Prim escorted Haley into one of the manor's living rooms. Compared to the chaos outside, the space was quiet and restrained—soft lighting, plush sofas, the faint scent of polished wood and expensive incense lingering in the air. He asked a servant for first aid, then knelt in front of her and began cleaning her wounds with calm, practiced movements.
After a while, Haley let out a small laugh.
"Am I stupid?"
Prim didn't pause. "Why would you think that?"
"Because both times you've seen me,"
Haley said lightly, "I was either beating someone up… or getting beaten up."
She laughed again, only to wince when the movement pulled at the cut on her lip.
Prim finally looked up.
Haley met his gaze—and froze.
His hazel, cat-like eyes were quietly absorbing, the kind that pulled you in without effort.
She had seen handsome men before. Mike, for example—perfect, polished, the type that made girls blush just by existing. But Prim was different.
His beauty was lazy, addictive, the kind that made you feel strangely at ease, like you could get lost in it without realizing. A beauty that didn't belong to any single category—someone who could rival both girls and boys effortlessly.
"I wouldn't call you stupid," Prim said evenly.
"Not fighting back can mean many things."
He continued cleaning her wound as he spoke.
"You could be weak. Or afraid of the backlash. Or doubting yourself. Or maybe you know exactly how much chaos you'd cause if you let the beast out."
He paused briefly.
"Or you're pretending to be someone you're not… because you don't want to get on the u like person's you like bad side."
Haley stiffened.
"It's a complicated situation," Prim added lightly, then fell silent and focused on his work.
The room grew quiet.
When he finished, Prim stood, returned the kit to the servant, then came back to her.
"All done. Try to stay out of trouble this time. Go home and treat the rashes properly—they should disappear in a day."
He turned to leave.
Haley suddenly grabbed his hand, her eyes unfocused.
"Don't leave."
Prim raised an eyebrow.
Wow, he thought dryly. Is she talking to someone else through me?
He looked her over once—she really was beautiful, he had to admit. Definitely hotter than most of his exes. With a quiet sigh, he squatted in front of her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Instead of answering, Haley leaned forward and hugged his neck, breaking down into sobs.
Prim hesitated for a second, then gently rubbed her hair.
"Hey," he said softly. "Are you okay?"
Haley looked up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her body trembling against his. Tears spilled freely, hot and unrestrained. "Are you okay?" Prim asked softly, his voice low but steady as he let his fingers brush through her hair, smoothing it back with casual ease.
"Why don't you love me… is it because of her? I love you so much! Why do you keep stringing me along anytime I want to leave?" Haley sobbed into his shoulder, her grip tightening.
Prim's lips twitched in a subtle, almost invisible smirk, and he muttered under his breath, Right now, I'm emotional support, perfect.
He stepped back, letting the tension linger like a faint, teasing scent in the air. Haley's eyes followed him, pouting, her tears glinting in the soft glow of the chandeliers above.
Prim reached for a crystal-clear glass on the nearby mahogany table. He poured water from the ornate jar into the cup, but instead of handing it to her, he tilted it into his hand and flicked it in her face. Water splashed across her cheeks, cold and startling.
"Are you up now?" he asked, his tone lazy and teasing, like someone who could've cared but didn't need to prove it.
Haley coughed, wiping her face, a blush creeping over her skin. "Did I just do that?" she asked, embarrassment tingeing her voice.
"No," Prim said smoothly, tilting his head as he leaned casually against the armrest of the velvet couch, "you were dreaming. And we're still in your dreams.
Of course you did that. Saying such emotional stuff to me… is it the Mike that blonde hair was calling?"
Haley sank onto the couch, curling her hands in her lap, and ran her fingers through her hair. "Blonde?" she asked, confusion wrinkling her brow.
"You know… blonde. The one that fell down in the sorry hall and broke her already badly structured nose," Prim said, his hazel eyes glinting like a lazy cat's, amused but sharp, sizing her up without really looking.
Haley let out a mocking tone, rolling her eyes. "I never knew you were sarcastic… and mean too." She smirked knowingly.
"Oh, sweetie," Prim said, leaning slightly forward with a wink, "I can be mean and sweet if you want." His grin was easy, unbothered, almost like sunlight spilling lazily over polished marble, but there was a faint edge—just enough to hint that he could bite if provoked.
Haley's lips quirked upward. "Hmm… indeed, Mike is her cousin," she said, as if weighing the ridiculousness of it.
