Cruel Intentions: Chapter 14

The hallway this morning was fucking chaos —packed bodies, buzzing whispers, and the charged energy of something big about to go down. Through the swarm of students, my eyes locked onto Aubrey and Tia squaring off.

There she was—Aubrey, standing her ground for the first time in what felt like forever. A smirk tugged at my lips. She’d finally hit her breaking point, and honestly? It was about damn time.

Aubrey’s always had this razor-sharp wit, a way of dismantling people with words that hit harder than any punch. But today?

Words weren’t enough. She was a fucking storm unleashed, all fire and fury, and Tia? Tia didn’t stand a chance. Her smug mask cracked as Aubrey tore through her bullshit like it was nothing. It was raw, brutal, and, let’s be real, long overdue.

I didn’t catch the whole thing—just enough to piece together what went down. Tia, queen of low blows, had said something about Aubrey’s dad, digging deep enough to make anyone snap.

And Aubrey? She didn’t hesitate. Her fist flew, and the crack of impact echoed through the hallway like a gunshot. For a moment, everything stopped—the noise, the movement, the world itself. Just silence, thick and heavy with shock.

And fuck, it was powerful. Watching Aubrey take back control, watching her refuse to let Tia get the last word—it was gripping, like witnessing something primal and unstoppable.

The guys around me were buzzing, hyped over how badass she looked, but I just stood there, rooted in place. She was magnificent—a force of nature, untamed and unapologetic.

This was the Aubrey I remembered, the girl I grew up with. Only now, she was sharper, tougher, and scarred in ways that made her all the more striking. Pride burned in my chest, but it was tangled with something heavier. Because for all the satisfaction of seeing Tia get what she deserved, I couldn’t ignore the cost.

Aubrey’s cost.

The rest of the day dragged on like I was wading through quicksand. Neither of them showed up—no Aubrey, no Tia.

Tia’s absence was no surprise; she was probably at the nurse’s office or hospital dealing with a broken nose. But Aubrey’s silence? That hit different. Every class I walked into, every hallway I crossed, I caught myself searching for her, waiting for even a fleeting glimpse.

When the loudspeaker finally called her to the principal’s office, my stomach dropped. Suspension was inevitable. There’s no way the school would let something like this slide. But it wasn’t the school I was worried about. It was what came after. Her father. The hot-headed asshole who doesn’t just yell—he fucking explodes.

By the time I pull into my driveway, the weight of the day presses down on me. My gaze drifts to Aubrey’s house next door. Her window is dark, the house is too quiet, and my mind won’t stop spinning.

Is she inside, bracing herself for the fallout?

Is he there, pacing, yelling, ready to unload all his rage on her like always?

My jaw tightens, a familiar anger simmering under my skin. Aubrey may have been a storm today, but storms leave wreckage, and I can’t shake the feeling that she is dealing with it alone.

The protective instinct I’ve tried to bury rises like a wave, crashing through the walls I’ve built to keep it contained. It claws at my skin, this overwhelming urge to check on her, to make sure she’s okay, to remind her she doesn’t have to face him alone. My knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, my grip whitening, but I force myself to stay put. I know better. Whatever we had—whatever we were to each other—that’s gone now.

With a deep breath, I step inside the house and let the door click shut behind me. The silence is instant, heavy, and familiar—the kind that makes it clear I’m alone. Dad’s already left for the weekend with Simone.

In the kitchen, a folded note on the counter catches my eye. I walk over, pick it up, and scan the short message in his neat, looping handwriting.

I crumple the note in my hand and toss it into the catch-all drawer—the one messy space in an otherwise perfectly organized kitchen. It joins the pile of similar notes he’s left over the years. They’re all the same, variations of him reminding me that I matter.

The fridge hums softly as I pull it open, scanning its contents. I grab an apple from the crisper and bite into it.

My phone buzzes where I left it on the counter, and I glance at the screen. It’s a message from Jace.

Curiosity tugs at me, and I tap it open.

It’s a video.

Of her.

Aubrey.

