POV Ajax
The laptop screen burned blue against my face at 2 AM.
Another medical journal. Another survival statistic. Another nail in Bella Sinclair's coffin.
Five-year survival rate: 23% with successful transplant.
Without transplant: 0%.
I clicked the next link. A forum post titled "Planning Your Memorial at 22" stared back. The author's profile picture showed a girl Bella's age, smiling despite the oxygen tubes.
The laptop flew across the room, crashing into the wall. "Fuck!"
I grabbed the whiskey bottle from my nightstand, downing three burning swallows.
This wasn't the plan. The bet was supposed to be simple—seduce her, fuck her, humiliate her, even the score.
Not this. Not medical research at 2 AM. Not caring whether she lived or died.
My phone buzzed.
Jake: Party at mine tomorrow. Bring the good stuff.
Perfect. Exactly what I needed—normalcy, recklessness, anything but transplant statistics.
I shot back a thumbs-up, and chose noise over thinking. The next night I walked into Jake’s place with top-shelf under my arm and a smile I didn’t feel.
"There's my boy!" Jake crushed me in a drunk hug. "Thought you'd gone soft on us."
"Never." I held up two bottles of Japanese whiskey.
"That's what I'm talking about!" He dragged me inside where the usual suspects sprawled across his penthouse. "Laila's been asking about you."
She materialized instantly, sliding onto my lap before I'd even settled properly on the couch. "Miss me, baby?"
Her perfume attacked my senses—too sweet, too much. Nothing like Bella's subtle smoked vanilla scent.
"Always," I lied, letting my hand rest on her thigh where everyone could see.
"Get a room," Delaney called out, shuffling cards with practiced efficiency. "Some of us came here to take Ajax's money, not watch him get laid."
"Jealous?" Laila purred, her fingers trailing along my neck.
"Nauseated," Delaney corrected. "Now are we playing or what?"
Jake dropped into his chair, eyes glinting with mischief. "So Ajax, how's your special project going?"
"What project?" Delaney's gaze snapped to me while Laila’s nails dug slightly into my skin.
"Nothing important." I accepted my cards, avoiding Jake's knowing smirk.
"Nothing important?" he laughed. "Dude's been working on melting the ice princess Bella Sinclair. Big money riding on whether he can fuck her before graduation."
"You're still wasting time on that frigid bitch?" Laila's voice sharpened.
"It's a matter of principle." I arranged my cards carefully. "She owes me."
"For what?" Delaney asked. "Being born with better breeding than you?"
"For the gala." The words came out harder than intended. "Four years ago."
"Jesus, you're still on that?" she dealt the next hand. "She pushed you into some champagne. So what?"
"So what?" I slammed my cards down. "My father didn't speak to me for three months. My mother spent every social event apologizing for her 'disappointing son.' My brothers posted the video in our family group chat with crying-laughing emojis."
The room went quiet.
"The board of directors brought it up at my trust fund evaluation," I continued. "Asked if someone who couldn't navigate a simple social gathering could handle family assets. That one push cost me my dignity, my family's respect, and about two million in reduced inheritance."
"Damn," Jake whistled low. "No wonder you want revenge."
"It's not just revenge." I picked up my cards again. "It's justice. She took everything from me with one moment of cruelty. Now I take everything from her."
"How poetic," Delaney said dryly. "And how's that working out? Is she eating out of your hand yet?"
"She's practically writing poetry about me." The lie rolled smooth as whiskey. "Another week and she'll be declaring her love publicly."
"Time's running out," Jake reminded me, checking his phone. "We need maximum impact. Full public destruction."
"She's already cracking." I raised the bet, pushing chips forward. "Another week and she'll be completely mine."
Laila traced patterns on my chest. "And then you'll destroy her?"
"Completely."
"God, that's hot." She pressed closer. "The way you destroy people who cross you…"
Laila latched onto me again, and it pissed me off. The sticky laugh, the possessive hands at my neck, all of it.
If I were going to fuck someone tonight, it sure as hell wouldn’t be her.
"You okay, baby?" Laila's voice pulled me back. "You seem distracted."
"Just thinking about my victory." I pulled her closer for show. "About watching Bella Sinclair finally pay for what she did."
"The bitch deserves it," Laila agreed. "Acting so superior when she's nothing special."
She's dying, my brain supplied unhelpfully. That's pretty fucking special.
"Another round?" Jake shuffled the deck. "Or does Ajax need to go pine over his ice princess?"
"Deal me in." I grabbed the whiskey, drowning the image of Bella's terrified eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."
But as Laila whispered dirty suggestions in my ear and Jake raised the stakes higher, one thought consumed me: Bella had less than five months to live, and I was wasting her time on revenge for something that happened four years ago.
The irony tasted worse than the whiskey.
"You sure you're good?" Delaney studied me across the table. "You look like someone killed your dog."
"I'm perfect." I threw chips into the pot recklessly. "Never better."
"If you say so." She matched my bet. "But just remember, Ajax—sometimes the best revenge is letting go."
"Where's the fun in that?" I forced my trademark grin. "I prefer total annihilation."
The words sounded hollow even to me. But this was who I was—Ajax Spencer, the disappointment, the destroyer, the black sheep in his own family, the bad boy who didn't care about anyone.
Certainly not about dying girls with rare hearts and limited time.
Certainly not about Bella Sinclair.