The lock clicking into place in Jace's dorm room sounded like a gunshot to Ren's ears—the final, lethal blow to his old life. Outside those four walls, the Laurent name was being dragged through the mud, the Dean was likely drafting a suspension letter, and his father was probably calling every lawyer in the state.
But inside? Inside, there was only the smell of Jace's skin—rain, salt, and a dark, heavy musk that made Ren's head spin.
Jace didn't let him go. He kept his hands locked on Ren's waist, backing him up until Ren's calves hit the edge of the small, unmade twin bed. The room was bathed in the bruised purple light of the setting sun, casting long, jagged shadows across Jace's face, making him look like a beautiful, vengeful god.
"You're shaking, Princess," Jace whispered, his voice a low, vibrating growl that Ren felt in his very marrow.
"I'm not… I'm not scared," Ren gasped, though his breath was coming in short, shallow bursts.
"I know you're not." Jace leaned in, his nose brushing against Ren's. "You're hungry. You've been starving for this since the second I sat at your table. You've been waiting for someone to finally take the choice out of your hands."
Jace's hands moved, fingers hooking into the waistband of Ren's tailored trousers. He didn't pull them down—not yet. He just stood there, the heat from his body radiating into Ren's, a silent promise of the ruin to come.
Ren reached up, his fingers frantic as they searched for the hem of Jace's black tank top. He needed to touch him. He needed to know that this was real, that he hadn't just hallucinated the most terrifying afternoon of his life. When his skin finally met the hard, sweat-slicked muscle of Jace's stomach, Ren let out a broken sound—a sob that turned into a moan.
"Please," Ren begged, his eyes fluttering shut. "Jace, I can't… I can't think anymore. Just make it stop. Make the world go away."
"I told you," Jace murmured, his mouth hovering just an inch from Ren's. "I'm the only world you have now."
Jace hauled the tank top over his head and tossed it somewhere into the shadows. He looked lethal—shoulders broad, muscles corded, the scar on his bicep standing out in the dim light. He pushed Ren back onto the mattress, the springs groaning under the weight.
What followed wasn't a "first time" found in a romance novel. It was a collision. It was the sound of a cello string snapping under too much tension.
Jace was everywhere. His mouth was a fever, his hands were a demand. He stripped Ren with a frantic, obsessive energy, his eyes never leaving Ren's face as he watched the "Golden Boy" unravel. When Ren was finally bare beneath him, the marks from the previous night stood out like constellations against his pale skin—vivid, dark, and undeniable.
"Look at you," Jace breathed, his voice wrecked. He traced the bite mark on Ren's neck with his tongue, a slow, agonizingly hot gesture that made Ren's hips arch off the bed. "You look like a masterpiece I've finally finished."
Ren's hands dug into Jace's hair, pulling him down, his legs tangling with Jace's. He wanted the weight. He wanted the pressure. He wanted to feel every inch of the boy who had destroyed his life.
When Jace finally moved to bridge the final gap between them, Ren's head fell back against the pillow, his eyes rolling back as a high, thin cry escaped his lips. It wasn't just physical. It was the feeling of every wall he'd ever built—the practicing, the etiquette, the silence—finally crumbling into dust.
Jace froze for a second, his muscles locked, his breath hitching as he looked down at Ren. For the first time, the obsession in his eyes was replaced by something raw and terrifyingly close to devotion.
"I have you," Jace whispered, his voice breaking. "I have you, Ren. No one else gets a piece. Not the Dean. Not your father. Just me."
"Just you," Ren echoed, his voice a ghost of itself. "Always you."
The rhythm that followed was primal—a drumbeat that drowned out the rest of the world. Jace moved with a slow, torturous precision at first, wanting to savor the way Ren's body reacted to every touch. He watched the way Ren's chest heaved, the way his fingers curled into the sheets, the way his mouth hung open as he chased a breath he couldn't quite catch.
But as the heat climbed, the control snapped. Jace's movements became faster, harder, a driving staccato that mirrored the way he played his drums. Ren was a symphony of sounds he'd never made before—sharp gasps, guttural moans, and the frantic repetition of Jace's name.
It was a ritual of ruin. Jace bit into Ren's shoulder again, leaving a fresh mark over the old one, his fingers bruising Ren's hips as he pulled him closer, wanting to be so deep inside Ren's world that he could never be extracted.
When the end finally came, it was like a blackout. Ren's entire body went rigid, his fingers clawing at Jace's back as he felt his soul shatter into a million bright, burning pieces. Jace collapsed against him a second later, his forehead resting against Ren's damp neck, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against Ren's ribs.
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with the scent of their combined heat.
Ren lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, his body feeling like it was made of lead and light. He was ruined. He was disgraced. He was a Laurent who had lost everything.
And yet, as Jace pulled the thin blanket over both of them and tucked Ren's head under his chin, Ren realized he had never felt more like himself.
"Ren?" Jace whispered into the dark.
"Yeah?"
"I'm not letting them take you. Tomorrow… things are going to get ugly. Your father isn't the type to just let a 'legacy' walk away." Jace's grip tightened, his arm like a warm iron bar across Ren's chest. "But I have the recordings. From the basement."
Ren shifted, looking up at him. "The recordings?"
"I record every session," Jace said, a dark glint in his eyes. "Including the one where your father walked in today. I had my phone hidden by the snare. I have him on tape, Ren. The way he grabbed you. The things he said."
Ren felt a cold shiver go down his spine. The "Art of Losing" was over. The war was just beginning.