My thumb hovers over the play button for half a second before I press it, and the screen comes to life. There it is—that moment. Her fist connects with Tia’s face, and the sharp crack echoes even through the shitty phone audio. The camera shakes as the crowd reacts, but it doesn’t matter. The focus stays on Aubrey, her stance defiant, her eyes blazing.

I watch it again.

And again.

I can’t look away. The rawness of it, the fire in her—it’s electric. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t flinch. She just acted. It wasn’t pretty or polished; it was raw and real.

Tia had it coming. Everyone knows it. And now everyone’s talking about Aubrey. The video’s already making the rounds, shared like it’s some iconic scene from a fucking movie.

I take another bite of the apple, my mind swirling. Tonight’s party is going to be something else.

The house is already alive with chaos by the time I pull up. The thump of the bass pounds through the otherwise quiet, polished neighborhood, the thrum vibrating in my chest as I park.

Liam’s family might have money and the perfect suburban image, but this party is anything but picture-perfect. It’s the kind of untouchable chaos only his dad’s status as a big-shot lawyer can shield. No one’s calling the cops—not when they know who owns the place.

The moment I step inside, the atmosphere hits me like a tidal wave—laughter, music, and that unmistakable electric charge of bad decisions waiting to happen. Eyes are on me before I’ve even closed the door. The usual suspects—girls with too much makeup and not enough shame—lock onto me like predators, hoping for a piece of my attention. I don’t even bother acknowledging them, cutting through the crowd like they don’t exist.

On the way to the drinks, I exchange a few fist bumps with the guys.

Reece is in the corner, tangled up with some girl who’s definitely not Sam—the same Sam he’s warned me a hundred times to stay the hell away from. Hypocrite.

In the kitchen, Jace is doing what Jace does best, his hands all over some random girl who’s one slap away from teaching him a lesson. When he comes up for air, I give him a nod. He flashes me a shit-eating grin before diving back in like the shameless bastard he is.

Drink in hand, I push through the bodies towards the couch in the center of the room. The party whirls around me in a haze of flashing lights and deafening beats. This is what everyone lives for—nights like this, moments like these.

As I drop onto the couch, the crowd instinctively parts, leaving me some breathing room. The relentless bass drowns out my thoughts, a numbing rhythm I welcome.

Within seconds, a few girls drift over, their intentions as obvious as their outfits—curves spilling out of tight tops, eyes gleaming with the promise of a wild night.

They don’t wait for an invitation, sliding in on either side of me like they’ve claimed a prize. Synthia—or maybe it’s Cindy, who the fuck knows—makes the first move, her fingers tangling in my hair as she drags me into a kiss that’s all tongue and zero finesse. Before she’s even done, the other one—name long forgotten—grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me toward her.

It’s a full-blown competition, each one trying to outdo the other, their hands and mouths everywhere. Normally, this kind of attention guarantees a good time. With these two, it’s been fun before—wild, even.

But tonight?

Tonight, it feels… off.

They pull back, their expectant eyes waiting for my reaction. All I give them is a slow sip of my drink, the burn of alcohol barely cutting through the disinterest creeping under my skin. My gaze sweeps the room, searching for something—someone—worth my time.

And then I see her.

Aubrey.

She’s across the room, her black hair catching the light, a red plastic cup clenched in her hand like it’s the only thing tethering her here. Her body language makes it clear she’d rather be anywhere else, and I’d bet everything it was Sam who dragged her here. Sam and Lola are flanking her, but Aubrey’s expression doesn’t soften, doesn’t wander. Her eyes are locked, her thoughts somewhere far away, and I’d kill to know what’s running through her head.

Aubrey’s a fucking knockout, the kind of beauty that doesn’t even need to try—that’s the part that always gets me. She’s standing there in tight black jeans that hug her hips like a second skin and a simple top that clings to her curves like it was made for her. It’s not flashy or overdone; it’s effortless, raw, and so sexy it borders on cruel.

