I trembled as I murmured,“It’s like… being with them is making me… go crazy…”“How?” the headmaster asked, feigning curiosity. “How are you going crazy?”Tears slipped down my cheeks as I looked up at him.“Really… really… it’s like… becoming their… dog…”His eyes darkened with blunt lust. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he watched me. I stood before his desk, shoulders shaking, sobbing. He took a perverse pleasure in my tears. When I finally exhausted myself and my crying slowed, he nodded once. I circled around the desk and stood in front of him. He swivelled his chair, legs parting in invitation.I understood perfectly what he meant, but kept my eyes lowered, glancing up at him for a moment. His expression softened into silence, silently watching me. I couldn’t simply sit. To look indecisive, I paused, then knelt between his knees. I let my tears fall as I looked up at him.He slowly stroked my hair, then suddenly gripped the back of my head and forced my face down between his thighs.I could already feel him pressing against me through his clothes. Breeding beasts. If that’s what you want, I’ll give it to you. Pretending my hand trembled, I slid down his zipper and freed the half-hard length within. Holding it awkwardly, I stared at him as though uncertain what to do. He grasped my hair, forced my mouth open, and pushed inside. I endured the warmth and firmness filling my mouth, pressing down my panic.I didn’t know how to please a man. After a few slow strokes, he suddenly seized my head and drove himself deep. Before long he came in my mouth. I fought the urge to gag, my body convulsing, but he held me in place and I had no choice but to swallow.He pulled out wet and slick, then rubbed himself over my face. Insane bastard. I bore it—and, to my own surprise, closed my eyes and moaned.“Uhn… yes… sir…”Clinging to his thigh, I whimpered. He looked down at my tear-streaked, stained cheeks with a satisfied smile.“You’ve learned your place well,” he said.“Ugh, please… help me…” I begged between sobs. “Sir, help me…”“All right. After all this, I suppose I should help,” he said, adopting a kindly tone.“I’ll speak to Jérôme and Hugh for you.”What twisted idea of help was that? I wanted to rip that thing from his hand and shove it back in his mouth. Instead, I gave the expression he wanted.“Please, don’t tell them, sir… please… They’ll be angry… I’ll be punished… forgive me… I won’t try to run again… I swear, please…”I pressed my forehead against his knee, pleading.“Don’t tell them…”He listened to my pleading with interest. Of course he would gladly inform the boys. In fact, that was precisely what I hoped for—if he told them, they’d believe it without suspicion.My pleas were useless. He took the photos and burned them right in front of me, watching my despair with cruel delight.When I left the headmaster’s office, I almost ran into Kal. He was crouched by the door; his face was pale with shock. He must have overheard.I looked down at the exhausted boy, helped him to his feet, and we walked on together. I kept a hand on his arm through the arched corridor. Finally he spoke.“Raymond, stop this now. You’re doing this for revenge, aren’t you? That’s why you’re staying.”I feigned calm, but my voice trembled. I kept walking without {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} looking back.“I heard it, too—that the headmaster is on their side. Who else don’t we know about?” He added miserably, “We can never win.”I stopped and turned to him. He met my gaze.“Come with me. I’ll take you home. Or come to France with me. We could watch the final, go to Nice, swim, fish… it’d be amazing. Let’s just spend the break together… okay, Raymond?”I stood motionless, staring at him. His face, drained of color and hope, stabbed at my heart. I’d ruined him. Had he never been tangled in this, he’d have had the best break of his life.The World Cup final—an event only once every four years, if you’re lucky enough to see it—would have been just the start of his adventures. Instead, standing before me was a dark, broken boy.How could I have dragged him into this? I’d known the danger: Jérôme wouldn’t spare anyone who helped me. I was as mad as they were—obsessed with Jérôme, with Simon, with Hugh and George, with this game we played.Innocent Kal had been sucked into my madness—and now he realized it too. He saw that I, like the others, was a lunatic consumed by obsession. Yet still he refused to give up on me…Poor Kal. He couldn’t save me. He didn’t understand the revenge I carried—one that had grown silently since Julia imprisoned me, fed on my losses, and finally ignited against these boys. It couldn’t be stopped—neither them nor me.“Kal. Go home.” I touched his arm gently.