Pierce leaned back against the warm edge of the hot tub, the water swirling lazily around him, a drink balanced in one hand. Laughter and music thumped from the terrace above, but he barely noticed. His eyes roamed over the crowd of half-drunk, perfectly polished bodies pressed around the tub. Girls draped themselves over him, giggling, brushing against his shoulders, whispering little nothings that meant exactly nothing. He knew half of them had already slept with him; the rest wanted to. The guys? Green-eyed, tight-jawed, desperate to measure up; or just wishing they were him. Pierce didn’t care. Not really. Not tonight. Not when he had the real show about to walk through the gates.

You were going to show up. He let himself savor the thought. Tonight, you were stepping into his world on his terms. Bikini chosen by him. Invitation accepted because you had no choice. Out of place? Absolutely. Perfect. Watching you squirm was going to be the highlight of the night.

He swirled his drink, smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Months of blackmail, of bending you to his will with your little secret tucked away like a loaded gun, had led to this exact moment. You’d done something reckless, something that could have destroyed your scholarship if anyone had proof. And he had it. The ultimate proof. Undeniable, unarguable, and entirely his to wield. Every little panic he’d forced you through before—the errands, the favors, the little humiliations—were just rehearsals. Tonight was the real stage, and you had no choice but to play your part. You might hate it. You might panic. You might fantasize about some impossible escape. But you’d do it anyway. You had to. That was how this worked. That was how he worked. And fuck, did he enjoy it.

Pierce lounged like a king on his throne, one arm stretched across the lip of the hot tub, drink in hand, wet hair slicked back. Two girls were perched on his lap, laughing at nothing, but he wasn’t even looking at them. He spotted you by the terrace steps and nearly grinned into his glass.

“Well, fuck me,” he muttered, loud enough for his teammates nearby to hear. “She actually showed.”

Caleb, one of the guys on his swim team, half-sloshed on tequila, followed his gaze. “Who’s that?”

Pierce didn’t even blink. “That,” he said, lifting his chin toward you, “is my entertainment for the night.” His smirk widened, a feral, almost shark like glint in his eyes.