Wicked Heartbreaker: A Dark College Bully Romance (Westforde College Book 1)

by Serena Lyons

  “Yeah, of course… sorry about…” Ashley stammers.

  “It’s fine,” I say even though it’s not, but I can’t make enemies of the entire class. “Just remember, I’m a fresher too, I’d rather people got to know me properly, rather than believing silly rumours. Now please excuse me, I’m late meeting my tutor.”

  I stride away before they can respond, weaving through a stone-lined passageway to the correct quad. Out of the corner of my eye, swivelling heads trace my progress and I try not to react to them. Maybe a bright blue ombre wasn’t my smartest choice of hairstyle. There’s absolutely no blending in. Yesterday that seemed like a good thing, today I wish I’d brought a hat.

  This quad is older, from the early thirteen-hundreds according to my tour yesterday, and it’s stunningly beautiful. Dark vines creep over buttery stone walls and the grass is as pristine as a court on the first day of Wimbledon. I duck into a dark staircase and find my tutor’s room.

  All the eyes in the room jump straight to me as I rush in. I scan once, then twice for the tutor. It must be the glamorous woman sitting behind the largest desk. She only looks a few years older than us, not the middle-aged matron I expected for a distinguished professor with a string of papers and awards behind her name.

  “You must be Faith?” I expect judgement about my being late, but she has a kind smile on her face.

  “Yes, sorry…” I force myself not to add any details. A grovelling people-pleaser isn’t the persona I need to create at Westforde College. Never apologise, never explain. I smile broadly and pick my way to the only empty seat, a threadbare armchair in the corner.

  “Welcome to PPE, we’ve just finished introductions. You can catch up later.” She smiles, but I hear a warning in her steely tone; this isn’t a class where allowances will be made. “Personally, I think you’ve chosen the best course this university has to offer, although I dare say I’m more than a little biased. That said there must be a reason that this course’s alumni include more Prime Ministers and MPs than any other degree, more than most other universities in fact. The breadth of thought and analysis is unparalleled.”

  My insides flip-flop between unstoppable pride at her words—I got in!—to scathing embarrassment at the smugness of it all, there’s nothing worse than privileged people congratulating each other about privileges that are more down to accidents of birth than aptitude.

  I glance at the other students, there’s six of us in the room. Four of them are nodding, reminding me of the braying politicians Professor Headley is implying we should strive to become, but in the corner, the fifth guy shrinks into his chair, an awkward tic making his cheek shake. I catch his eye, then roll my own. He stifles a quick grin. I need to learn his name.

  Professor Headley continues like a motivational speaker, “This means you’ll need to work hard, harder—”

  The door behind my head creaks and she stops talking.

  “Ah, here he is, our third-year teaching assistant.” Professor Headley smiles warmly.

  The pretty brunette sitting closest to the teacher fluffs her hair and quickly lifts her mouth into a tentative, flirtatious smile.

  I spin around and my heart stops.

  Fuck my life. Callum’s already familiar blue eyes pierce my soul, then his gaze moves around the room as if I’m not worth looking at, as if I’m no more interesting than the chair I’m sitting on. As if he wasn’t licking my pussy last night. My cheeks heat up from the illicit memory. I squirm as my pulse accelerates.

  “Callum, perfect timing,” Professor Headley simpers with the same fawning expression as the pretty brunette.

  I want to roll my eyes.

  “Meet our newest comrades. Eloise,” she nods towards the brunette.

  “Enchanted,” Callum smiles and lets his gaze drift down her body, causing Eloise to swoon visibly.

  Pathetic.

  “Samir,” the Professor indicates the guy I exchanged wry glances with before.

  “Nice to meet you.” Callum nods.

  “Faith,” she says my name and I smile, exactly like I would if I’d never met Callum before. “She’s one of our scholarship contenders.”

  “You,” he says, no longer friendly and like he hadn’t noticed I was in the room until Professor Headley introduced me. “Faith, hope and charity.” His accent is posher than ever, pure cut-glass. “So, you’re our charity case? That explains your behaviour yesterday…” He lets his words hang in the air, giving the impression that whatever I ‘did’ is too appalling to articulate.

