Chapter 287
The figure that emerged from the shadows was a young man clad in all black. Rosalind's breath caught - Everett Sinclair.
Everett and Julian were the two most talked-about men at Willowridge University. While Julian was the golden boy with his charming smile and family fortune, Everett was the brooding enigma. Girls whispered about him in hushed tones, too intimidated to approach yet endlessly fascinated.
Rosalind watched as Everett moved with lethal precision, wrenching the attacker away with one powerful motion.
The man snarled, face contorting with rage. "You little shit! Who the hell do you think you are?"
He swung wildly at Everett.
Everett dodged effortlessly, countering with a brutal punch to the gut. The attacker slammed into a parked car with bone-crunching force, blood spraying from his mouth.
Raindrops slid down Everett's buzz cut, highlighting his razor-sharp features. His black t-shirt clung to muscles that flexed with each controlled movement. There was something primal about him - dangerous and utterly masculine.
The attacker's eyes widened with realization. "Please... I didn't mean-"
A blade flashed in the dim light as he lunged.
"Everett!" Rosalind screamed.
Everett moved like lightning. He caught the man's wrist mid-thrust, twisting until bone snapped. The knife clattered to the pavement.
Without hesitation, Everett drove the blade into the man's shoulder.
A guttural scream tore through the night. Everett twisted the knife deeper, his expression chillingly calm.
Fear flooded the attacker's face. This boy terrified him more than any of his victims ever had. "Y-You're not human..."
His eyes rolled back as he collapsed.
Everett let the unconscious body drop.
Rosalind's legs buckled. She'd been sheltered her entire life as a Lincoln heiress, never exposed to such raw violence.
Everett turned toward her.
Rosalind instinctively scrambled back.
The men in her world were polished like Nathaniel, or warm like Julian. Everett was something else entirely.
He loomed over her, radiating intensity. Though their age difference was negligible, Everett carried himself with the weight of someone much older. Dangerous. Unpredictable.
Rosalind suddenly remembered the campus rumors. They said Everett's father had been a drug lord before his death.
Everett Sinclair was a drug dealer's son.
"What do you want?" Rosalind's voice trembled.
Everett studied her for a heartbeat before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it at her.
"Put it on."
His voice was ice.
The jacket carried his residual warmth. Rosalind found it oddly comforting - this small piece of heat from such a cold man.
Everett didn't wait for thanks. He pulled out his phone, already dialing.