Chapter 4

Vegas Clairemont hadn’t always been the hot-blooded bastard everyone knew him to be. He’d grown into the role because being a Clairemont demanded it. Power, wealth, connections… he could summon them all with a single word or a casual snap of his fingers. But what he craved most was control. Real control. The kind that didn’t slip away or fade when the lights went down. Control was permanent. It gave him access to anything he desired, and he had learned early that the only way to truly own a room or a person was to be assertive, dominant, and always ten steps ahead.  

“You want what?” Julian asked, eyebrows shooting up in astonishment as he stared at his friend like he might have lost his mind. They were cruising toward campus, the morning sun glaring harshly through the windshield.  

“I want everything on that guy from last night,” Vegas repeated, his voice low and sharp, laced with unmistakable intensity. “What he does in his spare time, who he hangs out with, what he eats for lunch—everything.”  

He had already recounted the full humiliating story on the drive. Remmy and Julian had been too hungover and lazy to drive themselves, so they had piled into his sleek black car. Vegas preferred driving anyway. He hated the suffocating idea of a chauffeur or bodyguard his father constantly tried to assign him, always hovering like shadows he couldn’t shake.  

Something about Autumn had burrowed deep under his skin like a splinter he couldn’t ignore. The ruined designer shirt was merely the excuse. The real wound was the audacity: how that quiet kid had treated him like he was nothing before being dragged away. No one disrespected Vegas Clairemont and simply disappeared into the night.  

During his first lecture, Vegas barely paid attention to the professor droning on about material they had already covered last semester. The stuffy lecture hall felt oppressive, filled with the low hum of students shifting in their seats and the occasional scratch of pens on paper. He didn’t bother taking notes since people like Hannah always handled that for him without being asked. Instead, he kept scrolling through his phone under the desk, impatience building with every passing minute as he waited for the call he had demanded.  

When his phone finally rang, he snatched it up and slipped out into the quieter corridor, the cool air a welcome contrast to the warm, crowded room. He ignored Hannah as she approached with a fresh set of notes and that familiar hopeful smile playing on her lips. She had had a brief fling weeks ago, and she still clung to the memory like it meant something more.  

“What do you have?” Vegas asked impatiently before Aaron could even greet him.  Aaron, his father’s secretary who had been assigned to assist him a few months ago, cleared his throat nervously on the other end. “You were right, sir. His name is Autumn Gene. He attends your university on a full scholarship. Lives in the dorms. His mother runs a small fruit stall in town.”  

Vegas’s grip tightened on the phone until his knuckles whitened. “That’s it? Anyone could’ve told me that. Are you losing your touch, Aaron?” His tone dripped with cold disdain.  

“I’m working on it, sir,” Aaron rushed, his voice shaky. “His records are unusually clean, almost wiped. I’ll have a full file by tomorrow, I swear.”  

“By this evening,” Vegas corrected coldly, leaving no room for negotiation. “No excuses. And send me a clear photo. Now.” He hung up without waiting for a reply, staring at the blank wall of the corridor as his pulse thrummed with anticipation.  

Seconds later, his phone pinged. Vegas opened the message and stared at the image. Golden-brown eyes looked back at him, soft and unsuspecting. There was a small, delicate mole just above full, plump lips, and bleached blond hair with dark roots visibly showing through. The boy had a gentle, almost fragile appearance that stirred something possessive in Vegas’s chest.  

‘Architecture student,’ Vegas murmured to himself, running a finger slowly over the screen. A dark smile spread across his face. Helpless. Invisible to most people on campus. Perfect.  

He could have him cornered by tomorrow if he wanted—pull strings, have his friends surround him, or make campus life suddenly very uncomfortable. But that felt too quick, too crude. No—this called for something slower. More intimate. He wanted to watch Autumn squirm. To study every little habit and weakness. To own him completely, piece by piece.  

“Clairemont!” Vegas turned to see Remmy walking toward him, a couple of girls trailing behind with shy giggles and stolen glances, their eyes lingering on Vegas a little too long.  

“We’ve got a match at two, remember?” Remmy said with an intense look. “We’re grabbing food at Simon’s Cafe first. You coming, bro?” Vegas slipped his phone into his pocket, the image of Autumn still burning behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he replied in a noncommittal tone, still half-lost in dark thoughts. “Let’s go.”  

The cafe buzzed with vibrant midday energy when they arrived. The bold “Simon’s Cafe” sign gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the large front windows. Inside, students and locals filled the tables, their conversations creating a lively hum mixed with the clatter of plates and the rich aroma of fresh coffee and grilled food.

A couple of guys at a nearby table banged obnoxiously on the surface while arguing about something viral they had seen online. The blazing hot weather outside was kept perfectly at bay by the AC blasting at full power, creating a cool, comfortable sanctuary.  

Vegas and his friends claimed their usual prime center table near the window—the one that was always mysteriously reserved for them no matter how busy the place got. Julian waved a hand casually, signaling a waiter. “The usual,” he announced confidently. The server nodded and hurried off without needing further details. They had been coming here long enough that their orders were practically prepped the moment they stepped through the door.  

“So,” Julian leaned forward once their food arrived, eyes gleaming with curiosity and a hint of mischief, “how’s the digging going?”  

Vegas took a slow sip of his iced coffee, the cold liquid doing little to cool the dark anticipation simmering inside him. He glanced out the window toward the bustling campus paths, wondering if fate might bring Autumn across his path sooner than expected. The game had only just begun, and he intended to savor every calculated move.