  My cheeks burn red, this will be all over college in a matter of hours. Eloise is already fishing in her bag for her mobile.

  “Callum!” Professor Headley’s voice is sharp.

  “Sorry, Miranda,”—Of course he’s on first-name terms with her—“I didn’t mean to sound rude. Faith and I already know each other quite well. Intimately, you might say.”

  Her eyes narrow, ricocheting from Callum to me and back again. “Let’s just finish the introductions, shall we?” Professor Headley’s words wash over me.

  I stare at Callum, but he manages to continue firmly looking in the opposite direction. Why was he so cruel?

  Eloise’s phone vibrates, she looks down at it, then smirks at me, quickly tapping a reply. Something heavy and uncomfortable settles on my chest. I hate this.

  So much for easing into college life and positioning myself as one of the elite. Callum might as well have branded me with a scarlet letter.

  6: Faith

  The rest of the session is formulaic, but I can barely concentrate. What happened to the charming—and somewhat overconfident—Callum Carter-Wright that I met last night? Where did that cruel barb come from?

  The caustic ease that he embarrassed me with was so different from the smart, fun guy I bantered with. The one who made me feel things I’d never even dreamed of.

  Then it hits me: this is exactly what Millie was talking about. The hot and cold. This is exactly how he broke her down.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked through gasps as I snuck into Millie’s room.

  I ran all the way from the village when I got her call; pitiful sobs, the noises of a distraught girl falling apart. I left my cereal getting soggy in the bowl, pulled on battered trainers and sprinted the quick way, through the wheat fields due to be harvested in a few short weeks.

  I had to slow down when I got to the manor house though, if Millie’s mother spotted me, I’d be thrown out with a threat to call the police. Luckily, we learnt all the back routes after a lifetime of sneaking around together. And their mansion was large enough that there were plenty of back staircases and hiding spots.

  Millie was slumped on the floor, her head hanging between her knees.

  “Sweetie, what’s wrong?” I knelt beside her and stroked the top of her hand. I’m not even sure she heard me come in.

  She shook under my touch like a frightened rescue animal. Her shoulders slowly straightened, and her face came into view. Her eyes were ravaged; red, bloodshot, overflowing with pain.

  I gasped. Had someone died?

  “He… he doesn’t love me.” The words seemed to take everything out of her. She broke down into another set of body-shaking sobs.

  “Callum?” I tried to keep my scathing judgement out of my voice. I don’t think it worked, but Millie was too far gone to notice. She had morphed into a different person since they started dating two months earlier; unsure of herself, weak, pathetic. I couldn’t understand why he had such a hold over her. Sure, he was cute and rock royalty, but Millie was damn awesome herself. “What happened?”

  “He… he was supposed to be coming this weekend, we haven’t seen each other in two weeks because of that stupid trip to Italy.”

  I tried not to be jealous of the way she spat out ‘Italy’. I’ve never left the country, I’d love to be taken to the Amalfi Coast and allowed to swim in the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean.

  “And he’s not coming anymore?” I guessed.

&nb
sp; “No! Apparently, there’s some amazing underground rave going on that he can’t bear to miss. Although my missing it doesn’t seem to be a problem.”

  “He’s an idiot.” I pulled her into my arms. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  “You’re wrong.” Millie pulled back from me, her blue eyes blazing with frustration. “I’m the one who’s not good enough for him.”

  “Faith, can you stay behind a moment?” Professor Headley’s clipped voice brings me back to the present.

  I nod, shaking off the memories. If I’d been firmer with Millie that day, perhaps she’d still be here.

  Callum stomps out of the room without glancing my way while the other students file out, not disguising their curious stares at me. Elise practically sniggers, then rushes to catch up to Callum. She strokes his arm before they disappear out of sight, and I try not to notice the swell of jealousy that grips my chest. Samir gives me a tight smile.