My cock, which had been idly interested in the two girls draped across me, suddenly stirs with a sharper, more focused need. This. This isn’t about them. It’s about her. It’s always her.

I should get up. Go over there. Ask her why the hell she wasn’t at school today, even though I already know the answer. But I don’t. The idea of her brushing me off, throwing me that perfectly detached look she’s mastered, keeps me anchored to the couch. So, I let the girls beside me carry on—one’s lips ghosting over my neck, the other’s hand rubbing my cock through my jeans. They’re distractions, background noise to the real fixation in my head.

When Aubrey’s eyes sweep across the room and land on me, my chest tightens. For a second, I think I catch a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe? Annoyance? I can’t be sure. What I do notice is the brief glance she shoots at the chick’s hand on my cock before her gaze flicks back to mine.

A surge of heat shoots through me, my thoughts dragged straight to that night. The one where she caught me, hand around my cock, stroking to the thought of her. Even now, the memory is enough to make me fucking throb.

Then it happens. That tiny, devastating move that wrecks me every damn time. Her tongue flicks out, slow and unintentional, wetting her bottom lip like she doesn’t know the chaos it stirs. My cock aches, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to groan.

The girls beside me could strip naked, and I wouldn’t give a shit. My thoughts are tangled up in her—Aubrey.

All I want is her under me, her breath hitching as I drag her over the edge, her body trembling as I ruin us both.

One of the girls tightens her grip on my hair, yanking my face toward hers. I let her kiss me, her mouth all heat and hunger, trying to reignite the spark she doesn’t realize was never hers to claim. I kiss her back with enough enthusiasm to make her think she’s winning. But even as her hands tug at me, I’m somewhere else. In my head, it’s not her touch I’m feeling—it’s Aubrey’s.

I close my eyes and let the fantasy take over. It’s Aubrey’s hands threading through my hair, Aubrey’s lips moving against mine, Aubrey’s body pressed so close I can’t tell where I end and she begins.

When the girl finally pulls back, breathless and flushed, I sneak a glance across the room, searching for her. Aubrey. But she’s gone.

She’s not standing with Sam anymore. She’s not anywhere.

The realization steals the air from my lungs. The flicker of desire burns out, replaced by a hollow ache I can’t shake. She’s gone, and it feels like I’m left chasing something I’ll never quite catch.

I shove the girl off me, ignoring her whiny protests as she tumbles back onto the couch. My focus is razor-sharp now, cutting through the fog of booze and noise. My eyes dart around, scanning every inch of the room for her.

Is she in the bathroom?

Did she leave?

A restless energy claws at me, and I down the rest of my drink in one go, the burn sliding down my throat doing nothing to dull the edge.

One of the girls climbs to her feet, sidling up to me. She presses herself against my arm, her tits squishing against me as she leans in close. Her voice is low and syrupy, dripping with calculated seduction. “Let’s go upstairs,” she purrs, lips brushing my ear. “I’ll suck your cock.”

Her breath is warm, her tone suggestive, but her words are hollow. Cold.

“Not interested,” I snap, shoving her aside.

I don’t wait for her reaction as I stride away. She’s just another meaningless face in a room full of them.

I move to the far side of the room, keeping a careful distance from Sam while still positioning myself where I can watch. My eyes are glued to the spot where Aubrey was standing, every second dragging by like an eternity.

Five minutes pass—maybe less, but it feels like fucking forever—before I snap.

I cross the room, heading straight for Sam. She’s in the middle of a conversation with some guy who looks like he’d rather be studying than partying. I stop beside her, crossing my arms and letting my presence do the talking.

Sam glances up, her smile fading as soon as she registers it’s me. Her expression hardens, her guard going up in an instant.

“Where the fuck is she?” I ask, my voice low but laced with frustration.

Sam narrows her eyes, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.

For a moment, I get it—why Reece is so into her. There’s a sharpness to her, something that doesn’t bend or break easily. She’s gorgeous, too, but that’s not why I’m here.

“Who?” she says, feigning confusion. Her brow furrows, but the act doesn’t last. I see it click behind her eyes—the realization.

