A Sinful War with the Rebel Heir (Book 1)

Leilanna’s POV

“Oh, Damon! Fuck!”

A moan jolted me awake.

I blinked against the haze of sleep, my limbs stiff from the cold cement floor. My back ached from sleeping upright against the cracked wall of the abandoned building I’d found on campus. I groaned softly, brushing hair out of my face, annoyed at the sound echoing again, louder this time.

“Damon…” the girl whimpered. “Damon… please, more…”

My brows pulled together as I slowly turned toward the sliver of light leaking in through the busted metal door. My curiosity got the best of me, and I crawled forward on silent feet, peeking through the jagged crack of the doorframe.

What I saw made my eyes widen.

There, right against the peeling wall across the hallway, a tall guy with tousled dark hair and broad shoulders was ramming into a girl whose skirt was bunched around her waist. Her nails clawed at his back as she moaned uncontrollably, head tilted, voice breaking.

The guy? Dead silent.

Well, not entirely.

“Keep quiet, bitch,” he hissed, gripping her thigh tighter as he moved, his voice low and unaffected. “You’re loud as fuck.”

No groans. No breathy grunts. Just cool control. As if he was filing paperwork while nailing someone into oblivion.

I scoffed under my breath. Wow. What a fucking welcome party for me. First day at a new school, and I get front-row seats to a live porno in an abandoned building at six in the goddamn morning.

I wasn’t even supposed to be here yet.

I arrived stupid early. Typical me. It wasn’t like I had a dorm to crash in or friends to wait with. I just needed a place to lie low until the campus started to fill in. So when I found the forgotten side wing of the old arts building, I figured, hey, quiet, dusty, perfect for naps.

But apparently, I wasn’t the only one who thought it made a great hideout.

My eyes darted back to the couple. Her moans echoed again, her voice bouncing off the concrete walls like a siren for the morally absent. The guy kept going, unbothered, powerful strokes like he owned the entire damn world.

He was sin carved into flesh, tall, inked, rich, and probably the type of guy who thought every woman existed to warm his dick.

I tilted my head, watching. Not because I was turned on, but because I was studying him. The ease. The arrogance. The complete detachment. The girl was begging like her life depended on it, and he looked like he was checking his schedule in his head.

Disgustingly hot, infuriatingly untouchable.

Exactly the type of guy I hate.

A few minutes later, it ended. She slumped against the wall, hair a tangled mess, still gasping.

“You can leave now.” He didn’t even look at her.

The girl froze. Her hands trembled as she smoothed her skirt. Then she tried to smile. It came out brittle.

“Will… will I see you after class?” she asked softly, tilting her chin up like she was still hopeful.

He clicked his tongue. The sound was sharp, almost impatient.

“Your pussy was loose as fuck,” he said coldly. “Felt like I was fucking the air.”

My stomach twisted.

The girl blinked, stunned, and her smile shattered. “What did you just say?” she hissed, her voice cracking as she stepped toward him. When he didn’t flinch, she slapped him hard across the chest, the sound echoing in the empty corridor.

“Just leave me alone,” he said, his tone sharper now, more annoyed than angry. He snatched the used condom, tied it, and tossed it into the overflowing trash bin with a flick of his wrist like it was nothing.

The girl’s hands balled into fists. Her eyes glistened but she tried to hold herself together. She finally turned and stumbled away, crying silently, one hand covering her mouth as she pushed through the door.

He stayed behind, running a hand through his messy dark hair, pulling out a cigarette like this was just another Tuesday.

I snorted.

His head snapped toward the sound.

Shit.

I froze, but it was too late. He’d heard me.

“Who’s there?” His voice was calm, commanding.

I pushed the creaking door open and stepped out of the shadows.

Leilanna Velmor, welcome to your first day of school.

He looked at me, cigarette hanging from his lips, eyes narrowing. God, he was tall. Taller than I expected. Lean muscles under that black shirt, tattoos peeking from his collar. His gaze slid over me like he was dissecting me piece by piece.

“Well,” he drawled, exhaling smoke. “Didn’t know I had an audience.”

I crossed my arms. “Didn’t know I’d be watching a live porno when I woke up. My bad.”

His smirk widened, slow and dangerous. “Enjoy the show?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. You looked like you were filling out tax forms. I’ve seen mannequins with more enthusiasm.”

