Page 11 of With This Mask
My head snaps up and I probably couldn’t look more guilty if I tried.
Alec stands in the doorway of his office, a wary look of trepidation he’s trying to hide, but fails to accomplish.
“I—” the words disappear.
“Salem,” he says in warning as he takes one step inside.
"Are you Vice?" The words tumble out of my mouth before I can even process them, the weight of the accusation heavy in the air.
Alec's features tighten, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher my intentions. "What the hell are you talking about?" His voice is low, laced with a dangerous edge that’s darker than any other words he’s spoken to me before.
I swallow hard, suddenly feeling like I've crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. "You’re…” I stutter in little more than a whisper. And heat ignites in my skin. “Holy shit, you’re him."
His gaze flickers to the bookcase, and for a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face before it's masked by a cold demeanor. "Get out," he commands, his tone sharp and final.
Confusion mingles with hurt in my chest, the tension crackling between us like electricity. "Alec, I just?—"
“I said get the fuck out,” he snaps, each word as sharp as a blade. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. And no one would ever believe the ridiculous bullshit coming out of your mouth. Leave, Salem.”
“Alec, I?—”
He yanks my things from his desk and shoves them harshly into my chest. With ice in those blue eyes, he stares at me. “Leave.”
My hands shake. My blood feels as if it’s made of lead. My tongue thick with shock and maybe a little bit of fear, I swallow once. And then I’m a whirlwind of movement as I gather the rest of my things, shove them into my backpack, and rush for the door. It slams closed behind me with a heavy thud.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Alec Vanderholt, heir of a multi-billion-dollar company, cold, arrogant asshole, is Vice. A man who wears a mask and posts incredibly edited thirst traps online. And he’s got… I whip out my phone as I ride the elevator down… two and a half million followers. Each of his videos gets nearly, if not, a million views, hundreds of thousands of likes, thousands of comments. Every woman and their mom knows who Vice is.
And it’s Alec fucking Vanderholt.
I gape as I step out of the elevator and practically stumble out the door onto the sidewalk, but it’s not the pavement I’m seeing.
Alec was cruel before. Cold. My academic nemesis. And I’ve just discovered his secret online identity.
Shit, Salem, I think to myself as my feet move quicker. You’ve just made your enemy hate you even more.
Better watch your fucking back.
chapter six
"Hey, Vanderholt!" I shout, a little louder than necessary across the bustling campus green. But Alec doesn't so much as twitch in my direction. His shoulders are set, squared and unyielding; his stride doesn’t falter. It's as if I'm just another whisper of the wind, inconsequential, easy to ignore.
"Asshole," I mutter under my breath, clenching my fists at my sides. Each day that passes, his coldness chips away at my resolve. The contempt is almost palpable—like a tangible frost that settles over me whenever he's near, yet still far enough to keep me grasping for warmth that isn't there.
The day after I discovered Alec’s secret, I went to class. I had a speech prepared, promises to keep his secret.
But Alec stonewalled me.
I sat next to him in class. I started talking. But it was as if I was invisible and silent. He didn’t turn his head. He didn’t mutter a word. I was met with utter, cold silence.
For two long weeks now, it’s been like talking to a wall.
I'm not one to cower or shrink back, but with Alec, it's different. There's something about the way he looks through me, as if I'm made of glass—transparent and fragile—that knots my insides. I hate that he has this effect on me, that his mere presence can turn my spine into a brittle twig ready to snap.
"Can you believe him?" I growl at Josh as I watch Alec just walk away. "He won’t even look at me, let alone discuss the damn project."