The golden gates of the Valentine estate hissed shut behind Noah's sleek, midnight-blue sports car. Here, miles away from the prying eyes of St. Jude's Academy, the "poor, ethereal scholarship student" vanished.
Noah stepped into the foyer of a mansion that looked more like a modern museum than a home. The floors were heated Italian marble, and the chandeliers hung like frozen rain from thirty-foot ceilings. A butler reached for his bag, but Noah waved him off with a tired flick of his wrist. He didn't want service; he wanted to vent.
He retreated to his bedroom—a sprawling suite overlooking the dark, rolling hills of the Ontario countryside. Kicking off his shoes, he collapsed onto a velvet chaise lounge and pulled out a secondary phone, one that wasn't registered to his "scholarship" alias.
He dialed a number. It picked up on the first ring.
"Is the swan back in his gilded cage?" a teasing, smooth voice asked. It was Rain, Noah's oldest friend and the only person who knew the full extent of the game Noah was playing.
"He almost did it, Rain," Noah breathed out, staring up at the intricate crown molding. He sounded breathless, his voice still carrying the tremor of the adrenaline from the studio. "Today. In the East Wing. Liam Thorne almost kissed me."
There was a long, stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then, the sound of a glass shattering. "What? The Liam Thorne? The 'I-eat-calculus-for-breakfast' President? The one who looks like he'd rather tackle a brick wall than hold a hand?"
"The very same," Noah said, a slow, triumphant smirk spreading across his lips. "He had me pinned against the mirror. I could feel the heat coming off him in waves. His hand was on my throat, then my hair... his breath was right there, Rain. A millimeter away. I could see the exact moment his mask shattered. I've never seen eyes that dark. He looked... hungry."
"Noah, you're insane," Rain laughed, though there was an edge of genuine shock in his tone. "That man is the straightest arrow in Canada. He's the poster boy for 'Traditional Values.' How did you even get him that close?"
"I pushed," Noah murmured, his eyes glazing over as he remembered the feel of Liam's massive hands. "I used everything. The tight clothes, the 'accidental' touches during the lesson, the teasing. I played the part of the delicate, provocative dancer until he couldn't breathe. I made him see me, Rain. Nothing else—but me."
"And? Did he taste as cold as he looks?"
Noah's expression darkened, a flash of genuine frustration crossing his beautiful features. "He didn't. He ran. At the very last second, just as his lips touched mine, he panicked. He looked at me like I was a demon that had just offered him a deal for his soul. He fled the studio like the building was on fire."
Noah sat up, running a hand through his blonde hair. "I waited for it. I actually closed my eyes and waited for the 'Iron King' to take what he wanted. And he left me standing there alone in the dark. It was... disappointing. And exhilarating."
"Noah, listen to yourself," Rain's voice turned serious. "You're playing a dangerous game. What happens if—no, when—he finds out? You've orchestrated this entire thing. You faked the financial records to get in as a 'scholarship' student. You pulled strings with your father's connections on the Board to 'suggest' the Cultural Exchange program. You've built a trap, and you're using yourself as the bait."
Noah stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at his own reflection. In the dim light, he looked like a prince, not a struggling artist. "He won't find out until it's too late."
"And if he finds out tomorrow?" Rain pressed. "If he realizes his 'rival' is actually the heir to the Valentine fortune? That the boy he's losing his sanity over has been lying to him since day one? Liam Thorne is a man of integrity, Noah. He will loathe you."
"By then," Noah said, his voice dropping to a low, determined silk, "he'll be so madly in love with me that the truth won't matter. He'll be so deep in the rabbit hole that he'll thank me for dragging him down there."
"You're talking about a straight man, Noah! A very, very straight, very rigid athlete," Rain sighed. "Your foolish love for a guy who is programmed to hate everything you represent is going to cost you. You're going to get your heart broken by a man who thinks you're an 'abomination' or a 'distraction.'"
Noah leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. A wicked, confident glint returned to his eyes.
"He thinks he's straight because he's never had a reason to be anything else," Noah whispered. "But I've seen the way he looks at me when he thinks I'm not watching. I've felt the way his heart beats when my hand is on his chest. It's not a heartbeat, Rain—it's a countdown."
Noah turned away from the window, his silhouette regal and imposing in the luxurious room. "I'm not just going to win his heart. I'm going to dismantle him. I'm going to make Liam Thorne so gay for me that he'll forget he ever had a 'Presidential' reputation to protect. He wants to be the Iron King? Fine. I'll be the fire that melts him down."
"You're a monster," Rain said, though there was a hint of admiration in his voice.
"I'm a dancer, Rain," Noah corrected, a cold, beautiful smile on his face. "And I always make sure my partner follows my lead. Whether he wants to or not."
Noah hung up the phone and tossed it onto the silk duvet. He walked over to his vanity and picked up a small, framed photo he had stolen from the school archives. It was Liam, in his rugby kit, mid-shout, covered in mud and glory.
Noah traced the line of Liam's jaw with his thumb.
"Run all you want, Liam," Noah whispered to the empty, opulent room. "But you're already in my net. And I'm never letting you out."