  Professor Headley unfurls herself from behind the desk and sashays across the room to sit down on the double sofa next to my armchair. With her blunt fringe and tight leather trousers she’s not at all what I imagined my university tutor to be; half the class is bound to have a huge crush on her, male and female. Maybe that’s why Callum is the teaching assistant—it’s not like he needs the money.

  She tucks her slim legs under herself and turns to face me, “So there are two things I want to talk to you about. First of all, I saw that you’d requested additional financial aid and the highest level of scholarship?”

  I nod briskly. I still can’t believe she brought this up in front of everyone, in front of Callum, earlier.

  “Well, I can’t promise anything, but your entrance essay was of such a high calibre that I’m confident we can submit it to the university prize competition.”

  “Really?” My voice squeaks as hope bubbles in my chest.

  “I’d recommend a few small edits, but I’ll follow up with those later in the week. The competition has a cash prize, and it will greatly help with your college scholarship application. Of course, you’re already in a splendid position for that, with your grandma bringing you up, and your low family income.”

  My hands curl into fists. “What can I say, I’ve been planning the perfect hardship case all my life.”

  “Touche.” She pinkens and coughs. “The, er, second issue is a little more delicate.”

  More delicate? Christ, she’s already insulted my family.

  “I noticed a little bit of—how do I put it?—tension between yourself and Callum Carter-Wright…” She leans in as she says this, her eyes fixing on me, as if she’s waiting for me to answer something that wasn’t actually a question.

  “Really?” I square my shoulders and raise an eyebrow, hoping I look more nonchalant than I feel. “I only—” I hastily stop myself from saying met him, “Arrived here yesterday.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were prepared, most of our freshers have friends in the upper classes, but I know you’re the first person to come here from your school…” She clears her throat. “Well, what I’m trying to say is that Callum Carter-Wright is very much the ‘leader of the pack’ in Westforde.” She makes quote marks in the air as she says leader of the pack, and a sick sensation that has nothing to do with my mild hangover grows in my stomach. “Try not to get on the wrong side of him.” She smiles, like she’s doing me a favour and my sickness ignites into anger.

  “Are you really telling me your teaching assistant is a bully and advising me not to do anything to annoy him? What the hell? Have we gone back in time?”

  Her face falls, like I just said I agreed with eugenics “He’s not a bully, quite the opposite, it’s just college life can be very cliquey and Callum’s opinions hold great sway. I was trying to give you a bit of friendly advice.” She straightens her shoulders, pulling away from me and I realise my mistake.

  “Of course, I really appreciate it,” I lie, thinking of the scholarship that I can’t get without her. “This is all so different from my Sixth Form, it’s making me anxious. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  “I know it’s a cliché, but you remind me of myself when I came down to college.” She leans back and smiles into the distance. “I also came from a school with no history of sending people here.”

  “Really?” I fake excitement.

  “Yes, and it’s a whole different set of rules in a crowd like this. I wish someone had let me know, it can be quite lonely otherwise.” Her face drops and I wonder if I should leave. Just as I’m about to stand up she starts speaking again. “I’ve had a brainwave, I’ll get Callum to help you with the essay changes, give you an opportunity to smooth things over. I prefer there be no tension in my classroom.” She stands up and goes back to her desk.

  I force my lips into a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Sounds great.”

  Just what I need, more time with King Callum the Cruel. At least I’ll be able to look for more evidence if we’re working on this essay together.

  7: Faith

  After I escape Professor Headley, I finally shower King Callum off me, then cat nap for an hour. I have to be fresh for this afternoon; campus cheerleading trials start at two.

  Thank God Callum mentioned the cheerleading squad. I googled it when I got in last night, too disturbed by his touch to sleep, and discovered the heats were on this afternoon.

  I didn’t bring any of my cheerleading outfits, so I dress in simple grey leggings and a sports vest. I throw my leather jacket over the top of it to make myself decent for lunch and head to our college lunch hall. It should only take me twenty minutes to get to the university sports centre after food, but I set off to get to lunch as soon as it’s served at noon. I don’t want to arrive to the trials late and flustered.

