Chapter 180: Chapter 180

She stared at it for a moment, lips pressed tight, chest still, waiting.

The reply came quicker than she expected.

Victoria's thumb froze mid-air.

Victoria stared at the screen, lips slightly parted. A breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding slipped from her chest.

He didn't have her number saved?

That thought shouldn't have stung, and yet—

If this had been before—back when Damien still circled Celia's world like a shadow orbiting a star—he absolutely would've had her number. He would've looked twice at every message she sent. He would've jumped at the chance to engage.

He'd fallen out of Celia's favor. He'd changed. And clearly, part of that change included erasing the people who once stood beside her.

Still… at least he hadn't blocked her.

She exhaled slowly, thumbing the reply with a careful steadiness.

| It's Victoria. Langley.

But enough to sharpen the edges of anticipation.

| Why are you writing to me?

Direct. No emoji. No question mark fluff.

Just a blunt line that cut sharper than it had any right to.

Victoria blinked once.

Her chest tensed in that strange, foreign feeling she hated: awkwardness.

She was the one writing to him.

And somehow—this was the response?

No one had ever replied to her before.

Not classmates. Not nobles. Not even the faculty.

Her grip on the phone tightened.

That disinterested sharpness.

It grated against her pride like sandpaper against porcelain. For a moment, she genuinely considered deleting the message—blocking him even. A hundred people would beg to be in his place. Her phone buzzed every day with compliments, invitations, proposals wrapped in the prettiest language money could buy. She wasn't used to being the one initiating, much less being received like she was... bothersome.

But Victoria was no stranger to swallowing down indignation when necessary.

She composed herself.

Smoothed the line of her nightgown, straightened her spine where she sat on the edge of her bed, and reminded herself—

This isn't about him. This is about control.

Her pride would recover.

Her position, however, would not—if he actually knew something and chose to speak.

The phone buzzed again.

| Did you get my number from Celia?

So he figured it out. Fast.

Victoria breathed in once through her nose. Then exhaled slowly and replied.

Simple. Honest. But not yielding.

| So why did you message me?

| Interested in me now?

| Do you have a crush on me?

Victoria's brows twitched.

Her fingers hovered over the screen before she typed—sharply.

| Who has a crush on you, you narcissistic bastard.

And immediately, another message came.

The complete lack of hesitation. The confidence dripping through each word—like he was the one holding the leash.

That alone kept her temper on a short leash.

Victoria didn't respond immediately this time. She let the silence stretch. Her eyes scanned his last message over and over, replaying every line of his behavior over the last week.

Maybe not everything.

But he knew enough to toy with her.

And he was waiting for her to ask.

She couldn't give him the satisfaction of watching her squirm.

Not until she understood what kind of game he was playing.

| You've been bothering me.

| The looks. The comments. The little murmurs.

| I don't know what game you're playing, Damien, but I don't appreciate it.

The moment she did, her pulse picked up again. Not from fear—but frustration. From the way she was letting him drag this out, knowing full well he held the tempo. This should've been her playing the strings, not… whatever this was.

The screen stayed blank for a few seconds.

Victoria stared at the message, her eyes narrowing slightly.

He was acting innocent.

Feigning confusion like he didn't know exactly what he was doing when he whispered "Watch your boyfriend" by her ear. Like he didn't stare just a second too long in the hallway or sit just a little too close in shared spaces now, like he didn't occasionally smile—that maddening, knowing smirk—when he passed her.

And yet here he was, playing dumb.

| Don't pretend you don't know.

| You've been acting like you know something.

| Watching me like you're waiting for something.

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

It stayed for a few seconds.

| You're asking if I know.

Her heart gave a traitorous skip.

The three little dots blinked again.

| Now why would I tell you that?

Her throat tightened.

And he didn't confirm it either.

| If you don't want to tell me, then fine.

| But stop harassing me . I'm done playing whatever game this is.

She hit send a little harder than necessary, teeth clenched, heart thudding in frustration.

The typing bubble appeared again.

| What are you saying, girl.

| When did I harass you?

| Your imagination's really running wild lately.

Victoria nearly threw her phone.

She could see his smirk through the screen.

Of course he'd twist it around.

| You're always looking at me. Smiling. Smirking like you know something. Like you're mocking me.

| …How do you know that?

| Are you always watching me to see what reaction I give?

| That sounds a lot like a crush to me.

She launched into a flurry of messages.

| Arrogant, smug bastard!

| You think this is funny?!

| Keep smiling like that and I swear I'll knock it off your face.

| I don't have a crush on you. You're insufferable.

The typing bubble blinked again—slow, taunting.

| You're adorable when you're angry.

| Should I send you a mirror so you can see yourself fuming in real time?

Victoria let out an audible ugh, dropping her phone on the silk sheets beside her with a sharp exhale.

She hated that she couldn't win this.

She hated that deep in her gut…

She didn't know what he was going to do next.