He stared at me for a beat. His gaze swept over me from the hood covering my hair to the scuffed combat boots on my feet, as if taking inventory of everything he could insult. Then, with the lazy arrogance of someone born with too much money and too many women, he let out a low chuckle.

“You should be thankful,” he said, tilting his head back against the wall. “Not everyone gets to see me fuck. Consider it your campus privilege.”

My jaw tightened. “Wow. A privilege. I’m honored.”

He grinned, eyes glinting. “Well, too bad. Watching’s all you’ll ever do. I don’t fuck ugly chicks in huge hoodies.”

I tilted my head, let a slow, lazy smirk crawl across my face. If he wanted to play ugly, I’d play meaner.

“Guess I’ll survive the disappointment,” I said sweetly. “Besides, from what I saw, you don’t exactly look like a god in bed. More like a bored cashier scanning items.”

His eyes flashed. The smirk wavered just enough for me to see the crack underneath.

“Maybe,” I added, leaning closer, “if you stopped acting like a machine, the girl wouldn’t have to fake half those noises.”

The arrogance on his face turned sharp and cold. In one sudden, fluid motion, his hand shot out, fingers curling around my neck. He slammed me against the wall hard enough for the plaster to rattle.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he hissed.

His body blocked out the light, towering over me, his grip hot and unyielding at the base of my neck. His eyes weren’t playful anymore, they were a dark, dangerous burn.

Pain flared where my shoulders hit the wall, but I didn’t look away. My palms pressed against the cool cement behind me, and I forced my voice to stay calm even though my pulse was hammering.

“Touchy,” I said, a low laugh escaping my lips. “Did I hit a nerve?”

“I don’t like people running their mouths about me,” he growled.

I tilted my chin up into his grip. “Then maybe stop giving them material.”

His eyes flicked over my face, like he was trying to decide if I was insane or just bluffing. Something in him shifted. His grip loosened just enough for me to breathe deeper.

“You’re either brave,” he muttered, “or stupid.”

“Why not both?” I shot back, still smirking even though my heart was sprinting.

For a long, tense second he just stared at me, thumb pressing against the hollow of my throat, like he was trying to feel if I’d flinch. Then, with a sharp hiss through his teeth, he shoved himself back a step, releasing me.

“Stay out of my way, bitch,” he said low, his voice almost a snarl. “Or you’re going to find out how bad I can get.”

I straightened, smoothing my hoodie like he hadn’t just pinned me to the wall. My neck still tingled where his hand had been, but my mouth curled into another smile.

“You already look pretty bad from where I’m standing,” I said calmly before I turned on my heel.

No time for arrogant assholes. Not today. Not ever.

This was supposed to be a clean start. New school, no fights, no suspensions. Keep my head down, get my credits, graduate. That was the deal I made with myself on the bus here.

“Fucking bitch,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes.

Let him rage in that crumbling hallway like a spoiled prince thrown from his throne.

I stepped out into the pale morning sun, the concrete warming under my boots as I walked back toward the main part of campus.

I still had half an hour before first class. So, I searched for silence.

The central lawn was already buzzing, students with designer backpacks, coffee cups, perfect hair and filtered smiles. I didn’t belong there. But near the edge of the building, past a line of overgrown hedges, I spotted a tree. Old, wide-branched, mostly hidden from view.

Perfect.

I dropped my bag on the grass and leaned back against the trunk, knees drawn up, hoodie sleeves tugged over my palms. Birds chirped somewhere above, and the breeze rustled the leaves like a secret. For thirty minutes, I let myself close my eyes and breathe.

Until my phone buzzed with a reminder.

First class: Advanced Political Theory – Room 3B.

Let’s get this over with.

The hallway outside 3B was already packed. People clustered in little groups, eyeing me as I passed. Not subtle about it either like I was a dog off-leash.

I ignored them, pushed through the door, and stepped into the classroom.

Everything stopped.

Conversation dimmed. Heads turned. Eyes locked on me like I’d walked in dragging blood.

I just scanned the room.

Most seats were taken, except one near the back. The desk beside it was occupied by someone in a black hoodie, slumped over with arms folded, head down, probably asleep.

I made my way toward the chair. The silence behind me grew thick. I could feel their eyes, feel the weight of it, like the entire classroom was holding its breath.

Until I heard one soft gasp, then another.

“No way she’s doing that,” someone whispered.

“Yeah, she’s the transferee, right? I haven’t seen her before.”