“You don’t have to save me. I’ll survive on my own.”He said nothing, staring at me with hollow eyes. I left him in the corridor and stepped out into the grey sky above the monastery. The drought showed no sign of ending; no storm would break the silence. I crossed the parched lawn toward the dormitory. It was time to face their punishment.No one was in the common room—not even George. I sat on the sofa, pressing on my stomach. Having hardly eaten breakfast, I probably wouldn’t vomit much—at least a small mercy. I sat quietly, calculating how to greet them when they returned. Crying confession? Too dramatic. Better to feign innocence, wait for them to speak, and then beg for forgiveness.I leaned back and glanced at my watch. It was just past two—Jérôme’s riding hour. My body ached. I stared at the hands, alone in the silent space. Memories of last night crept back.I had almost been penetrated by a horse… I’d never believed they’d truly force me—that grotesque thing—into me. I thought it was a test, a show. But when I felt its bulk rubbing against me, the fear—more than shame—had nearly sent me into panic.What if I’d been wrong? What if they intended to violate me for real? Beneath that beast, I’d felt my terror surface again in the empty dormitory.No… no. I shook my head. It didn’t happen. It was just a show, a trap. Nothing more. I had to forget. I mustn’t think further. I forced my eyelids closed and pressed my fingers against them, trying to blot it out. But once those images awakened—The blackout night: five boys I didn’t know, one staff member, then the top-floor four, all of them raping me. Dressing me in skirts and underwear, assaulting me before a mirror… reveling in my violation… the matron’s face wet with lust…The man who’d egged the boys on… his face and voice so clear. Too many hands—touching, pinching, twisting. They called me a whore…Yes, I was a whore. How many men had I been forced to take? Had I swallowed their seed without complaint? Jérôme, Simon, Hugh, George, the headmaster, the matron, those unknown boys, the faceless men in the dark… How could I ever not know how to please a man, when so many had found pleasure in my body?Ding.The clock’s chime jolted me fully awake. Four o’clock—Jérôme’s time.The door opened. I didn’t turn. My vision still swam from sudden panic. I closed and reopened my eyes, breathing slowly. When I looked again, Jérôme was standing in the room.He’d torn off his collar and undone a few buttons of his shirt, still wearing his riding pants. Dress boots on his feet, hat at his side, crop in hand—the very whip I loathed.He didn’t glance at me. He crossed one leg over the other on the single armchair, set the crop on the side table, and leisurely removed his gloves. My mouth went dry. His whip lay within arm’s reach on the small table diagonally opposite me.That whip: the instrument I yearned to seize to humiliate him. And there it sat, abandoned and unguarded. I could snatch it and lash him until his flesh tore.But I didn’t. It was evidence: proof they no longer suspected me. Or perhaps another cunning test, laying the crop in plain view to gauge my reaction.I resisted the urge. Instead, I watched him closely. He laid aside his gloves, placed them on the table, then sank back into the chair with his eyes closed.It was the first time since I’d arrived at Bluebell that I’d seen him so utterly unguarded in private. I studied his face—the sweat on his temple, the flushed heat of his cheeks from the summer sun, his eyelids closed in complete ease.Had Jérôme truly lost interest in me? Was our game over? Even if he’d stopped, he wasn’t off my list of targets. There was no turning back, no safe place to run—to kill them all and rot in an asylum or prison forever. Who would care? Even revenge on Julia would still be possible behind bars.My life was irrevocable. No one escapes this game. I stared at the serene figure before me. When he suddenly opened his eyes, I was startled but not afraid. My heart hammered. Frozen under his gaze, I couldn’t move a finger. He studied me a moment, then slowly sat upright, habitually flicking the crop’s leather loop between his fingers.“Raymond.”His voice was low. “Let’s end this. I’m bored.”My chest plunged. Cold sweat beaded on my palms. Despite myself, my voice trembled.“Wh-What…?”His smooth brow creased.“I said stop.”“But… I… Jérôme. What should I…?”I stammered, eyes darting to him. He didn’t seem to notice the panic in my gaze—it was just idle words. I rubbed my palms on my thighs and looked down. My heart thundered in my ears.“Raymond, Raymond, Raymond! This is ridiculous! Do you like Hugh more than me now? Why? We had something good, didn’t we?”He raised his voice. I looked up in disbelief. His expression was urgent, edged with frustration as he gazed at me.Insane bastard.“A… J-Jérôme… I— I like you too… I like everyone…”“No, no, no, Raymond. It’s not that.”He sprang forward, kneeling at my feet and grabbing my thigh. Looking up at me from below, he shook his head.“No, that’s not it. Try again.”“I… Jérôme, I…”Tears brimmed. A blink later, one rolled down his cheek.“I don’t know… stop, please stop…”He fell silent, returning to the same icy mask I’d seen in the stable. He regarded me coldly, then stood abruptly.“George, that bastard, ah…”His words trailed off as he turned away.I remained kneeling, stunned, the room heavy with his retreating footsteps.“…”Jérôme murmured in a low voice as he slumped back onto the sofa. I was curious about his expression, but I kept my head bowed and stayed motionless. My tears quickly dried up.Did Jérôme just call George a bastard?A jolt of realization shot through me. George’s constant wishes for Jérôme’s death, the strange tension between them the night of the blackout when they raped me, George’s remark before Jérôme went to ride—“I didn’t really expect it, but I would’ve been so happy if you’d actually killed him”—their steadfast alliance had a crack. Not an assumption—a real fracture so deep that the slightest pressure would shatter it.

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