Prim leaned back, arms draped casually over the couch, as though gravity didn't touch him. "Wow… you must be a masochist to digest that, knowing the girl you like has a witch for a cousin. An ugly witch, at that," he added, his voice playful, dripping with sarcasm and charm all at once.
Haley laughed, the sound warm and spontaneous, bouncing lightly off the walls decorated with ancestral portraits and plush furniture that smelled faintly of polished wood and expensive leather.
The flickering light from the chandeliers danced across the room, casting small golden glints on her hair as she wiped the remnants of water from her face, and Prim watched her, perfectly still and impossibly relaxed, like the calm center of a storm he chose to stand in.
"Why do you hate her?" Haley asked softly.
Her eyes were still a little unfocused, lashes damp, but her breathing had evened out. The tension that had been coiled in her shoulders earlier had finally loosened, leaving her slumped comfortably against the couch cushions.
"I don't hate her. I'm just being honest," Prim replied, tone unhurried. He leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the couch as if the conversation required no effort from him at all.
In truth, he had never liked her—not from their first meeting. And especially not when his twin, Ava, hated her guts. It was one of those unspoken twin things. If one of them felt repelled by someone's presence, the other instinctively followed. No logic, no discussion. Just a quiet, shared dislike that settled in their bones and refused to leave.
"Well… she can be a bitch sometimes," Haley admitted, her voice low, almost embarrassed.
"I seriously want to stab her at times. But she's the cousin of the guy I like." She sighed, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.
"And we girls… we can tolerate anything for the guy we like. I don't want to cause problems. All girls fear being the problem."
Prim listened without interrupting, his gaze drifting briefly to the chandelier above them as if he were watching her words float upward and rearrange themselves.
"I see," he said after a moment. "That's actually sweet. Being willing to sacrifice so much for someone you like." His lips curved faintly.
"It shows how girls try to become the solution to problems they didn't even cause—just so they can be happy with the one they love."
As he spoke, his thoughts wandered—uninvited but familiar.
Emily, his mother, who had never once tried to be the solution and instead chose to be the problem, the drama, and the storm all at once.
Even now in the past , as a young adult, she'd been chaos wrapped in elegance.
Ava, his twin, who would rather burn the world down than swallow even the tiniest grievance.
Daisy, the drama queen, who would absolutely light the match herself and then complain about the smoke.
And Aria—sharp-tongued, relentless, never losing an argument even when she was undeniably at fault.
Prim let out a soft chuckle before he could stop himself.
"Well," he added lightly to himself, "those women don't take trash very well."
Haley lifted a hand, threading her fingers through her hair as she leaned a little closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm. "So desperate for love that I get attracted to red flags," she said with a small giggle. "I'm color‑blind."
Prim raised an eyebrow, turning his head just enough to look at her properly now. "Are you drunk?" he asked calmly. "That can't be right—you were normal a minute ago."
Then his gaze dropped.
Her neck.
The rashes—those angry, irritated marks—were gone.
Completely gone.
Prim's expression didn't change much, but something in his eyes sharpened, boredom slipping away just enough to make room for interest. He frowned slightly.
That's fast, he thought. The kind of fast that didn't make sense. The kind that didn't sit right.
He straightened just a fraction, attention fully back on her now, the lazy air around him thinning.
"You are so hot," Haley whispered, leaning closer, almost on top of him.
Prim looked at her, his hazel eyes tracing every detail—the faint redness on her face and neck, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes seemed alive but slightly glassy.
She wasn't drunk, he realized, and that made his chest tighten with alertness.
Wait… something's wrong.
The events of the party flashed in his mind—the white powder container, the itching rashes on Emily, Haley getting blamed, the way Yellow Hair and his friends had smirked like little devils. His brow furrowed lazily, though his brain was running a hundred miles an hour.
The powder… it wasn't just itching powder. It's an aphrodisiac.
Prim's lips pressed into a thin line as he connected the dots. The rashes on Emily were just a distraction, a cover.
The real effect—what would make someone act without their full will, believe their own impulses were their choice—that was the dangerous part. Haley had been made to look like the culprit, a convenient scapegoat. If anyone investigated, they'd assume she had done it.
But Emily… Emily was the target. And if the guy Haley liked also had feelings for Emily… the plan could go horribly wrong.
Prim's lazy, amused exterior hardened into sharp calculation.