  Lunch means going to Westforde’s dining hall. The freshers committee made it clear it’s one of the main social events of the day here, and, more crucially, I can’t afford to eat anywhere else. I join the back of the queue on the wide, curved stone staircase, one of the few people standing alone. How does everyone else already have friends they’re travelling to lunch with when we only arrived a few days ago?

  I turn around to face the three girls chatting behind me, planning to join their conversation, but they look in the other direction as I move, so I’d have to physically tap on their shoulders to get their attention. Just a coincidence, they’re not blocking me out. I don’t believe myself.

  No one speaks to me until I get to the food counter.

  “Leek and potato soup, please.”

  “Coming up, love.” The server gives me the warmest smile I’ve received all day and I feel marginally lighter.

  Food collected, I go through to the eating area. The dining hall is like the one in Harry Potter—minus the enchanted ceiling and magical creatures—four long, wooden tables with benches on either side dominate the room and are packed with students.

  Ugh, I’m going to have to sit with someone, there are no quiet sections. I let my eyes run from table to table trying to find the best spot. People seem to be avoiding my eyes, no friendly smiles or welcoming gestures. My tray gets heavy in my arms and I wish I wasn’t wearing such tight leggings. Is everyone looking at me dithering?

  Finally someone meets my eye, I start towards them, then stop when I realise it isn’t exactly a friendly expression. It’s Axel, Callum’s best friend, his black eyes flinty as he glares at me from the far end of the hall. Slowly the glamorous posse around him all turn around and glare too. There’s so much venom in their stares that I stumble, soup sloshing out of my bowl, its onion scent filling the air. I spin around and sit down on the first empty section of bench.

  If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d be out of here already. But the food is subsidised, and I can’t afford to eat out.

  The people I sat beside don’t say anything, but quickly clear up their half-eaten lunches, tutting under their breath like indignant grandmothers faced with a naughty swearword as they leave. What the hell is going
on?

  After they go, there’s a wide berth of exclusion around me, despite everyone else being squished together away from. The message is crystal clear, and it’s so tempting just to pick up my bag and run away. I can feel hundreds of eyes on my back. I force myself to pick up my spoon, even though the soup feels like wallpaper paste in my mouth.

  You can’t show them you care. My coping mechanisms from a lifetime of being the geeky kid at school kick in. I force myself to keep my back straight, letting my eyes admire the view in front of me like I’m a curious visitor. The ancient walls are made with vast blocks of stone. They’re adorned with elaborate light fittings that probably started off as candle-holders and gigantic oil paintings of long dead men. How progressive of them not to include even one woman.

  I’m so busy thinking about the gender inequality of the art, that it takes me a moment to realise the air in the room has changed again. It’s tenser, charged, the noisy chatter replaced by silence.

  My neck prickles and I slowly turn around. King Callum is stood at the entrance from the serving area, his body tense and his eyes bullets of fury locked in my direction.

  His message is clear; you are not welcome. And judging by the excited silence and disapproving looks my way, everyone else is on his team.

  Professor Headley’s words echo in my mind, “He’s not a person to get on the wrong side if you can help it.”

  Seems like that advice came a bit too late.

  Squaring my shoulders once more, I pick up my spoon. Thank God, I just got soup and a small roll.

  I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of leaving without finishing my meal. I am not afraid of a pathetic bully like him.

  My final five spoonfuls of soup taste are tortuous, but I force them down. There’s no way I’m showing Callum that he got to me.

  Finally, my bowl is clean. The dishes rattle on the serving tray as I walk to the cleaning trolley, but I force myself to keep my head high. Hopefully no one’s close enough to see my shakes. I don’t let myself speed up until I’m out of sight of the dining hall. My heart hammers as I run down the spiral staircase. The steps are annoyingly shallow and I keep teetering as I take them too fast, heart-thumpingly close to falling over, the adrenalin racing around my body making me unusually clumsy.