Her gaze flickers around the room, searching for Aubrey. When she doesn’t find her, her lips press into a tight, disapproving line.

Without waiting for an answer, I’m already moving, pushing into the next room. My eyes scan every corner, taking in the swirl of bodies, the shadows cast by the dim lighting. Still nothing.

Outside, the storm hits hard, rain hammering against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. Lightning flashes, illuminating my reflection for a brief second before thunder cracks, rattling the glass and momentarily stealing the crowd’s attention.

When I glance back, Sam is gripping her phone tightly, her thumbs flying across the screen in quick, furious taps. Whatever she’s doing, she’s not telling me, and my patience is running out.

Her head stays down, fingers moving in a blur across her phone screen as I close the gap between us. She’s so engrossed, she doesn’t even notice when I lean in, catching a perfect view of her messages.

Just as I suspected—she’s texting Aubrey.

My pulse quickens, anticipation clawing at me as I watch the exchange. When Aubrey’s reply finally comes through, the words make my stomach twist.

Walking? In this fucking storm?

Before Sam even looks up, I’m already moving, my legs carrying me toward the front door with purpose. Panic courses through me at the thought of Aubrey out there, alone, soaked to the bone, with thunder cracking and lightning streaking across the sky.

The storm hits like a wall the moment I step outside, the wind howling as sheets of rain drench me instantly. I yank my hood up, not that it helps, and break into a run, my shoes splashing through puddles as water seeps into my jeans. The cold bites, sharp and relentless, but I don’t slow down.

Fumbling with my keys, I manage to unlock the car and dive inside, slamming the door against the chaos outside. My breath comes in sharp bursts, fogging up the windows as I dig my phone out of my pocket.

I pause.

Does she still have the same number? I’ve held onto it all this time, even when I told myself to let her go.

With a deep breath, I hit the call button, pressing the phone to my ear as each ring stretches unbearably long.

The rain pounds against the roof, matching the frantic hammering of my heart.

One ring.

Two.

Then the tone shifts—she’s declined the call.

The beep comes, and I force myself to speak, my voice rough with urgency and emotion.

“Aubrey, it’s me. I…” My throat tightens, but I push through. “Where the fuck are you? You shouldn’t be out in this storm. Just… call me back, okay? I’ll come get you.”

I hang up, gripping the phone so tightly it feels like it might shatter. My breath trembles as I toss it onto the seat beside me. Reaching for the ignition, I’m about to start the car when my phone buzzes.

My chest tightens with hope. Aubrey?

I snatch it up, only to see a different name flash across the screen. The momentary disappointment fades as I answer.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, trying to steady my voice.

“Noah,” he starts, steady and calm, the way he always is. “Just checking in. There’s a storm heading your way—they’re saying it’s gonna be rough.”

I exhale, leaning back against the seat, my fingers tapping on the top of the steering wheel. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s already coming down hard. Don’t worry, I’m fine. Party was shit anyway—I’m heading home early.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, his voice thick with that fatherly concern that always manages to ground me, even when I’m spiraling. “You sound… I don’t know, off.”

“I’m good, Dad. Really.” For a second, the urge to spill everything claws at me—to admit that my head’s a fucking wreck and my heart feels like it’s being ripped out of my chest. But I swallow it down. He doesn’t need that right now. “I just need to get home before this storm gets worse.”

“Alright,” he says, though the hesitation in his voice is unmistakable, laced with unspoken worry.

“Drive safe, Noah. I mean it. No rushing, no distractions. Promise me.”

“I promise, Dad,” I tell him, meaning it. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

“Good. Don’t forget. And if you need anything—anything—you call me, okay?”

“I will, Dad.” I hang up, setting the phone down on the passenger seat.

The silence that follows ringing louder than the storm outside.

The engine rumbles to life beneath me, and for a moment, I just sit there, staring out at the rain-slick streets. The downpour cascades in thick sheets, blurring the world outside.

I’ll just head home. And maybe—just maybe—I’ll find her.