“Poor girl. She has no idea who she just sat next to.”

The words weren’t meant for me to hear. But I did. Every syllable.

I dropped into the seat beside the black-hoodied sleeper without a second thought.

I was halfway through pulling out my pen when the hoodie lifted slightly and a slow turn of the head.

My pulse kicked up. It was him. The bastard from earlier. The one I’d caught screwing some whore in that rotting building like the world owed him pleasure.

Now he was here like a ghost I’d accidentally summoned. The same sharp jawline, the same cold, dangerous stare that made my spine straighten instead of shrink.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” he hissed, voice low and sharp like broken glass. “Sitting next to me like you didn’t just make a damn spectacle of yourself.”

I turned slowly to meet his eyes, calm and cold. “Keep talking. Maybe one day you’ll say something that matters.”

I rolled my eyes and focused on my notebook.

But he wasn’t done. He leaned closer, elbow on the desk, fingers brushing his jaw.

I looked up, my eyes like knives. “Just so you know, if you touch me again, I will break your fingers.”

“Well, well,” he murmured. “You’ve got balls.”

I stared back. “Good. You look like someone who needs kicked in them.”

His eyes darkened instantly. That shark-like grin slipped, replaced with something sharp, something that didn’t like being challenged.

“You little…” he muttered under his breath, and before I could blink, he kicked the leg of my chair.

The entire seat jolted out from under me, and I gasped as the floor rushed up to meet me.

I crashed down, elbow slamming against the cold floor, my pen skittering across the tiles. A breath tore out of my throat, stunned pain blooming across my ribs and knees.

The classroom went dead silent.

A few gasps. One stifled laugh that was quickly shushed. Desks scraped as students leaned away from the scene like it might catch fire.

He stood, towering over me, jaw clenched, fists curled at his sides like he hadn’t just lost his temper in front of thirty people.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” he hissed down at me. “You’re new here, aren’t you? Walking around like you own the place? Like you’ve got the fucking right?”

I sat up slowly, my hoodie falling back off my shoulder, hair in my eyes, hands scraped red from the floor.

Pain throbbed in my side, but the fire roaring through me was louder.

I looked up at him.

Dead in the eyes.

And without a single word, I pulled my fist back, and punched him square in the jaw.

The sound echoed like thunder in the stunned silence.

His head snapped sideways. His hand flew to his face, staggering back a half step. The class erupted in gasps and yells.

“Don’t you ever fucking kick me again,” I spat, shaking out my hand. “You arrogant piece of shit.”

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he looked back at me, eyes wild with fury.

The psycho laughed.

Low and slow, the sound curling from his throat like it enjoyed being hit.

He took a step closer, looming over me. “You’re just another transfer, another loud-mouthed nobody. You’ll be gone in a month like the rest, expelled or crying your way out. You don’t belong here.”

“That all you’ve got?” I asked quietly. “Blood and insults? You sound like every other boy who thought he was a king until someone punched him in the face.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped. His fingers flexed at his sides. “Watch your mouth or I’ll make you.”

I took a single step closer so we were chest to chest, his shadow falling over me. “Try it. See how that goes for you—”

His hand shot out, fingers closing around my throat. He slammed me back against the wall with a sharp thud. The impact rattled up my spine, a hiss of pain escaped my lips before I could stop it.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he hissed, face inches from mine. “You’re new here. You’re nothing here. And if you think you can defy me, you’re—”

Before he could finish, my knee came up, hard, connected squarely with his crotch.

A strangled sound burst from his chest and his grip on my neck loosened instantly. He doubled over slightly, one hand flying down to protect himself, the other braced on the wall for balance.

“Goddammit…” he choked out, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut.

My fist snapped up, catching his cheekbone a second time. The crack of skin on skin echoed in the stunned silence of the classroom like a gunshot.

He staggered back a step, groaning again, face twisted with pain, blood now running from the split in his lip. He bent forward slightly, still clutching his groin with one hand, breath coming hard and fast.

“You…” he wheezed between clenched teeth, glaring up at me with something wild and unreadable. “You crazy—”

“You ever touch me like that again,” I snapped, “and I won’t stop at one kick.”

“What the hell is this?!” a voice roared at the front of the room.

Our professor slammed his folder on the podium, eyes wide with fury behind thick glasses.

