic’s wife. It’s just a piece of a paper. It’s a contract to marital slavery, a pair of shackles sent by the patriarchy to choke and chain me. Yet now that the idea’s been brought up to dissolve it like it was nothing, I feel sick to my stomach.

“So, you go to dinner tonight and tell her yes? Then what?” Aaron asks, but I’m not listening to him. I’m focusing on my breathing like Callum taught me. My eyes slide to Oscar’s. He’s sitting on the tabletop, long legs folded at the knee, wearing a suit and tie and looking like the president of the country instead of a student at a shitty, no-nothing high school.

He knows I’m freaking out, does nothing. I’m not even sure where we’re at in our relationship. He said he’d give himself to me, but what does that mean? What do I have to do to crack this nut?

“Just for the record, I don’t like this plan,” Cal offers up, echoing Aaron’s words from the club as he sips a Pepsi and freely smokes a cigarette. The cops in here are not the normal school cops, but they’re here for a reason much more serious than smoking inside. They’re here for murder, for the murderers … for us. “Feels too much like pandering. It’ll mess with Havoc’s reputation.” Callum pauses and then turns his head slowly to look at me, blue eyes like swords, cutting right to my heart. “Besides, don’t you give a shit how you’re making Bernadette feel?”

“I know how Bernadette feels,” Victor says, slow and calm but laced with menace. He’s annoyed with Cal. He should be. Because I feel like Callum understands me in a way none of the other boys ever will. He and I have a connection that I can’t put to words. He just gets me. “Because I feel the same way. But it doesn’t matter. Those same sorts of feelings will get us killed if we let them. We agree to the annulment and move forward from there. Maybe I marry the girl, maybe I don’t. We’ll see.”

He stands up from the table as Aaron frowns and glances over at me, as if to ask if I’m okay. See, that’s what sets him apart from the other boys. He’s thought to ask me, even if it’s just with his eyes. But Cal already knows. Oscar either doesn’t care or cares so much that he has to sit there like a goddamn statue to keep from showing it. Hael is upset for me, and Victor … he’s right. He probably feels exactly like I feel, right down to the whole not going to say a damn thing part.

Shit.

Fuck, shit, motherfucker, shit.

Vic gets up from his spot at the table, taking his tray and dumping his trash on the way out. The fact that he even cares to do that, considering our now complete control of the school, shocks me to my core.

It also makes me get up and go after him.

“And there she goes,” Hael says, but somewhat like he’s relieved.

I push out of the sticker and Sharpie covered doors, letting them swing behind me as I speed-walk to keep up with Victor.

“You want the ring back, too?” I snap, which just makes him laugh. But he can’t hide his feelings for me anymore than I can for him. If we could both put up permanent shields against one another, we might just do it. We’d always love each other, but this … vulnerability? It hurts.

“Keep the ring, Bernie,” he tells me, sliding a smoke between his lips. He smokes when he’s nervous. I told you. I fucking told you. “You know it’s the right move.”

I do, too, and damn him for making me admit that shit.

“It is,” I say, “but I hate you for even being able to recognize that, through the blindness of your love for me.” It’s delivered deadpan, but every word is true. Victor knows it, so he doesn’t smile or laugh it off. He just looks at me.

“This isn’t the end of the world, okay? I’m not surprised she’s offering something like this. I always assumed she would.”

I look back at him, and for the briefest of seconds, I can’t decide if he’d commit hara-kiri right here in the hallway if I dared ask … or if he’s been using me all along. Victor Channing is terrible, right? He’s tall and strong, but he can also be stony at times. He kept me here, when he could’ve set me free, and we both fucking know it.

“Goddamn it, I love you,” I breathe, closing my eyes and putting the heel of my hand to my head. I hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t move toward me right now. He knows that if he does, we’ll both explode. This school is full of fucking creosote, so that might not be a good idea right now. The entire thing would go up in flames. “Get to class, Channing.”