POV Ajax
The laughter burned through my throat like acid, but I couldn't stop. Not with everyone watching. Not with Jake pounding my back and Laila's nails digging victory into my arm.
Then Bella’s eyes found mine across the water, and something twisted in my chest.
She looked shattered. Not the polished, untouchable old money princess of Ashford Academy, but something raw and wounded. The chlorine-soaked girl treading water was the same one from Whitmore Prep—the one who used to make my chest tight every time she walked past.
The laughter stuck in my throat.
“Here,” I heard myself say, stepping to the pool’s edge. “Let me help you out.”
Her face transformed with relief, and guilt hit me like a sledgehammer. But then Jake’s voice cut through: “What are you doing, man?” and I felt everyone’s eyes on me, waiting.
I extended my hand. She reached up, trusting, her fingers cold and desperate against mine. For a split second, I could have pulled her out. Should have.
Instead, I hauled her halfway up and let go.
She crashed back with an enormous splash, and the crowd lost their minds. The laughter was deafening now, but all I could see was the shock on her face when she surfaced, the betrayal bleeding through her composure.
Jake was howling with laughter, slapping my shoulder like I was some kind of hero.
"God, that never gets old," Jake wheezed beside me. "The brat finally got what she deserved."
But watching Bella treading water again, looking at me like I’d just ripped her heart out, I was seventeen again. Standing by that damned champagne tower with my heart hammering against my ribs.
Four years, and I could still feel the crystal shards cutting through my tux. The champagne burning my eyes and humiliation scorching deeper than any physical wound.
Months of sketching her profile in my notebook margins, memorizing how she tucked her hair behind her ear during classes, how she bites her lower lip when thinking. Fucking practicing what I'd say when I finally got my chance to speak to her.
The Sinclair Foundation Gala was supposed to be perfect—my grand gesture, my moment. Instead, she'd shoved me like I was contaminated. Like I was nothing.
"Ajax, baby, you're missing the show," Laila purred, but her voice barely registered.
Bella was climbing out of the pool, water streaming down her body. The ruined dress clung to every curve, transparent in the landscape lights. Beautiful and destroyed—exactly how she'd left me four years ago.
She walked straight toward me. No hesitation. No fear. Just pure, focused fury.
The slap cracked across my face like lightning.
"When are you going to get tired of being a pathetic asshole, Ajax?" Her voice cut through the stunned silence. "Or is being a bastard just your natural state now?"
Pathetic.
The word detonated in my chest. My father's favorite accusation, delivered over crystal tumblers of whiskey. "You're pathetic, Ajax. A disappointment. A waste of the Spencer name."
"Did you just fucking…" I started, my hand going to my burning cheek.
"Hit you? Yes." Bella stood there dripping, mascara streaking down her face like war paint. "And I'd do it again. You're nothing but a coward hiding behind your leather jacket and your little gang of sycophants."
"That's rich, coming from someone who literally pushed me into a champagne tower," I shot back, the old wound ripping open. "At least I don't pretend to be perfect while destroying people."
"I was seventeen!" she spat. "You've been torturing me for four years because of one stupid moment when we were kids?"
"One stupid moment?" I stepped closer, ignoring the crowd pressing in. “You humiliated me in front of everyone who mattered. Dozens of phones, Sinclair. Dozens of videos of Ajax Spencer face-first in champagne and glass.”
“Humiliated?” Her laugh was bitter. “You were coming to mock me, Spencer, to pull some cruel prank like you always did to people like me.”
“People like you?” I snarled. “You mean spoiled little brat who think they can do whatever they want without consequences?”
“At least I’m not a sadistic asshole who gets off on tormenting people!” she fired back, her voice cracking with fury.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to play games with me,” I said coldly.
Something fierce flickering in her eyes as she opened her mouth, ready to continue arguing, but Camila was already pulling her away.
"Come on, Bella. You don't need this." Camila shot me a look that could've stripped paint. "Haven't you done enough damage, Spencer?"
They disappeared into the house, leaving me standing there with my cheek burning and my chest hollow.
"Holy shit," Jake laughed, slapping my shoulder. "That was foreplay if I've ever seen it. She wants you bad."
"She's nothing but a frigid bitch without a leash," Laila said, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "You should teach her a real lesson, baby. Show her what happens when she puts her hands on you."
"Actually," Jake's eyes lit up with that dangerous gleam I recognized too well. "I've got a better idea. You want to really get back at her? Make it interesting?"
"What are you thinking?" I asked, though I already knew. Jake's ideas always involved someone getting hurt.
"A bet." He grinned like a shark scenting blood. "You've got until graduation—what, three months? Seduce the Sinclair’s princess. Make her fall for you. Really fall. Then drop her in front of everyone."
"That's brilliant," Laila breathed, her excitement palpable. "Can you imagine? Perfect Bella Sinclair, destroyed by the bad boy she claims to hate?"
"How much?" I heard myself asking.
"Five grand says you can't do it," Jake pulled out his phone, already texting the others. "Fuck her, make her beg for you. Then walk away."
"You're on," I said, the words tasting like ash.
But even as Jake whooped, even as Laila pressed victory kisses to my neck, I couldn't forget the look in Bella's eyes. That moment of raw hurt before the anger took over.
She'd said I was pathetic. Just like my father. Just like my brothers with their perfect GPAs and their corner offices.
Ajax the disappointment. Ajax the failure. Ajax the family embarrassment who'd never amount to anything.
Well, maybe they were right. Maybe I was exactly what everyone said—a bastard, a waste, a cruel joke in expensive leather.
But if that's what I was, then I might as well be the best at it.
"This is going to be epic," Jake crowed, already half-drunk on anticipation. "The untouchable good girl and the bad boy. It's like a movie."
"Better," I said, forcing a smile that felt like breaking glass. "It's revenge."
I downed the rest of my drink, letting the burn wash away the memory of Bella in that pool. Of Bella at seventeen, always just out of reach. Of the boy who used to draw her smile in the margins of his soul.
That boy was dead. Had been since the moment she pushed him into that champagne tower.
What was left was exactly what she'd called me—a pathetic asshole.
Might as well live up to the reputation.