Every movement from the party—the spilled drink, the laughing crowds, the subtle distractions—fell into place. He had seconds to act.
Haley, still leaning on him, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. That snapped him back into motion.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, cursing the situation and the incompetence of the schemers. His hand shot for his phone, dialing Ava immediately, but then he cut the call. Too slow, too messy—he needed direct action.
His other hand brushed over Haley's trembling, guiding her gently but firmly toward Ava as she appeared in the doorway.
Haley stumbled slightly into Ava's arms, dazed, her gaze flickering between Prim and the sudden reality around her.
"Where are you going? What the fuck, Prim?!" Ava's voice sliced through the otherwise quiet hall. She caught Haley with ease, steadying her, eyes narrowing at Prim, who was already run away.
Emily looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.
The rashes on her neck had faded, barely visible now, but the uneasiness in her chest only grew heavier. Her body felt wrong—too warm, too sensitive. Every instinct screamed danger.
She stepped out of the bathroom.
The bedroom door was open.
Yellow Hair and his friends were already inside.
"Sister Emily, you're here," Yellow Hair said with a sigh, his tone deliberately gentle, almost concerned. "Everyone has been looking for you. Mike wants to apologize for what Haley did. Honestly, how could she do something like that? That girl is so damn jealous."
Emily looked at him
.
Then she laughed.
The sound was light, almost amused.
"Did you drug me?" she asked.
Her voice was calm, settled—like she already knew the answer.
Yellow Hair froze for half a second before scoffing, scratching the back of his head. "Drug you? What are you talking about? Why would we drug you? I'm not stupid. What would I gain from that? Fight Mike over a girl?" He laughed awkwardly. "I'm not that dumb."
"You are," Emily said flatly.
She took a step forward, but her body betrayed her—heat surged through her veins, her limbs turning weak.
"Afraid of Mike, but not of me," she continued, eyes sharp despite the haze creeping in. "Using me to gain points for him… do you really think I'm that dumb?"
Her lips curled
.
"You're not even worthy of being a chess piece. Just a lackey."
Yellow Hair's expression darkened. The fake politeness shattered.
"Tsk. Being smart is so annoying," he mocked. "How are you supposed to attract guys if you're this smart?"
Emily laughed again, soft and mocking, her gaze dripping with disdain. "You think everyone is as empty‑headed as you? Just because you have Mike backing you? Without him, you're nothing."
Yellow Hair snapped.
He pointed at her, face twisted with rage.
"You fucking bitch—ahhh, fuck!"
He lunged forward.
A hand grabbed his arm.
"Chill," one of his friends said quickly. "Don't forget the main goal. Get her to Mike's bed. The drug will do the rest. She won't even remember this part. Let her keep ranting."
Emily's fingers tightened around the doorframe, her body trembling as the heat spread further, her strength slipping away.
"Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap."
The slow applause echoed in the room.
"Bullying a girl now? Are we?" Nathan said lazily, leaning against the doorway, his posture relaxed, eyes cold.
Yellow Hair's face twisted. "Damn it, it's this loser." He spat to the side. "Take care of him. I'll take her with me."
He reached for Emily.
She moved before his fingers touched her.
Her knee slammed up into his groin.
The sound was sharp.
Yellow Hair screamed as pain exploded through him. Before he could even bend properly, Emily swung again—her foot connecting with his face. Teeth and blood sprayed as he crashed backward.
Emily turned and ran.
One of the boys lunged after her and grabbed her arm—
Only to be kicked squarely in the chest by Nathan, the impact knocking the air out of him as he slammed into the wall.
Emily didn't look back.
She took the opening and fled down the corridor.
Two of the boys cursed and chased after her.
The remaining five stayed behind.
Yellow Hair staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth, rage burning in his eyes. "Fuck—! I'm going to kill her!"
"So loud," Nathan said calmly, lifting a hand to clean his ear, expression bored. "All that noise from a soon‑to‑be dead pig.
Annoying."
"You trying to play the hero, you damn fucker?" one of the guys snarled.
The rest cracked their knuckles, spreading out.
"Beat him."
"Break his head."
"Anything—if he dies, Mike will be pleased."
Yellow Hair wiped the blood from his lips, eyes vicious. "As for that bitch—she'll pay."
Nathan straightened slightly, a slow grin forming.
"Hm," he said. "I've wanted to beat your ass for a while now. Looks like I finally have an excuse."
He tilted his head.
"Come here, doggy."