“It’s the first day of school!” he bellowed. “The first goddamn day! And I already have a full-on fistfight in my classroom?!”

I sighed heavily as I looked at the asshole still hunched over beside me, one hand gripping his crotch like it owed him money.

He glared at me like he wanted to carve my name into a gravestone.

“You’re gonna fucking regret this, bitch,” he spat, breath ragged, blood still trickling from his mouth.

I smiled.

“I’m excited,” I said sweetly, tilting my head. “Been a while since someone promised to make my life hell. Let’s see if you’re the one who finally delivers.”

Leilanna’s POV

“Miss Velmor, you’re going to apologize to Mr. Darkov,” the dean said, folding his hands together with exaggerated calm.

I blinked. I didn’t say anything at first. I stared at him like maybe I misheard.

“Excuse me?” I said, my voice rising before I could stop it. “Apologize? For what, exactly? For sitting next to him like a normal human being?”

Dean Hargrave sighed, already looking exhausted. His fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose like I was a headache he couldn’t medicate.

“I just sat beside him,” I snapped. “That’s all. He’s the one who went feral. He kicked my seat. I fell on the floor so hard I could’ve cracked my damn spine. So no, I’m not apologizing.”

From the other side of the office, Damon shifted in his leather chair with all the lazy smugness of a cat sunbathing after killing a bird. He didn’t even pretend to hide the smirk on his face.

“Sounds accurate,” he murmured. “You fall real loud, Velmor. You sure you’re not part drama club?”

I whipped my head toward him, eyes narrowing. “You sure your dick still works after I nailed it?”

Dean Hargrave let out a groan, dragging both hands down his face now. “God help me…”

We were seated across from him like middle schoolers sent to the principal’s office, only this was college, and the boy beside me wasn’t just any brat. He was Damon Darkov. Poison in a hoodie.

He looked like he was enjoying every second of this.

The dean sat forward, voice dipping into that warning tone educators used when they were this close to kicking furniture.

“Miss Velmor. You’re new here. You may not understand how things work yet, so let me make this clear.”

Great. Here it came. The lecture.

“Mr. Darkov comes from a long-standing family of contributors to this university. His conduct, while not always perfect, is monitored closely. But yours…”

He turned to me, leveling a look I’d seen too many times at too many schools.

“…yours is being watched very carefully. This is your sixth school, isn’t it? You’ve been suspended three times in two years. Fighting. Insulting faculty. Property damage?”

I stiffened in my seat.

“That’s all context,” I said coldly. “You read the paperwork, right? You saw what they did to me first?”

“Regardless,” the dean said, holding up a hand. “You’re on your last chance here. This is a prestigious institution, not a rehabilitation center for impulsive behavior. If you want to stay, you’ll need to learn how to conduct yourself, especially around students like Mr. Darkov.”

Students like Mr. Darkov. There it was. The golden pass.

I turned toward Damon, who was now sitting with one leg crossed over the other, drumming his fingers along the armrest like he was enjoying a silent concert.

“You gonna say anything?” I asked him, my voice clipped.

He tilted his head. “What for? I’m not the one crying about falling out of a chair.”

“You kicked it!”

“And you punched me. Twice.” He gestured to his jaw, where the bruise was just starting to tint purple beneath his cheekbone. “It’s cute that you’re acting like the victim, though.”

My blood boiled.

Dean Hargrave raised both hands again. “Enough. Enough.”

He stood from his desk, straightening his tie like he needed to physically remind himself he was still in charge.

“This is not a circus. Miss Velmor, you will apologize. Right now. You’re a new transfer. You’ve been in my office less than ten minutes and you’re already making a scene. You assaulted a fellow student—”

“He kicked my chair! I fell on the floor so hard I could’ve cracked my skull! He’s the one who started it!”

His jaw tightened. “Regardless, I am telling you to apologize. This university is not your personal fight club.”

Damon, still lounging like a king on the edge of his chair, smirked at me through split lips. Blood stained the corner of his mouth, but his eyes glittered with unholy amusement.

“No,” he drawled lazily, voice rough from the blow but dripping arrogance. “I don’t want her to just apologize. I want her to kiss my feet.”

The air in the office went still.

I gasped, then scoffed so hard it was almost a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Damon’s smirk deepened. “You think you can just walk into my school, punch me in the face, and walk away clean? No, sweetheart. You’re gonna show some respect.”

I turned to Hargrave, incredulous. “You’re hearing this, right? This isn’t just arrogance. This is… whatever the hell this is!”

The dean pressed his fingers to his temples, eyes closing like he could physically shut out our voices. “Mr. Darkov—”

“I’m serious,” Damon interrupted, tone shifting darker. “She embarrassed me in front of a full class. You want to make it even? Have her on her knees. Right now.”

“Absolutely not,” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re insane.”

Damon leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze burning into mine. “You’re lucky I don’t drag you outside myself and—”

“That’s enough,” Hargrave barked, slamming a hand on his desk. The sound snapped the air in two.

We both went quiet, but our eyes stayed locked, his full of hate, mine full of fire.

Hargrave took a long, slow breath, massaging his forehead as if to soothe a migraine. “I’ve been doing this job for twenty-two years,” he muttered. “And I have never seen two students behave like this on the first day.”

He pointed at me, his voice hissing now, the frustration boiling over. “Miss Velmor. You will not escalate this further. You will apologize. You will de-escalate this situation or you will leave my school before you’ve even unpacked your bag. Do you understand?”

I stared back at him, my pulse a drum in my ears. “Why should I be the only one apologizing?”

“Because you are the transfer. Because you are on probation. Because I am giving you a chance to stay,” he snapped.

Damon chuckled low under his breath, leaning back in his chair like a predator watching prey squirm. “Hear that, Velmor? Even the dean knows your place.”

I shot him a glare. “Keep talking, Darkov. One day your daddy’s money won’t be here to save you.”

His eyes flared, but he didn’t lunge. He just smiled, a slow, dangerous baring of teeth. “One day, Velmor, you’ll learn what happens to people who defy me.”

I straightened in my chair, tilting my chin high, voice even. “If this school wants to expel me for not kissing some entitled asshole’s feet, go ahead. But I won’t apologize for defending myself.”

Damon’s jaw ticked. He glared at me so hard it was like heat coming off a fire.

“You’re so fucking hard‑headed, huh?” he spat, voice low but violent. “You just don’t know when to shut up.”

I glared right back, every nerve in my body screaming not to give him the satisfaction. The air between us crackled like a live wire. I could hear the clock ticking on the dean’s wall, steady and loud.

Dean Hargrave pinched the bridge of his nose again, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of both of us had crushed him in his chair. When he spoke again, his voice wasn’t sharp anymore. It was quiet. Almost pleading.

“Miss Velmor…” he said, leaning forward, palms spread flat on the desk. “Please. Just apologize. We can resolve this right here and now. No hearings. No suspensions. Please.”

His eyes met mine and for a second I saw fear. Whoever Damon Darkov belonged to, whatever family he came from, they were powerful enough to make a dean of a prestigious university look like a man begging for his job.

I gritted my teeth. God, I’m so tired. It’s too early for this. Just get it over with.

I sighed through my nose, turning my head slightly, voice coming out a hiss.

“Fine. I’m sorry,” I said flatly, like spitting out a stone.

Damon’s smirk returned instantly, curling slow and wicked. “Oh no,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair. “That’s not what I asked for. I said I want you to kiss my feet.”

I stared at Damon, my jaw locked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He smiled wider, all teeth. “You want to stay? Show some respect. On your knees.”

For a moment I didn’t breathe. I could feel Hargrave’s eyes on me. I could feel how much he wanted me to just do it, to make it go away. The humiliation burned hotter than any bruise.

Just a kiss, right? I thought. Just to end it.

I knelt slowly, every muscle in my body trembling with rage. My hoodie fell forward, hair sliding over my face like a curtain. The smell of his cologne hit me even from down here. My fists clenched at my sides as I leaned forward and pressed my lips, quick and hard, to the toe of his rubber shoe.

Damon laughed, a low, ugly sound, and shifted his foot just enough to make me stumble back.

“Good girl,” he sneered. “Maybe you can be trained after all. Strip you of that attitude, pull that leash tight, yeah, I think you’d break real pretty.”

He leaned down just slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper meant only for me. “You think this is the bottom? You’ve got a lot more floor to kiss before I’m done with you. Crawl faster next time, Velmor.”

My face burned red. Shame. Rage. Fury. All of it coiled inside me, waiting for the right moment to strike back. But I swallowed it, stood, and met his eyes without a word.

He looked at me a second longer, like he was testing whether I’d break before he turned on his heel and headed for the door.